Paranormal Misdirection

by Dima Zales

  It finally dawns on me what he’s implying. “Your enemies are the same kind of Cognizant as you?”

  “No one else is worth concerning myself with.” He frowns. “But I’m the only one of my kind who knows about the location of this world. So no. If this were another of my kind, I doubt they’d stoop to hiding their faces. Or using guns.”

  “And what is that kind of Cognizant?” I ask, holding my breath in anticipation. “What should I be on the lookout for?”

  Nero gives me an unreadable look, then says, “Don’t put cheese on my sandwich. I’d rather get extra ham.”

  I violently plop ham and cheese on one slice of bread, then slap triple the usual ham on another. It takes all my willpower not to throw the finished snack at Nero’s stubborn face and to simply hand it to him.

  I thought he’d open up to me just this once, reveal a single one of his precious secrets.

  But of course, he didn’t. The man is insufferable.

  I rip into my sandwich so fast I accidentally bite my cheek.

  Fluffster looks at me. “Assuming this was someone after you, Sasha, who would it be?”

  I ponder that. “I don’t have a lot of enemies left, as far as I know. The only person I can think of who’s still alive is Chester.”

  Nero looks like a lightbulb just lit up above his head. Finishing his sandwich in a single bite, he reaches into his pocket to get his phone.

  A couple of taps later, Nero’s video app is playing a connecting tune while he sets up the screen so that the person on the other end can see the three of us—assuming they pick up.

  The video call connects.

  A man sits in a chair in front of his camera, his satyr-like face a mask of amused curiosity.

  It’s Chester, the former Council member whose machinations nearly got me killed by a crazy necromancer and her zombies.

  Then I take in the full scene and blink a few times.

  Sitting next to Chester is an enormous white lion—the kind Siegfried & Roy would make appear and disappear in their magic shows.

  “Ah.” Chester strokes his frightening friend behind the ear like one would a cat. “If it isn’t my favorite couple.” I half expect the lion to chomp on Chester’s hand, but the mighty creature seems to be enjoying the attention. “Nero.” Chester grins mischievously. “Sasha.” He looks me over. “I didn’t realize you were at the stage of your relationship to jointly own a pet.” He looks Fluffster up and down. “Unless that’s lunch?”

  Following his master’s gaze, the lion takes in Fluffster and hungrily licks his lips.

  “I’m calling to ask some questions,” Nero says, oblivious to the lion. “Did you try to kill Sasha today—personally or via proxy?”

  “No.” Chester looks genuinely surprised. “I did not.”

  “Did you use your power on her?” Nero asks. “Change the probability that someone would make an attempt on her life?”

  All amusement disappears from Chester’s face. “Why would I do something like this?” He absentmindedly rubs the lion’s fur. “I told you both that when I hired that necro before, it was to mess with Darian—Sasha was just a means to an end.”

  “You could’ve learned about me and Roxy,” I say on a hunch. “That would make it personal.”

  “I don’t get involved with my daughter’s shenanigans.” A chunk of bloody meat shows up in Chester’s left hand as if by magic, and he tosses it to the lion.

  “So you expect us to believe you don’t care that she submitted to Sasha?” Nero narrows his eyes. “I want to hear you say that as a sentence.”

  “She did what?” Chester nearly falls off his chair. “Submitted, as in the werewolf mumbo jumbo? She hasn’t told me about that. That little—”

  “He’s telling the truth,” Nero whispers into my ear. “Both when he said he wasn’t after you and now when he claimed not to know about the submission.”

  “Great,” I whisper without looking at Nero. My eyes are glued to the sight of the lion devouring the chunk of meat. “He knows about it now.”

  Louder, I say, “You never answered Nero’s question about your powers. Did you use them on me?”

  Nero’s hands ball into fists as he glares at the screen expectantly.

  “I haven’t done so recently.” Chester looks at his pet beast for support, but the lion is too busy munching. “Besides, it wasn’t misfortune that I tried to send your way. Perhaps the opposite.”

  “Truth, but a vague one.” Nero leans toward the camera. “Explain.”

  “Before I do, I just want to remind you two about free will. You both possess it.” Chester looks from Nero to me, then pleadingly back at Nero. “My powers can’t override that. Nothing can.”

  “You’re stalling.” Nero’s eyes are almost completely black now.

  “Do you know how I spy on Darian?” Chester asks.

  “Dream walker,” Nero says. “Tell us something we don’t already know.”

  I want to object and say that I didn’t know Chester used a dream walker, but then I realize that I might’ve had at least a clue about it. When I saw Darian’s memories relating to Matilda—Chester’s wife and Darian’s lover—she learned about Darian’s visions of her daughter’s fate by using a dream walker, so it is reasonable to assume her husband has access to one also.

  Oh, and Chester’s admission finally reveals something I’ve never figured out for sure: how Chester originally learned about Darian’s plans for me.

  At the Jubilee, Felix’s theory was that Chester used a spy—and it looks like he was at least in part correct. Chester indeed deployed a creative spying method: getting information from Darian’s own dreams.

  I realize something else also—the dream walker in question is probably Bailey Spade, a.k.a Freda Krueger.

  At least, that’s who Nero works with when he needs one.

  “Did you know Darian was the reason I lost the woman I love?” The grief looks foreign on Chester’s usually cheerful face.

  “Yes.” Nero’s voice softens slightly. “It’s hard to lose those you love.”

  “Right.” Chester reaches for the lion, and the beast licks his hand reassuringly. “That means you might understand why I did what I did.” He takes in a deep breath and quickly rattles out, “I learned that Darian’s worst nightmare is seeing the two of you together, so I used my power to bring that about.”

  Nero’s mouth gapes in disbelief, and my brain feels like a computer that tried to divide by zero.

  He said “bring that about.”

  Me and Nero.

  Together.

  To spite Darian.

  A part of me knows Chester means that he used his control of probabilities to somehow increase the chance of me choosing Nero over Darian, but every other part of me finds the idea incomprehensible.

  And disturbing.

  And wrong.

  Chapter Nine

  “How can you have any say in how I feel toward Nero?” I hear myself ask as if from a distance.

  “I can’t.” Chester strokes his lion’s pale mane. “You both have free will. All I did is make it so you’d bump into each other more often than normal, and perhaps under circumstances that could ignite a spark, should one be in place already.”

  What?

  Is this why Nero caught me picking through his safe while he was wearing nothing but a towel? Or why Nero was there for me at just the right moment so many times, like when I was grieving Rose’s death? Or when I was—

  “You will never use your power on either me or Sasha again.” The menace in Nero’s voice seems to scare even the lion.

  “You got it,” Chester says quickly. “Never again.”

  He must not have lied, because Nero unclenches his fists.

  Shocked, I try to process Nero’s anger—and what it means.

  Is Nero saying he felt something for me? And if so, is the anger a sign of his disapproval of those feelings? Also, if there are feelings, are they simply the result of Chester’s machina
tions, or are they real?

  And what about me? Would I be pining after Darian if Chester hadn’t done his thing?

  That’s assuming I admit that I’m “pining” after Nero, which isn’t a fact.

  Still, there’s some attraction, to say the least. Plus, I still have to process the fact that he took the bullets for me in my vision. That means something.

  “I need the phone numbers for the parents of the other two girls in Roxy’s clique,” I hear Nero say through my haze. “The assassination attempt could’ve been their doing.”

  “I highly doubt it.” Chester pulls out a phone and starts tapping the screen repeatedly. “But I texted you their numbers anyway.”

  “Good.” Nero glances at his phone to make sure he got the text.

  “Are we good?” Chester asks warily. “Or do I need to be looking over my shoulder from now on?”

  “We are not good,” Nero says grimly. “If you want to keep on breathing, stay out of my sight.”

  He hangs up, and I sit in stunned contemplation as he calls each of the numbers Chester provided and asks the parents point blank if they tried to kill me. They deny it, and his power doesn’t detect falsehood—so I guess they all get to live.

  “Thalia?” Nero says after dialing another number. “How are you doing?”

  His phone pings a text. He reads it, nodding, then says, “That’s good to hear. I could use your help.” He then proceeds to tell her about the recent events and how he’d feel better if she worked as my bodyguard again.

  She replies via another text.

  “Great,” he says after reading it and hangs up. Looking at me, he says, “Thalia is back on duty later today; meanwhile, you’re coming with me.”

  “I am?”

  “I want you where I can keep an eye on you.” Nero stands up. “In the meantime, I’ll have bulletproof windows and an extra-secure door installed here.” He glances down at Fluffster—who gives him a small nod that probably implies the domovoi won’t kill Nero’s contractors on sight. Looking back at me, Nero almost imperceptibly smirks and adds, “Don’t you think it’s time you started working off those hundred-and-thirty-five hours you owe me?”

  “He’s talking about the penalty work allotment hours I accumulated while escaping his makeshift prison to save Vlad,” I tell confused Fluffster, then pin Nero with a glare. “If I were you, I would not remind people about that day. I barely survived while you just sat there in your comfy limo and cowardly waited for others to do the dirty work.”

  Nero’s smirk goes away, and his nostrils flare. He looks like he’s on the verge of snapping back at me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just stares at me grimly.

  I almost want to take my words back—except why should I? He did indeed wait in his limo as I said.

  But then he took bullets for me in my vision.

  That’s the opposite of what I just accused him of.

  “Let’s go,” he says, his voice devoid of emotion. Without waiting for a reply, he leaves the kitchen.

  With a shrug at Fluffster, I chase after Nero and catch him by the elevator.

  On the way down, Nero looks broody, reminding me of Vlad.

  How is the vampire doing?

  I feel guilty that I haven’t checked on him recently. I better do so soon. Actually, why put it off?

  Taking in a calming breath, I go into Headspace and focus on Vlad.

  The shapes that surround me aren’t scary, but they aren’t friendly either.

  Choosing one at random, I touch it and the vision begins.

  I’m bodiless as is the norm for visions where the events happen without my physical presence.

  A giant fist smacks Vlad in the jaw with the force of a wrecking ball.

  Following basic laws of physics, Vlad flies backward, but at the last moment, he somersaults in the air and lands on his feet, like a cat.

  The crowd in the surrounding colosseum claps and screams in excitement.

  Undaunted by the punch, Vlad wipes a trickle of blood running down his split lip and whooshes forward.

  His opponent looks down at him with a mixture of awe and respect.

  The guy is huge. So big, in fact, that I suspect him to be a literal giant—as in, a type of Cognizant.

  Though no one has explicitly told me that giants exist, I assumed they do after I saw the behemoth dude who performed the Rite on me.

  Vlad dodges the giant’s punches, then strikes him in the chest.

  The huge guy reels back.

  The crowd goes wild again.

  I come to my senses in the elevator.

  Nero is examining me intently.

  “I just had a vision,” I say preemptively, then tell him what I saw.

  “So that’s where he went.” Nero shakes his head disapprovingly. “Don’t worry. Those fights rarely end in death.”

  “Great,” I say sarcastically. “Rarely. What a relief.”

  “Think of it as Vlad blowing off some steam,” Nero says. “We all have different ways of dealing with grief—and his is as good as any.”

  The elevator arrives and we exit, with me muttering something impolite about the stupidity of machismo and Nero pretending not to hear.

  “Sit in the back. I’ll go up front,” he says when we walk up to the limo.

  He opens the door for me, and I grudgingly get in, then pointedly raise the partition thingy between me and where Nero is about to sit.

  “I’ll check on Vlad if that makes you feel any better,” Nero says before closing the door. “I have to invite him to the funeral anyway.”

  Before I get a chance to ask when the funeral will be held—not to mention why Nero is extending an olive branch—he closes the door.

  Oh well. That’s fine. There are a few more Headspace-related errands I’d like to take care of, and now is as good a time as any.

  Reentering Headspace, I try to get a vision featuring my biological mother, going under the assumption that she was the woman I saw in Rasputin’s memories the other day—the lovey-dovey memory, that is, not the one with Nero or the one that featured someone torturing my father.

  The woman in that memory had pale shoulders and a graceful back that reminded me of a ballerina, and Rasputin had called her unpredictable.

  That’s not a lot to go on, but I dwell on these things as if they were her essence.

  Nothing happens.

  That must not be enough information.

  Next, I try to reach Rasputin.

  Not surprisingly, this doesn’t work either. He must be dodging my calls.

  Since I’m in a summoning mood, I ping Darian next.

  Another failure.

  Almost as an afterthought, I remember the bannik.

  Yes. He’s definitely worth checking on. There might still be seer lessons he can provide.

  I focus on Yaroslav’s bearded handsomeness, and how he helped me escape Baba Yaga even though he probably knew he’d lose a finger over it. When I can almost picture his sad eyes, a familiar Headspace entity appears in front of me.

  It worked.

  That’s him.

  The Yaroslav shape pulses in excitement, and I get the impression he’s reaching for me just as I make my own connection.

  Headspace swirls around us as we fall into each other’s metaphysical embrace.

  Chapter Ten

  Surrounded by the scorching heat of the banya, I’m massaging pale feminine shoulders with honey.

  That is, Yaroslav is doing this in a memory, not me.

  The memory must be fairly recent because he/I lack an index finger.

  “You’re trying to distract your therapist yet again,” Lucretia moans. “I want to know how the newfound freedom makes you feel.”

  Not in the mood for therapy, Yaroslav slides his hands from her shoulders to her breasts, then licks off some of the honey.

  Why do I always get the erotic memories? Am I somehow drawn to them?

  The banya heats up—both literally and in terms of what Lucre
tia and Yaroslav proceed to do.

  “You can bite me if you wish,” the bannik whispers into Lucretia’s ear as he nibbles on her neck.

  I was right. This is a very recent memory. Lucretia just became a vampire.

  “I’m not ready for that yet,” she murmurs, but there’s a lisp to her speech that indicates her fangs are extended. “I need to learn more about the consequences before I take that step.”

  “I’ve seen all the consequences,” Yaroslav croons. “We’re happy together in pretty much every future. No one can—”

  Just like before, all around us is absolute emptiness.

  And like with Darian and Rasputin, in front of me is a synapse-hologram of Yaroslav, with his visage attached to the uncanny shape-entity that is his Headspace representation.

  I’m a hologram too—one connected to the entity that is me, which in turn is interwoven with the bannik on the Headspace level.

  “Sasha.” He floats up and down. “I’m glad you reached out. There are some things I wanted you to hear from me first.” He looks at me intently. “Unless Nero or Lucretia already told you?”

  “Told me what?” Though my chest is see-through in this place, the sensation of my heartbeat speeding up is as real as in the outside world.

  “The deal Nero and I made.” Yaroslav looks down at his hologram-like feet. “What I had to do to free myself from Baba Yaga.”

  I’m beginning to have an inkling of what he’s about to tell me, but I still say, “No. Please explain.”

  “Right.” He looks at his missing finger, then at me. “Long before we met, I knew we would, thanks to my visions. I also knew I’d have to let you go free in order to be free myself one day—no matter the cost. There was only a small handful of futures where Baba Yaga would be defeated, you see, and you played a key role in pretty much all of them.”

  I cross my arms, waiting for the worst of it. What he’s said so far, I’d pretty much guessed.

  “You have to believe me when I say that what happened to you was the best possible outcome.” He floats down, then rises again with effort. “Had I not meddled, things would’ve been so much worse…”