Deceiver's Bond: Book Two of A Clairvoyant's Complicated Life (3 page)

My telekinesis came in handy when it was time to empty Nick’s refrigerator.

I stood across the room and juggled a moldy package of cheese, rancid tempeh, and a half-filled jar of Vlasic pickles through the air toward the open garbage bag.

“Frigging power company,” I grumbled for the dozenth time, holding my nose against the putrid smell. Twelve feet away wasn’t far enough. “But I’m getting better at handling several items at once.”

The jar landed with the sound of breaking glass. I’d withdrawn my TK too soon, but at least, it landed inside the bag. I cringed and laughed. “Oops. A little trouble with re-entry.”

Red’s voice came to me from the living room. “An improvement over last time.”

“With all the training you’ve had me do, you’d think I’d be an expert by now.” I sounded crabby, even though I’d resolved to keep a positive outlook on these things. As a clairvoyant, my life had never been normal, but my three new powers had me feeling even more freakish than usual. Psychics never possessed more than one gift. And it didn’t help that I had control issues.

“Expertise requires more than just practice,” Red reminded me.

“Yeah, yeah. First I must accept my new self. Only then will I realize my full potential.” I wrinkled my nose at the pungent blend of odors permeating the kitchen. “Why does that sound like something Yoda would say?”

He toddled into the kitchen, the soft feet of his stuffed bear body making the smallest of sounds on Nick’s polished hickory floor. “Because I am wise beyond my years and you have subjected me to those movies more than once. Nevertheless, I speak the truth. The sooner you accept that you are better for your new abilities, the sooner you will master them.”

“Better, huh?”
That’ll take some convincing.

I knew he was right, though. A majority of my problems were psychological. If I stopped thinking of myself as a freak, there was no telling what I could do. Of course, that was part of the problem. Some of the things I could do scared me. Like my pyrokinesis.

I sighed and immediately regretted it. Using my mind, I pressed the button for the cooktop’s ventilation fan, hoping it might help with the smell.

Forsaking levitation, I walked over to the nearest window and opened it the old fashioned way. Cool springtime air wafted over the exposed skin between the top of my black formal-length gloves and the short sleeves of my t-shirt, giving me a raging case of goose bumps. Although Nick had been a clairvoyant, like me, I couldn’t remove my gloves without risking exposure to the countless memories bound up in the objects around me—objects he had touched with his bare hands. Still raw from his recent death, I didn’t need his intimate thoughts adding to my grief.

My nose just shy of the screen, I breathed deeply. A familiar smell in the air reminded me of fresh-cut scallions. It was comforting, but I wasn’t sure why. The late morning sun had pierced the wispy clouds, hinting at the possibility of a rare sunny spring day. Vaporous tendrils of steam rose from the damp fence where the sun’s haphazard rays had heated the wood.

“I know this is hard for you,” Red said. “Being different is never easy.”

I regarded my diminutive friend. If anyone could understand my current anxiety, it was Red. Having lived as a human necromancer in colonial times, he knew something about being an outcast. At least my abilities just made for social discomfort these days instead of a death sentence.

“You understand my feelings better than anyone.” I pulled out a kitchen chair and slumped into it. “It’s just … I worked hard to be happy. I had a place in the magic community, but now …” I shrugged, reluctant to voice my fears.

“You assume these additional talents will be met with rejection. Yes, some will be hung up on labels and alarmed by your uniqueness, but not everyone will automatically reject you. Take Daniel. He, for one, is not repulsed by your new gifts.”

I snorted. “Daniel’s motives are hardly selfless. There’s the whole Invisius Verso thing. Okay, maybe he doesn’t agree with everything his stupid club does, but he still thinks I’m part of that damned prophecy, just like the rest of them.”

The back of my neck got clammy just thinking about the obsessively secretive group. Its telepathic members made hardened CIA operatives look like Austin Powers. Interfering with an organization of telepaths was a great way to kiss your memories goodbye, along with a chunk of your personality.

Before I could stop myself, I skimmed my fingertips over my left wrist. The magic bracelet was the only thing that stood between my mind and any telepaths who might still have it out for me.

Red paused before saying, “There is Detective Vanelli.”

My eyebrows drew down. Three weeks of struggling to come up with excuses for Vince’s continued distance had worn thin. Now, instead of my heart being aflutter over his ‘I love you too,’ it had been crushed under the weight of rejection.

“You sure wouldn’t know it by the way he’s been acting. Whenever I get him on the phone, he’s distracted. I thought he was just skittish from all of those possessive ex-girlfriends, but … yeah, it’s just an excuse.”

“Do not be so quick to presume the worst.” Red tipped his head to the side as he considered me. “The sidhe are known to possess a wide variety of powers, including the gift to glamour. It is possible the detective has this ability. Because he denies his sidhe blood, it is likely he has little or no control over it.”

“You think he’s using magic to make himself irresistible? You can’t be serious.”

Red put his paws together over his ample teddy bear belly. “I have been loath to voice my opinion because it is merely a possibility. I have no proof. However, it may explain his numerous past experiences with possessive and jealous girlfriends.”

Good grief
. Vince was going to love hearing this. I could see his reaction now—jaw clamped tight, running his hand through his thick hair, and growling that there was no fucking way he was part
elf
.

“You don’t think—?” I frowned. “I’ll admit I fell hard for him and I think he’s sexy as hell, but it feels normal. I’m not acting like a crazed stalker. Am I?”

“No. But you are not completely human either. Your magic likely gives you protection.”

I shot him a sour look. “Right.” I considered this as I slumped further into my chair. “I guess that could explain some things. More than once I’ve noticed women acting, well, swoony around him. At the time, I just chalked it up to his looks. But maybe there’s more to it.”

I heaved myself up to close the window. It was still too cool to leave open for long. Remembering my expanding to-do list, I shook myself and turned back to the refrigerator, grateful for the distraction.

Not long after hauling the garbage out to the curb, a resounding rap echoed from the front door. I jumped, sending a wooden salad bowl spinning out of my hands. I caught the serving piece before it could topple off the counter.

I told myself my startled reaction was due to the quiet surroundings, not because of my recent traumatic experience at the hands of Brian Stalzing. “Jeez. Who could that be?”

“Perhaps your distant neighbor noticed you outside earlier,” Red suggested.

As I crossed the living room, another determined knock jarred my already frazzled nerves. “Coming!”

I opened the front door and immediately recognized the thickset man wearing a Coventry County Sheriff’s uniform. His gray eyes were narrowed. This was not going to be a friendly visit. Of course, judging by our first meeting, Sheriff Lancer wasn’t the type to pay a hospitality call on someone like me.

“Clotilde Marie Devon? Also known as Lire Devon?” he demanded.

“Yes. We’ve met before, Sheriff. What are you doing here?”

He held up an official looking document. The words ‘Coventry District Court’ caught my eye at the top of the page. “Lire Devon, I have a warrant for your arrest for the murder of Nicholas Anthony Coulter. Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

I stood, mouth agape, before sputtering, “What? That’s ridiculous. You were on the task force. Brian Stalzing killed Nick. He kidnapped me, along with my business partner Jack Beaumont. The abduction was witnessed by a Chiliquitham Police detective, for God’s sake. You must have read the FBI’s report.”

His face twisted into a hostile sneer. “That story may have played for the FBI, but here in Coventry County, we have higher standards.” Looming toward me, he said. “Hands behind your back. Or do you prefer to do things the hard way?”

“Okay, look, I’ll go with you. Please, just don’t touch me. I’m a clairvoyant. Do you have to use cuffs? I’m still bruised from when I was held hostage.”

“I said, put your hands behind your back.” Grabbing my arm, he shoved me toward the door. His fingers wrapped around my left bicep, the part not protected by my elbow length gloves.

Helpless to stop it, my magic flared, responding to his touch. In an instant, Sheriff Lancer’s memories spiraled into my mind. My psychic shield held them back, but I wasn’t strong enough to keep them out for more than ten seconds at most.

“Stop touching my skin,” I said, trying to jerk my arm out of his grasp, “I don’t want your memories.”

He pressed me against the door. I just managed to keep my cheek from touching the painted wood surface. It surely harbored additional memories that I didn’t need to deal with.

“Shut up. I don’t care what you want.” He grabbed my hand and folded my wrist, pulling it toward the center of my back. At the same time he ordered me to put my other hand on the back of my head.

Dealing with a brief touch was one thing, but Lancer maintained his painful hold. His fevered, angry thoughts overwhelmed my shield. They entered my mind, a steady barrage of corrosive memories and savage intentions. Desperate to get away from the onslaught, I let my legs go slack. I landed hard on my butt and right thigh. My arm burned where my flesh had pulled through his fingertips.

“Please! Stop touching my skin. I’ll go with you.” I searched the room in vain, even though I knew escape was futile.

He ignored my pleas and lunged down. I scrabbled away, like a demented crab, narrowly evading his grasp. Instead of throwing himself on top of me, he stood and drew an item from his holster. At first glance, it looked like a firearm, but I realized it wasn’t. He came at me with a stun gun.

Not wanting to exacerbate the situation, I refrained from using my TK. I was ready to protect myself, if need be, but hoped he’d listen to reason.

“Hurting me is not going to bring Stewart back,” I shouted.

The mention of his brother’s name had the effect of throwing ice water down his collar. A shocked expression crossed his features and his gait slowed. “Despicable. Checking my background to prop up your lies. I shouldn’t be surprised. Maybe nobody else sees through you, but I’m no sucker.”

“Marianne Cramer may have been a phony bitch, but we are not all alike,” I blurted, frantic to come up with anything that would shock him into easing up on the aggressive tactics. “I know that’s what you were thinking. You’re also wondering whether my interviews with the FBI are going to be enough to cast reasonable doubt. And you’re pissed off there wasn’t any hard evidence tying me to the crime.”

When he looked ready to pounce, I all but shrieked at him, “You asked Carl Jessup’s secretary to call you as soon as I showed up to deal with Nick’s estate! That’s how you knew I was here. You’ve been waiting for the call so you could come arrest me without the fuss it would raise in Seattle.”

The sheriff hesitated, and I continued, “You came here alone because not everyone in your department agrees there’s a case against me. You argued with Chief Deputy Collins this morning about pursuing me. I got that from your thoughts. I’m for real. I’m not trying to piss you off. I just want you to stop touching my skin. Please.”

He towered over me, the menacing weapon clutched in his white-knuckled grasp. A lank of his auburn hair fell forward, no longer neatly slicked back, and obscured his left eye. Although his expression of rage didn’t lessen, I could almost see the wheels spinning inside his twisted mind. To my relief he didn’t attempt to use the stun gun on me. When he straightened and holstered it, I kept the surprise from showing on my face.

“Get. Up,” he ordered, clipping each word from between clenched teeth.

“Sure. No problem.” The trembling in my voice irritated me, but I ignored it. “I’ll go with you. You don’t need to cuff me. But I suppose it’s a rule?” I turned to put my hands behind my back and he slammed the cuffs on. As long as he didn’t touch my skin, I wasn’t going to complain. It wouldn’t take much to tip him over again.

Sheriff Lancer had been psychologically damaged by his youngest brother Stewart’s murder. Our brief skin contact revealed that, and more. During the murder investigation, the clairvoyant on the case, Marianne Cramer, revealed Stewart’s involvement in some sordid activities—sex for drugs, chiefly. Lancer was not only a magiphobe but also a homophobe. He had refused to believe the readings and accused Marianne of lying. Eight years of simmering anger had intensified his bigotry.

I wasn’t stupid enough to think my words had done much more than temporarily shock Lancer. If I stayed compliant, maybe I’d make it to the police station in one piece.

Casting out my TK, I monitored the sheriff’s movements behind my back. When I concentrated, I could feel everything around me, right down to the vibrations in the air, like waves in a pond. It was just a matter of extending my magic, like invisible fingers, but not using it to physically grip anything.

Telekinesis—my freak version of radar.

The handcuffs rattled behind my back. As he fastened the first bracelet around my right wrist, he began, “You have the right to remain silent …”

Never in my wildest nightmares did I ever dream I’d hear those words first hand, much less be searched for weapons or forcibly crammed into the back of a police car in handcuffs.

Riding in the caged interior of Lancer’s patrol car taxed me to the point of exhaustion, and my cap-sleeved shirt didn’t help. Lancer had been so eager to hustle me out of Nick’s house and into the back of his car, he hadn’t even thought to offer me a chance to put on my coat. It was barely fifty degrees outside.
The jerk.