The Chronicles of the 8th Dimension - Limited Edition Box Set (4 Books): A Supernatural Thriller Box Set

by Carissa Andrews

  “Eh, where’s the fun in that?” he grins.

  There’s a strange playfulness in his energy—if I can call it that. I can’t read his aura, but I still feel it somehow. Plus, the smirk on his face broadens the longer he sits beside me.

  Amy shoots me a strange—aren’t you a little old to be so awkward?—kinda look as she heads out the door with Ren’s cup in hand.

  “So, what exactly did you want to talk about? I doubt world peace—and I already said no to helping you on your case,” I say, returning my gaze to him, and feeling the need to throw that in there.

  Blake shifts closer; the scent of aftershave or cologne wafting around us. It’s a heady kind of smell, making me want to lean into him and take a better whiff.

  Before he answers, he grins again, then takes a slow, deliberate sip of his own coffee.

  “What exactly is Diana’s usual?” he finally asks, pointing to my coffee cup and ignoring my question completely.

  “It’s the campfire mocha,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “Normal variation, or your own special blend?”

  I shift in my seat, twisting a bit to look him in the eye.

  “White chocolate, not milk chocolate,” I say, a slow grin spreading across my lips.

  “Interesting—” he says, nodding in approval. “I happen to like my coffee black as my soul, but if I did add chocolate, it would be of the white variation.”

  “Ewww. Black coffee. Really?” I say, sticking out my tongue and making a face.

  “What’s so wrong with that?” he chuckles. “Nice look for you, by the way.”

  I shove him.

  “Oh shut up. Black coffee is wrong on so many levels,” I say, shivering.

  “Enlighten me,” he says, tipping his head and taking another swig.

  “The only reason to drink coffee is for the sugar and caffeine. When you take away the sugar, you only have the caffeine—and I can get the same effect drinking tea, or a shot of an energy boost drink. So, no.”

  I shake my head and lift my own cup to my lips.

  “Good to know,” he says, nodding. He takes another sip of his coffee and waits.

  “Gross,” I mutter, unable to hide my grin.

  “You get used to it. Besides, too much sugar isn’t good for you,” he adds.

  “Oh boy, you’re not one of those health nuts, are you?” I laugh.

  “If I were, I wouldn’t be drinking coffee. Caffeine is just as bad,” he says.

  “Really?” I say, raising an eyebrow. “And how would you know that if you weren’t one of those crazy health nuts?”

  “Because I had a friend who blew out her adrenal glands with a coffee addiction,” he says nonchalantly.

  “Yikes. Sounds brutal,” I say, glancing at my cup of coffee. “How much does one need to drink for it to be considered an addiction?”

  “Way more than a cup,” he laughs.

  “I figured,” I say, rolling my eyes.

  “Hey, you asked,” he says, shrugging.

  His eyes fall to his cup while his fingertips fondle the handle. I can’t stop staring at his dark eyelashes—he has the kind most women would kill for, but they definitely suit him.

  “So, have you always lived here in Helena?” I ask.

  “The outskirts, technically,” Blake points out.

  “Yeah, yeah. You know what I mean,” I say, shaking my head.

  “Well, no actually. I used to live in Minnesota, if you can believe it,” he says, shifting in his seat.

  “Eeewww. Really? Isn’t it, I dunno—freakin’ cold there?”

  My mind traces back to my short stint that direction. I don’t remember the winters fondly, that’s for sure.

  Blake laughs a hardy, deep laugh.

  “That’s an understatement,” he says.

  “Then why?”

  “Family, I guess. I grew up there. But, my folks passed away and I had no other ties to Minnesota anymore. So, I decided to come down here,” he says, biting his lower lip, and eyeing his cup.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “Nah, it’s no big deal. It’s been a few years,” he says.

  “Do you mind if I ask, how?” I say, leaning in.

  “Mom passed when I was younger—breast cancer runs in the family. A heart attack got Dad, though,” he says, his voice low.

  Reaching out, I place a hand on his leg closest to me.

  “I’m sorry Blake. I’m sure losing your parents was so hard.”

  His eyes widen as he looks from me, to my hand. He shifts his eyes slightly, but nods.

  “It was, especially at first,” he clears his throat, “So, what about you? Are your parent’s still around?”

  There it is, the dreaded questions about me and my life—the ones I hate answering because they can unravel so quickly into a complete cluster.

  I shake my head, “No, they’re gone.”

  It’s the truth—though I don’t remember them at all. For the amount of time I’ve been alive, there’s no way they’ve managed to survive. Unless they’ve passed down this insane longevity to me.

  “Sorry, this has, ah—taken a turn,” Blake says, scratching the back of his head.

  “It’s okay, it was a long time ago for me, too.”

  “I suppose it’s what drove you to helping people, huh?” Blake says, watching me closely.

  I pause for a moment, considering. For the most part, it transpired gradually. My gifts have always been around and not adhering to them didn’t feel right.

  “I suppose in a sense it did. But I don’t think I really had a choice. When you know things, hear things—see things—ignoring them and going on with your own life isn’t always an option. As you know,” I say, pointing to him.

  Blakes eyebrows flutter upward in surprise.

  “I do?”

  “Well, yeah, once I could see things more clearly with Esther—I couldn’t not get involved at that point. You know?”

  “Oh right—you’re still talking about you. Got it,” he says, shaking his head.

  I chuckle and scrunch my nose.

  “What did you think I meant?”

  “I thought—I thought you meant me. That when I see things, ignoring them isn’t an option.”

  “Well, I suppose that’s right too—isn’t it?” I say, grinning.

  “Yeah, yeah, I guess it is.”

  “Sooooo,” I say, trying to fill the awkward silence surrounding us, “what’s the deal with you and Aiden?”

  Blake quirks an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I got something off of him when we first met—you’ve known him a long time, right?”

  “I thought you couldn’t read stuff about me?” Blake says, his voice a bit tighter than before.

  “I can’t—but when I shook Aiden’s hand, I got snippets. He must have been thinking about it,” I say.

  “What kind of snippets?” Blake asks, his eyes wide.

  I blink fast, trying to recall.

  “Uh—something about him being little. He lost his parents, too, right? A car accident—but you stepped in even though you were trying to work your way up the Special Forces ranks,” I say, biting my lip.

  He narrows his eyes, giving me a once over.

  “You’re shitting me, right? This is some sort of a joke?” he says, shifting back a bit.

  “No,” I say, shaking my head, “why would you think that?”

  “Did he put you up to this?”

  “You asked me to sit down with you, remember? How the hell would Aiden put me up to anything?” I say, suspicion arising.

  Blakes lips press into a thin line as he shifts away from me, facing the other side of the booth instead of looking at me. His face flits back and forth through myriad expressions until he finally stops and twists back around to me.

  “You’re telling me you picked all that up from shaking his hand?”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Duh. Psychic, rem
ember?” I say, pointing at my head for effect.

  “I—I gotta go. Thanks for the talk, Diana. I’ll see you around,” he says, shifting out of the booth and out of the door before I even have time to process what’s happening.

  Shifting in my seat, I press my back into the booth.

  What in the hell just happened?

  “Sure know how to freak a guy out, eh?” Max says, wandering over to the booth. He grabs Blake’s cup, and wipes up his spot with a wet rag.

  I turn and glare at him. Something in his smug grin makes me snap.

  “Your girlfriend’s cheating on you with the mailman,” I blurt out, downing the rest of my mocha.

  I’ve known for ages, but it’s none of my damn business. I guess now I don’t care.

  Max steps back, eyes wide with panic.

  I push past him and walk out the door before the backlash of questions can hit. Glancing up and down the street, Blake is nowhere to be seen—so I walk back to the shop on my own.

  Why would it matter if I knew about Aiden’s parents or the way he gave up his military life? And besides, why is it a shock to Blake? It’s not like I hide being psychic. What in the hell gives?

  Opening the door, the ding of the bell pisses me right off.

  “Who the hell installed that stupid bell?” I say, glaring at Ren as I walk in the door.

  Ren’s face goes from borderline bored to “oh-shit” in under a second.

  “Uh-oh. Things not go so good with Mr. Tight Pants?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

  “Ugh. Shut up, would you? And do something about that damn bell.”

  I head straight into my reading room and slam the door.

  “What the fu—” I groan, walking to the back door. I place my head on the window with a thud.

  I’m so stupid. Honestly, it’s not like I haven’t learned in all these years—but something about Blake let me relax a bit and open up. And why? To be bitten in the ass again?

  Stupid, Diana. What a naive, idiotic move.

  Ren knocks on the door. As it opens, he waves a white handkerchief from the crack.

  I roll my eyes and take a deep breath.

  “What do you want, Ren?” I say, walking to my desk and sitting down.

  “Wanna tell me what happened?” he says, walking in the room tentatively.

  “If I knew, I’d tell you. I honestly have no idea.”

  Renaldo grabs the chair from my reading table, dragging it over to my desk.

  “He didn’t try anything funny, did he?” Ren says, crossing his arms over his chest, and going all protective.

  “In a coffee shop?” I shoot him a look from under my eyebrows.

  He shrugs, “You never know. Stranger things have happened.”

  “True.”

  I bite my lip, trying to keep myself from combusting. For a moment, a simple, strange, beautiful moment—I felt like I was connecting with someone. Not through my gifts, not with the knowledge they placed in my head—but in the normal, ordinary, blissfully human way. Person to person.

  “I thought—I actually thought things were going okay.”

  I drop my head to my hands, raking my fingertips through my hair as it falls forward.

  “So, what then?” Ren asks. “Did you piss him off? I mean, not that you would—okay, maybe you would, but—”

  “I told him about something I picked up at his house. An impression about him through his adopted son, Aiden. That was all. I mean, it’s not like he—”

  “So ya wigged him the eff out, huh?”

  Renaldo raises his eyebrows, casting a “knowing” look my way.

  “How? I mean, it’s not like I haven’t been upfront about the whole thing from the start. For Godsakes, it’s how we got put in each other’s way in the first place. He needed my help.”

  “Did he really?”

  “Oh, would you stop with the cryptic? Just spit out what you want to say,” I say, frowning.

  “Well, mkay—here’s the thing—and you know this better than anyone, but I’m guessing your emotions are starting to muddy the waters. You freaked him out because he wants to believe you. It’s pretty damn obviously there’s a vibe going between the two of you—and if ya wanted, it might go flammable. But my guess is—as much as he wants to believe you, he sorta doesn’t either. Am I right?”

  I bite the inside of my cheek.

  “My abilities—they don’t work right when I’m around him.”

  Ren shifts in his chair, his mouth popping open.

  “And you’re only telling me now? When did you first learn this?”

  “I don’t know—the first night, I guess. I didn’t know what to make of it. It’s never happened before.”

  “Well, no wonder. The man didn’t really give ya much credit, because you didn’t give him much to go on.”

  Ren shakes his head and shrugs.

  “So this is my fault?”

  “Hell no. Serves him right. You don’t get to be as renowned as you are by telling bullshit.”

  My eyes widen and I smirk.

  “I’m renowned?”

  Ren flicks his hand in the air absently, “As if you didn’t know. Pu-leeze. Well, if you ask me, you have two choices.”

  “I do, do I? And what are they exactly?”

  “You have to decide—does it matter he thought you were full of rainbow farts, or doesn’t it? If it does—and I’m pretty sure it does—then you need to go out there and show that man who’s boss. I mean, you’re Diana Hawthorne, dammit. He’d do well to remember it.”

  He nods his head in final punctuation to his declaration.

  “I think he’s already acquainted—it’s what freaked him out, remember?”

  “Then show him why it matters. Find those men, close the loop on the case you both worked on. I can handle the fort here.”

  “And how do you plan on doing that?”

  My lips flatten into a thin line, and I can’t help but envision Ren throwing a party—frat style—while I’m away.

  “Duh. I’ll have a massive sale with all the goodies we just got in. And I’ll raffle you off on a date,” he says, grinning.

  “Deal. With everything but the date,” I say, standing up and pushing away from my desk.

  “Where are you going?” Ren spins around in his chair as I make for my coat.

  “Following your advice. I’m going to show Blake who’s boss.”

  Chapter 10

  FOR THE LIFE OF ME, I can’t remember the way to Blake’s house. I wasn’t paying enough attention when he was driving—and God knows I can’t use my abilities to locate him. I try tapping into Aiden instead, but the damn kid is in town. All signs are pointing to the college, so that’s a whole helluva lot of no help.

  “C’mon, Diana. There has to be another way—” I say to myself, my hands sliding down my face.

  My eyes widen, and I could smack myself in the face for the stupidity. You don’t realize how much you rely on your abilities until they go on the fritz like this. Deductive reasoning goes out the window when it’s easy to just know something.

  I pick up the green, corded phone in my kitchen and call the store. After a few moments, Ren picks up.

  “Inner Sanctum Books and Gifts, Renaldo speaking. What can I do for you?” he says with his signature lilt in his voice.

  “It’s me. Can you do me a favor?”

  Dropping his “shop” pretenses, he says, “Of course. Have you found Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome yet?”

  “Er—yeah, not yet,” I say, shaking my head. “That’s why I need your help. Do you have a number for Ted and Lacy?”

  “Yeah, I think so. Hang on,” he says, setting the phone down with a thud.

  A scrambling sound erupts on the other end, then a small thump before he picks up.

  “Okay, got it. Ya got a pen or something?”

  “Sure, go ahead,” I say, getting my pen and notepad ready.

  “Alrighty. It’s 273-3593. Hopefully they’ll be able to getcha
hooked up.”

  The double entendre in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed, but I let it slide all the same.

  “Thanks, Ren. I appreciate it. Now, get back to work.”

  “Of course, slave driver. There’s oh, so many people here to contend with now that you’re gone.”

  I can practically hear him roll his eyes.

  “Well, then it’s your job to drive more people into the shop, isn’t it? Get those MyFace ads up and running, would you?”

  Ren’s sigh is thick. “Facebook, dear. Facebook.”

  “Whichever. Pull more people in to the store, kay?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Gonna be harder now without our illustrious psychic. But I’ll do my best. Ciao.”

  He hangs up before I even get the chance to say goodbye.

  Shaking my head, I immediately dial up Ted and Lacy’s number before I lose my nerve.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Lacy?” I ask.

  “Yes. Who’s this?”

  “This is Diana Hawthorne.”

  “Oh—oh, hi, Diana. What can I do for you?” Lacy says, her voice instantly perking up at the sound of my name.

  “Well, a couple of things actually. First—how’s Esther doing? She okay now that she’s been back home?”

  “So far. We’ve been dealing with nightmares, but nothing we can’t handle—thanks to you and Mr. Wilson.”

  “Great, that’s what I was hoping to hear. I mean, not that she’s having nightmares, but that she’s adjusting after such a traumatic ordeal. I hope she continues to get better.”

  “I’m sure she will. We have a great psychiatrist working with all of us.”

  “Good. I’m sure there’s a lot you all need to talk about. Say, the other thing I was wondering about—do you happen to have Blake Wilson’s address or phone number handy? I’d like to get in touch with him, but I don’t seem to have any of his contact details here.”

  “Sure—let me have a quick look. I’m pretty sure it’s in my phone. Can I put you down for a second while I have a quick look?”

  “Absolutely, take your time,” I say, tapping the end of the pen on the notepad in front of me.

  After what feels like eternity, Lacy comes back to the phone.

  “Okay, I have both. His number is 273-4414, and his address is 22341 Wild Rebel Road.”