Paranormally Yours: A Boxed Set

by Alisha Basso

  “Crap.”

  “Right? I don’t get it. The numbers clearly show—”

  “Wenkermann was a combat wizard.” Mervyn shrugged his bag’s strap into a different position. “They’re all about the physical.”

  “Yeah, well, by the time it gets physical, it’ll be too late.”

  He shuddered. “The nightmare gods.”

  Think of your worst nightmare. Remember the sheer terror? Quivering, small, helpless, alone and without hope? Trying to run but mired in mud, horror like icicles stabbing your entire body?

  Now imagine you can never wake up.

  Not your textbook Armageddon. Not even the end of humanity—we wouldn’t die, or at least not immediately. We’d only wish we had.

  Mervyn grimaced. “Did you tell him we tried the seeker incantation?”

  “I didn’t even get that far.”

  Mervyn grimaced. “I guess I should stay, for moral support.” He adjusted the bag again. “I can’t add much to your power but…yeah, I should stay. My wife will have to pick up the kid’s medicine. And sit with him tonight. She was up all last night but—”

  “No, never mind.” I put a hand on his parka sleeve, touching clumps of overwashed down. “I’ll find another way to deal. You get your kid’s medicine. Stay with him. I’ll figure it out.”

  “You sure?”

  “Absolutely. Go home, Mervyn.” Besides being my friend, wizards took an oath to Make Positive Karma. Keeping Mervyn here when his family needed him would have been a ding on both friendship and our karmic accounts. “Either I’ll find a solution or I won’t. And if I don’t, well…” I swallowed. “You’ll want to be with your family.”

  His jaw worked. “Dammit, I was sure Wenkermann would come through for us.”

  Me too, but he hadn’t. “Mervyn, go. Your family needs you. Besides, you’re not that far away, and I have my cell phone.” I reached into the elevator and hit the door close button. “I’ll call if I need help.”

  “You’d better.”

  As the doors slid shut, I released a long breath. Half an hour ago this had all seemed so simple. Show the Chief proof and let him handle it. Now what?

  I started to push “down” to head for my cube then decided instead to use the stairs. The physical exertion would cost me, but that was better than empty worry time salted with bad elevator music.

  Amaia. You’re agitated. Do you have need of me now?

  Oh, that deep, dark voice. Sexy. Strong. Hearing Rafe made me both happier and hotter. The older I got, the more defined my angel’s image became, his face more chiseled, his body more honed…but I needed to stay focused. It was hard enough to achieve a trance without lust getting in the way.

  I snorted. Lust, for a figment of my imagination. I reeeelly needed to date more. Something to put on next year’s calendar, assuming there was one.

  On the first floor I paused to regain my breath before heading for my small corner of Research. I passed Wenkermann’s office, glassed-in with a teak desk, ergonomic leather chair and razor-slim laptop as I motored to my cubicle, five-foot cloth-covered partitions boxing in a plastic chair, a counter-top desk, and a behemoth of a computer that I used as a foot warmer. I’d bought my own laptop to work. Pay grades. Gotta love ’em.

  Ah, box-sweet-box. I flopped into my chair and shut my eyes to settle my brain.

  Amaia? You didn’t answer me. Do you want me?

  And wasn’t that a loaded question? “Not yet, Rafe.” But tonight, after the crisis had passed, I’d sink into a hot tub of bubbles with a glass of champagne and imagine that deep voice caressing me, those hot eyes… dammit, focus.

  I had to believe I could solve this thing.

  I descended to my calm center. There, I wrote “What do I do now?” on a mental slip of paper, put it in a thought balloon, and floated it into the ethereal, where humanity’s pooled intellect could address it.

  The answer floated back. Any plan is better made with help.

  Good deal. I opened my eyes. So, talk with another wizard.

  An adept? No, they weren’t trained to plot strategy. A colleague? I’d have to convince them first—the Doom was against “stated project policy” and the Chief got cranky when his instructions weren’t followed To The Letter.

  My old college buddies. Yes.

  Besides, if things did go pear-shaped, I wanted a chance to say goodbye.

  The great thing about real friends is that you can instantly connect, even across dozens of years or thousands of miles. I thumbed through my phone contacts to the picture of a red-haired pixie, my BFF Esther. I smiled to myself and pressed talk.

  She answered before it even rang. “Amaia! My bestest of best friend bitches. What’s the capital of Toronto?”

  “Toronto is a capital, of Ontario. Are you drunk?”

  “As a stunk skunk. I’m losing my ass at “Do You Know It”, the shots version. Sophie and the rest say hi.”

  Over the wire, as if a wall separated us instead of a continent, came a chorus of “Hi, Amaia!”

  Happiness and homesickness collided inside me, thickening my throat. My old flatmates were partying, just like when we’d shared a three-bedroom. I’d always leave early, to study or meditate, focused on becoming a full wizard. I thought I’d have more time for my friends later.

  Now I had no later.

  Grief stabbed me so hard I gasped. Physical pain, even from surgery or chemo, is simple compared to regret. I thumbed stinging eyes. One of these days I’d have to tell them about the cancer. “So Liv’s there too? And Em, and do-re-Mia?”

  “Yup. We’re all here. You’re here too, in absten…absentia. Super Amaia Bear is sitting in. Well, it’s a teddy bear with a cape. It’s you though. Always wanting to save the world, that’s our Ammy-maia.”

  “You guys are the best.” I blinked hard. “You know I love you all.”

  “Love you too. ’Specially for the tip on Toronto. Hey, Sophie, it’s the capital of Ontario. I got it right so you gotta drink.”

  My lips trembled in a smile as I ended the call. No chatting about karmic physics tonight but just connecting with my friends made me feel stronger.

  I missed that closeness, missed them. My smile faded. I scrubbed briefly at my eyes. We’d always been there for each other.

  I am here for you too, Amaia. Tell me what troubles you so. Rafe’s words purred along my nerves, soothing them, even as the deep timber of his voice zinged through my belly. Like rich coffee, comforting, but with a bite to set your heart racing.

  If only he were real. His fingers, kneading my tight muscles, would be every bit as soothing—his hands, caressing my body, doubly arousing.

  I shook myself. Bubble bath and champagne after Armageddon. “The world is falling into panic, Rafe. Headed for destruction. I want to help but…but I don’t know what to do.” I looked down at my chest. No S had miraculously appeared. Just as well. If I really had a cape, I’d probably only trip on it and accidentally strangle myself.

  You’re worried you won’t find the solution in time.

  He’d voiced my fears. As a manifestation of my subconscious, he was me, so of course he’d know, but somehow he made me feel safe and cared for anyway.

  “The Chief has frozen me out. I’m out of ideas and almost out of time.”

  Relax, he said. Meditate. We’ll solve this together.

  Yes. Rafe had never let me down. I leaned back in my chair and stared at my tattoo, preparing to access my personal well of magic. I settled into my calm place—

  “What the hell did you do to Wenkermann? He’s madder than a homicidal badger.”

  My eyes flew open. Blocking my cubicle opening was a drinking straw of a guy with a flop of yellow hair, oversized yellow tennies, and a super-skinny MIB suit. A chunky silver necklace fell just below the dress-for-success dimple in his tie.

  Dennis Long was one of our work-study students, half-trained and cocky. Annoying enough, but what made him personally irritating was that he was doing his
master’s thesis on—get this—my parents. He was always hounding me to share my most intimate family secrets, giving nice innocent stalkers a bad name.

  “Wenkermann didn’t like what I showed him.” I jerked a thumb at my laptop.

  My spreadsheet was still up on the screen. I’d tied in an Internet webcrawler that harvested the public hysteria level. I hit update, in case there’d been changes.

  Yup. Still arrowed toward oh-crap.

  “Is that a panic epidemic?” Dennis cocked his head. “Looks serious.”

  My estimation of the kid went up. “It’s escalated beyond what adepts can handle. But not beyond a team of full wizards.”

  “Or a pair of wizards with the right karmic counterweight. Your father wrote that.” He cleared his throat. “‘As Archimedes moved the world with a long-enough lever, the proper spells are essential to the well-equipped combat wizard.’ Applied Karmic Physics, tenth edition.”

  “I know.” The accompanying picture showed Earth on one end of a seesaw, and Archimedes on the other, jumping like a deranged kangaroo. I’d read all my parents’ books, trying to be closer to them. Like them.

  Before I knew what that really meant.

  “Your father and mother were great combat wizards.” Dennis’s eyes glowed. “Maybe the greatest.”

  My smile died. I loved my parents, but I didn’t love the legacy they’d left.

  “We could copy them.” His glow took on a fanatical edge. “You and me.”

  I was already shaking my head. “Dennis—”

  “The predicted California quakes in ’88.” He overrode me in his excitement. “The Montreal catastrophe and the India thing that wasn’t even on the radar. Your parents stopped them all. They were the greatest—”

  “Don’t.”

  “—Venus wizards who ever lived. Heroes.” His gaze burned.

  “Venus magic.” I clenched my fingers. “A nice name for fucking like bunnies.”

  “How can you say that? It’s powerful, beautiful. Sex magic is a karmic act second only to self-sacrifice in positive power.”

  “But after the sex is over…” I shook my head. “Don’t get me started.”

  He leaned forward, glow dying and brows tightened into an angry V. “Don’t get you started? I’ve been trying to get you started since I came here. Begged you to tell me about growing up with them. What was it like, being the child of the greatest Venus wizards ever. You’d never tell me!”

  “You really want to know?” I leaned forward too. He’d studied them closer than anyone. Didn’t he know? Hadn’t he even guessed?

  Clawing tigers, bound together by sex. Bloody and exhausted but unable to escape their greatness.

  It wasn’t until Esther and the rest took me in and showed me, that I knew what family really was. Great sex didn’t equal great love.

  Maybe my relationship with my parents would have healed in time. But their numbers had come up even before mine.

  I hadn’t been able to save them.

  Dammit. I flung the memory away.

  Amaia? What’s wrong? Rafe’s deep voice hauled me back from the edge.

  I brutally buried my feelings, reined in the bitterness and managed to give Dennis what he wanted to hear. “Of course you’re right. My parents used Venus magic like virtuosos. They made miracles happen. They averted worldwide disasters with their sex.” And hated each other the rest of the time, tied helplessly by the passion they had only with each other. Okay, I didn’t totally bury the issues, but at least I didn’t spew them. That counts for something, right?

  “We can do that too, you and I.” Dennis came into the cubical and bent to cup my face, his eyes glittering as his anger morphed into emotions just as hot and far more dangerous. “I’ve studied their technique. With you, their daughter, we can’t fail.”

  I jerked my head, trying to pull away. “Dennis, no.”

  “But we can do it. Pump out positive energy to offset that panic. We can be magical heroes!” He bent to kiss me.

  I managed to turned my face. His lips skidded along my cheek.

  “I said no.” I peeled his hands off me, keyed my laptop’s lockdown, and rose. “Venus magic has a price—a heavy one. It’s not worth it, especially not when there are other avenues to try first. Excuse me.” I headed out of my cube.

  “Where are you going?”

  I turned. World ending, Chief in denial, friends busy with the important task of being with each other, and a crazy kid wanting to ape my crazier folks. Time to consult Rafe. “To clear my head.”

  Chapter Three

  I’m dying of mesothelioma. I don’t know when I was exposed to asbestos, but as I’m only twenty-four it must have been early on. Maybe when I was an adventurous toddler climbing into everything. When I first found out in August, I tried to magic it away, but it turns out that eye of newt and blood of bat is not that good a remedy, so it was down to chemo for me.

  Sometimes a terminal illness clarifies your thinking. Most times it’s a low-level wrongness at the back of your brain, a hamster wheel of dying, dying. A distracting sword of Damocles, an ever-present doom that spurs a fight or flight that you can never beat or outrun.

  I don’t like to think about it because I know it’ll take over my head. So I don’t. It’s not running away, not really. It’s practical avoidance. When it gets too bad to even avoid, I deal with it through meditation.

  I’ve been meditating a lot lately.

  The Center has soundproofed meditation/napping rooms on the fifth floor. They’re like dorm rooms with daybed, desk and comfy chair. The workload makes it impossible to get ahead without pulling a few all-nighters. While it’s nice of the government to provide a place to crash, I’d be more impressed if the rooms were cleaned more often than once a month—and far happier if I didn’t know how the night shift used the beds. I usually bring my own clean sheets.

  Since I was only meditating tonight, I didn’t worry about the stains on the comforter. I picked a room at random, went in, pulled a pillow off the daybed, and sniffed. When I wasn’t nasally KO’d, I went ahead and locked the door.

  I tossed the pillow to the floor, aiming for the spot just under the miniblinds and hitting it square. Sitting crossed-legged on the pillow, I rested arms on knees, straightened my spine, and breathed deeply. Nowadays that hurt, but eventually the pain receded. Not complaining, mind you. I haven’t reached the oxygen-tank stage and I’m still a contributing member of society. ’Sall good.

  Focusing on the silver ribbon in, blue ribbon out, I used breathing to descend from the chaos of the physical to the quiet of the mental. I could use my tattoo to instantly find my place of peace, but if I had time I preferred the routine of the breath.

  The breath routine might get a little harder with an oxygen tank, a dry voice said in my mind.

  “Says the figment of my imagination.” Mentally I turned.

  Gliding smoothly toward me through the deep stillness of my psychic landscape was the hazy figure of a tall, broad-shouldered man.

  I smiled. “Hello, Rafe.”

  Greetings, Amaia. As he neared, the haze resolved into a lithe, powerful body, a stern face with straight nose, black slash brows, high, honed cheekbones—and two glowing black-diamond eyes.

  My guardian angel. My friend too, his deep voice always reassuring, his advice solid and good.

  Tonight his glittering ancient eyes rattled me, but the hot quivering in my belly said it wasn’t fear. Then again, thanks to Dennis, I had Venus magic on the brain. “Are you here to help me with my problem?”

  As always.

  The tension I was carrying eased. My guardian angel probably wasn’t real, but he felt real. He was logical and cool, even when I was hyperventilating, coming through for me in times of crisis, like now. “You know what’s at stake?”

  The fate of the world. He spread his fine hands. You must summon a jinni.

  When I’m in meditation, my emotions are glass-lake still. But that actually shocked me. “We
nkermann said no.”

  And you always listen to Wenkermann? The dry tone was back.

  “You know I don’t. But in this case, he’s right. Jinn are dangerous.”

  Nightmare gods are more so. Rafe’s diamond eyes flashed.

  “Yes, but… Calling a jinni is a last resort. The right spell—”

  It’s gone beyond that.

  “No it hasn’t, not for another hour or more.” Since Rafe was really me, and I knew Wenkermann was right, I hadn’t expected Rafe to argue in favor of calling a jinni. That was desperate and insane.

  So why was he encouraging me to do just that? If he was an aspect of myself I was seriously screwed up.

  I said, “We still have time. If I get enough wizards helping, I don’t even need the perfect spell. A simple Calm, backed by enough power, might work. Calm brought down the Berlin wall.”

  Rafe crossed his arms, muscles bunching in a way that called my attention to the fact that his chest was larger and more well-developed than the average man’s. Well, if you have to have an imaginary guardian angel, might as well make him good, right?

  The breaching of the Wall was the result of dozens of magi radiating Calm for a score of years, aided by the hopes of the mundane.

  “Yeah, but—”

  You are attempting to counter the belief of billions in scant hours. Even if you had the proper spell, you’d need to gather your team while evading Wenkermann’s notice. It would take time you can’t afford. You must not waste a single precious minute. Each moment’s delay will make it harder for the jinni once you do call him.

  Meaning another pound of flesh for every second I waited. “But Rafe—I don’t know how to call. And even if I knew, Wenkermann has forbidden anyone to assist. Jinn take their pound of flesh, and I’d take the entire hit.” I swallowed the hard truth. “It might kill me.”

  Not you, us. His eyes blazed. So let us make our deaths mean something.

  “Die a hero?” That resonated for me with such power that I nearly shouted yes.

  But I wasn’t my parents. Not as flamboyant, not anywhere near as brave. I was a practical research wizard. “We have time yet,” I repeated. “What about a neutralization spell? I can chart it in real time if you help me.”