Society for Paranormals

by Vered Ehsani

  Blood.

  But how could it still be liquid and glowing? That could only be the case if it were fresh. Laying my bow aside, I scooped up a sample in the tube and pushed in a cork stopper.

  Too dark for arrows.

  Slowly, I pushed the index and middle fingernails of the bronze fist atop my walking stick. A wickedly sharp blade slid out the other end. It was my dearest hope that nothing came close enough for me to be able to use the stick that had just turned into a long sword. However, as everyone knows, preparation / paranoia was half the battle. Winning was the other half.

  “Did the man who was attacked last night have a weapon with him by any chance?” I asked.

  Kam eyed me. I tried reading him, but again, all he displayed were his glowing markings; his energy field wasn’t visible, which of course wasn’t possible. All living things had one and Kam appeared very much alive to me. How was he hiding it? And why?

  Thunder rumbled. I glanced overhead but saw only stars.

  “Yes,” he finally spoke. “The man had a panga.”

  I shifted my gaze back to him. “Did he use the machete? To defend himself?”

  A nod.

  “Was he, himself, hurt at all?” I pressed on.

  A shake of the head.

  I mused over the information and could only come to one conclusion. “So one of the lions was injured.” Which meant either the blood had somehow remained fresh and glowing for more than the twelve hours that had elapsed or…

  “They’re here,” I whispered. The moment I said this, I knew it was the truth.

  I stared up at Kam, fully expecting to see my concern mirrored in even an infinitesimal way on his face. Instead, he stared back calmly, knowingly.

  “You knew,” I said, except my voice came out in a strangled sort of way, so that I wasn’t sure if he understood my words. Somehow, he managed for he nodded.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely audible.

  “Sorry?” My grip on my walking stick tightened; the steel blade at the other end glinted slightly, catching bits of the camp’s light on its surface. “Sorry is when you show up ten minutes late for a dinner date. The word seems somewhat inadequate when you make me the dinner.”

  Something coughed loudly in the bushes. I didn’t need a zoology degree to know what it was: a lion’s cough.

  “Too many hunt them,” Kam said as if that could justify the current situation in which I was about to be torn apart by lions.

  “I’m here to help, you simpleton,” I hissed, staring intently into the undergrowth. I squinted. Two large energy fields mingled with the grass and the shrubs. Correction: they were two very large fields, and not entirely normal. But I couldn’t decipher what exactly they were, apart from big, feline, carnivorous, and possibly hungry.

  I gave up on Kam, who wasn’t at all concerned about the two lions stalking us, or rather, me. And why should he be, since he was bringing them dinner? Maybe they were his pets for all I knew.

  Their shimmering energy forms slunk closer. Again, something struck me about them, but I was too distracted by their proximity and my precarious position to observe properly. Of one thing I was certain: these were no ghosts.

  Another cough and the crackle of leaves under a large paw reminded me that now was not the time to solve mysteries. Now was the time for evasive maneuvering. I briefly contemplated my bow but it was a tough shot with the bushes in the way and with little light. I was sure I’d only have time to fire one arrow. I needed at least two. And my blade, while lethal in my hands, would require a certain proximity to the creatures I dearly wished to avoid.

  There was no other option but to bring out the cinnamon.

  I reached into another pocket and pulled out the small purse of powdered cinnamon. Only chocolate ranks as high on the list of useful food items in my estimation. In fact, there are two items I never leave home without, apart from suitable clothes and sensible shoes: my handy, hefty, tool-enhanced walking stick, which conveniently doubles as a club to use on frisky beasts and men (I may have just repeated myself there); and my cinnamon purse.

  I could now see the lions’ eyes glittering in the pale glow of the large camp’s lights. Those eyes were all fixed on me and far too close.

  I shifted slightly so the slight breeze was blowing against my back; there was no point in throwing powdered spice against the wind. I pulled out a small fist of the spice and, with a practiced toss, flung it at the two hungry cats. I didn’t linger to enjoy their unhappy mewling, but turned on my polished boots and ran.

  It’s no shame for a woman to emit a ladylike shriek while running from danger. I find such vocalizations to be a most efficient and effective way to elicit manly assistance in quick order. So I raced toward the main camp, screaming for help in as shrill a voice as I could.

  As anticipated, people of the male persuasion stumbled into view from all corners, magically appearing where there was nobody a few seconds previous. And of all the men who responded to my feminine call for assistance, whom should I literally collide with but that appallingly smug Mr. Timmons.

  He grabbed my shoulders as I bounced off him and quickly removed his hands as I brought my stick into sight. I may have been screaming like a helpless female, but that certainly didn’t mean I was, nor would I let the likes of him believe that of me. He glanced at the blade sticking out of my stick. Before anyone else noticed it, I pushed on the metal fist and the blade slid out of sight.

  “Mrs. Knight,” he said, his eyes a very dark grey. He seemed concerned.

  “Lions,” I gasped to the men circling me.

  A nervous murmuring spread through the growing crowd and several people began shouting questions; others ran off to procure weapons of various sorts. Ignoring my walking stick, which was a foolish thing to do, Mr. Timmons grabbed me by the elbow and waved the people and their questions away with a commanding gesture. He steered me through the masses of sweaty bodies—damn my highly sensitive olfactory senses—and onto the veranda of a small but neatly built wood cabin at the edge of the camp.

  “Please take a seat, Mrs. Knight,” he said in an almost courteous tone as he all but pushed me into a canvas chair. “Your nerves must be shot after such a horrendous experience.”

  I scowled slightly but only slightly, as he was, after all, behaving as any English gentleman ought to behave when confronted with a lady screaming for assistance while being chased by lions. But how it irked me that he of all people should have found me dashing about in such a typically feminine fashion, and not at all like the capable woman who was planning on joining a lion hunt.

  “Thank you for your considerations, Mr. Timmons, but you need not be overly concerned regarding my nerves,” I informed him pertly. “They’re rather robust and recover at an astonishing rate, being accustomed to far fiercer beasts than a pair of...”

  I hesitated, for there was something peculiar about them, and I wondered what Kam had been hiding. They certainly hadn’t been a pair of ghosts. “Lions,” I finally finished the sentence.

  I could tell Mr. Timmons was watching me. In fact, he was studying me, so I returned the favor.

  “What precisely happened?” he asked softly and so sweetly that I was disarmed momentarily. His voice took on a hypnotic quality and his eyes held mine like magnets to iron.

  Be careful.

  I noticed it then: my energy was being gently but firmly drawn to his, bending to its influence.

  Just as firmly, I pulled my energy back, without giving away that I did so consciously. Disappointment flickered briefly around the set of his mouth and then he was all conciliatory smiles and charm.

  “I’m not quite sure,” I said as if answering his question, but I was as equally referring in my own mind to the interaction that had just taken place between us.

  I realized, of course, that manipulating other people’s energy was a power a few humans share with the likes of vampires and similarly persuasive paranormals. Highly charismatic individuals do it wi
thout realizing what the true source of their attraction is, and are unable to explain how they can compel others to join or obey them.

  But this felt different; it was conscious and pre-meditated. And that made him a very dangerous man.

  At this moment, Kam appeared among the crowd. I wrestled with a fleeting temptation to notch an arrow and let it fly into his big head, but was dissuaded by reason and the sight of a young girl trotting by his side. From the look of her, she was a couple years older than Bobby, and just starting to fill out into a woman’s body while clinging to the gangly limbs of youth. Her innocent eyes caught my gaze and she smiled shyly, stepping into Kam’s shadow.

  What a sweet creature, I thought and then wondered at my choice of words.

  I shifted my gaze to meet Kam’s. His eyes, while clearly not innocent, weren’t filled with bloodlust or anything remotely dangerous. Concern was there, but for whom? Me? I doubted that, considering he had all but set the table for the lions. Himself? He wasn’t afraid as he flowed through the hustle and bustle of the still nervous but gradually dissipating crowd.

  Curious, I decided he still might be more useful alive than not, so I left the bow untouched. Besides, I wouldn’t want to accidentally hit the girl as well. I wasn’t in the habit of missing, but you never know.

  “Miss Knight,” he said when he reached the veranda steps, ignoring Mr. Timmons completely. “I was worried I’d lost you.”

  I narrowed my eyes, partly in disbelief and partly to see him better. But still his energy field didn’t appear, only the phosphorescent flow of his markings—the twirls, lines, and abstract shapes shifting over his dark skin. I wondered if they were also under his tattered, faded brown shirt and quickly stopped that line of inquiry.

  “It seems you’ve found me,” I replied carefully.

  Kam inclined his head slightly, his eyes still fixed on me. Something was there—a warning, but about what? Did he really expect me to believe he meant to help me now?

  His eyes flicked briefly toward Mr. Timmons and then back to me.

  I shifted my attention accordingly; I could feel Mr. Timmons tugging at my energy. What was he trying to do? Feed off it? Manipulate my emotions? Control my mind?

  A pox on paranormal men.

  Gideon never behaved like this, alive or dead, at least not to my knowledge. And where was he when I could’ve used his assistance, limited as it was to sarcastic observations and quirky humor?

  “Who’s the girl with you?” I asked.

  The girl in question poked her head around Kam’s arm, her smile reflecting the light from the storm lanterns hanging around Mr. Timmons’ patio. Before I could study her more, Kam shifted in front, blocking my view.

  “My niece,” was all Kam would say.

  “Really,” I said. “You have family. How lovely. Does your niece have a name?”

  Kam muttered something in a beautiful but entirely foreign language and the girl raced away.

  “I see,” I said.

  “My sister needs her home,” Kam said, shrugging off my hint of criticism.

  I gave him a tight smile. “Well, gentlemen, it’s been quite an eventful evening,” I said, extracting myself once again from Mr. Timmons’ hold and Kam’s confusing gaze. “But I must be off now.”

  “Surely you’re not seriously intending to walk back with those lions out there?” Mr. Timmons asked, oozing sincere concern while still seeking my energetic attention.

  The leach.

  “Your concern for my wellbeing is truly touching, Mr. Timmons,” I said as I stepped off his veranda. “But I think I’ll be quite safe if I stick to the road, especially with Kam accompanying me.”

  If Kam was surprised by this indirect invitation to join me, he concealed it well. With one of his enigmatic nods, he shifted to one side to let me pass. I didn’t turn or in any way acknowledge him until we were lost amongst the hubbub of the construction camp and I could no longer hear Mr. Timmons’ protests or feel his energy tug.

  My attention remained on the uneven ground as I said, “I hope you don’t mind if I keep my bow ready? Just in case.”

  “It won’t be needed,” Kam said.

  “Be that as it may, I find its weight rather soothing for my agitated nerves,” I said dryly.

  The main road (a rather generous term for the wide dirt path I stumbled upon) looped around the camp, past the train station, and up the hill toward the new settlement being established, including the Steward’s residence. Dotted along both sides of the road were ramshackle kiosks lit with storm lanterns and selling produce, cooked food, and slabs of mystery meat hanging from rusted hooks and covered in flies. Small piles of neatly stacked vegetables were set up on woven grass mats where women sat and waved me over to inspect their wares in the light of little stubs of candle stuck in the ground.

  While the road was rough and dusty, at least it was busy with people heading home for the evening, and therefore an unlikely place for a lion to attack. Presumably, I was safe, at least for now.

  Only after we’d walked a ways on the main road did I glance at Kam. His stoic expression, his straight back, his confident stride, and his non-existent energy field gave away not a clue as to his real thoughts, feelings, and purpose. Neither did his markings. It was a peculiar sensation, being blind to the inner workings of another person. I don’t know how the rest of humanity tolerates it.

  I cleared my throat. “You may be wondering why I didn’t hand you over to Mr. Timmons or some suitable authority who runs the camp for that nasty trick you pulled.”

  Kam remained silent and impassive, which caused me to scowl, which in turn reminded me of Mrs. Steward. The woman was always warning Lilly and me about scowling, frowning, or performing any other facial expression that caused us to scrunch up our skin.

  “You’ll look old before your time,” she would say with a wag of her finger, “and then who will marry you? Well, not you, Bee, you’re already finished. But you, Lilly, you must always maintain a pleasant expression regardless of the circumstance. No man wants an angry-looking woman around.”

  I smoothed out my face—not that I cared what kind of woman Kam preferred to have around—and continued. “Maybe I should have, if that’s your response.”

  Kam looked down at me and maintained his silence.

  “I’m not here to hunt your lions, you know,” I said firmly, trying to maintain eye contact without tripping over the rough surface. “My job is to learn about them, document, and report.”

  I stumbled over a rock and shifted my gaze forward since I wasn’t seeing much response from my companion and I’d prefer not to break an ankle. That would prove a terrible inconvenience in a place like this.

  “I need your assistance to find them,” I persisted. “Are they only regular lions? Ghosts? I think not. I’ve never met a ghost that actually bleeds.”

  “Have you met a ghost here, Miss Knight?” Kam finally spoke in his rumbling voice.

  “Well, no,” I said, wondering why that should matter. He should be impressed that I’d met ghosts at all. “But I’ve come across plenty of them in England.”

  Kam smiled enigmatically. “They’re not quite the same.”

  “Well, I shouldn’t think the situation too much different from one country to the next,” I said. “People die. Sometimes, their spirits linger, hence the ghosts.”

  Kam shook his head. “It’s different. Ours manifest in their own unique way, just as all those you bring with you have their particular patterns.”

  “What do you mean?” But his words raised the image of all the ghosts I’d ever met following me here. And did that mean Koki, the shape-shifting she-demon, would somehow track me to Nairobi?

  “All the strangers who come here, they bring their own myths and legends with them,” Kam said, uncharacteristically verbose.

  “You mean paranormals from the countries of the settlers are here as well?” I asked, wondering how that could be true but knowing it to be.

  “Yes, s
ome of them,” he said, unconcerned that his country was being colonized not only with Europeans but with their ghosts and ghouls.

  Into the silence, images of creatures I thought I’d left behind flittered through my mind. The English didn’t bother me too much; I knew how to handle them. But what if Koki dragged her giant, Praying Mantis corpse here? And what about all the beasties from India?

  I shuddered, reflecting on the numerous Indians brought to East Africa to work on the railway. If Kam was right—and I saw no reason to doubt him—there was a chance I’d meet up with some rather displeased legends from a few countries. And here I’d been thinking I’d left them all behind.

  Silly me.

  After a moment of unhappy contemplation, Kam interrupted the silence. “Is Mr. Timmons your friend?”

  I snorted. “Hardly. But I don’t see what that has to do with anything, and ghosts are ghosts, regardless of their nationality.”

  “Be careful,” he said. “Things are not the same here. Neither are people.”

  “Clearly,” I said, irritated by the man’s incomplete answers, which only pointed to more questions.

  I stared at him but he gazed ahead, far ahead as if watching an altogether different scene. “You’ve never met a being like Mr. Timmons,” he said finally and the timbre of his voice indicated a warning.

  “I’ve never met one like you either,” I retorted, “and yet here we are.” I wondered why I responded in this manner, for it sounded as if I were defending Mr. Timmons and that simply wouldn’t do. “What do you mean by that?” I added in a more conciliatory tone.

  Kam cocked his head to the side, perhaps debating how much to tell me. “He wants the lions for his own reasons.”

  “What reasons?” I asked, amazed and confused by the strange turn in the conversation.

  Kam peered up at the sky. “Reasons that aren’t good.”

  How exasperating, I thought as I barely avoided a pile of elephant dung. Even though the road was relatively busy, the elephant herds had no hesitation in crossing it at their pleasure, knocking over kiosks and squashing people’s produce.

  As I dodged a donkey loaded with a stack of wood bigger than the beast carrying it, I broke the silence between us. “Regardless of Mr. Timmons’ motivations, I assure you I’m not trying to do any harm. Do you believe me?”