Supernatural Bonds: Trace's Psychic

by Jory Strong

  Trace half-turned, trying to avoid seeing the smirks both Conner and Dylan were wearing. “Don’t go near your apartment and the shop,” he ordered, even though she’d promised earlier that she wouldn’t go anywhere there might be reporters stationed.

  “I’ll stay away.”

  “All right. This is going to tie us up for a while. Don’t wait up for me.”

  “Okay.” Warmth seeped into every corner of Aislinn’s heart at his casual acknowledgement that he wanted her to be in his home, in his bed at the end of the day.

  “He order you to go back to his house?” Sophie asked as Aislinn handed the phone back.

  “No.”

  Sophie let out a sigh. “I know it sounds terrible, but I’m glad it was this psychic and not somebody like Madame Fontaine.” Chewing on her bottom lip, Sophie added, “You know her, right? She likes to use the runes. Her house is close to here.”

  Aislinn nodded. “Ilsa and Moki are friends.”

  “The way the reporters were talking, it sounds like Madame Ava was killed by the same guy who killed Patrick. It sounds kind of weird, but do you think maybe the guy is kidnapping kids, then killing any psychic who tries to help the parents? Or do you think maybe it’s just coincidence, and seeing the psychics get the credit and publicity for finding the kids somehow sets the killer off?”

  Aislinn shook her head, unable to hold back a smile. Sophie missed her calling. She should be on the police force, or at least a private investigator. Crime and criminals fascinated her. “I don’t know. What does Storm say?”

  “Humph. Nothing. She hasn’t called me back. She may still be out of town. Anyway, at least there’s no connection between this psychic and you. That makes me feel a lot better. Finding out that the killer took the dragon crystals you made for Patrick really freaked me out,” Sophie said as she pulled the car off to the side of the road near her favorite beach spot.

  Aislinn got out immediately but Sophie lingered behind. Did she really want to do this? Did she really want to go through with this and accept the heartmate necklace that Aislinn had created for her? Aislinn would understand if she backed out. She wouldn’t resent the fact that she’d spent hours creating the necklace for Sophie.

  Sophie wiped her palms on her shorts and tried to calm her rapid heartbeat. She was curious about the necklace. She’d handled the crystal but Aislinn hadn’t let her see the finished product. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what it might look like. She shivered, remembering how the crystal had warmed in her hand to the point it almost burned. When she’d said as much to Aislinn, her friend had smiled and said, “It’s responding to you. I hoped it would, but I wasn’t sure.”

  “Maybe we should test it out on you first,” Sophie joked. “You could make yourself a necklace and see if Trace is right for you. Then if he is, you could pass the crystal on to me.”

  Aislinn said, “When I left my mother’s home, one of her servants gave me this crystal, but it never responded to me.”

  Thinking about it now, Sophie felt a small stab of pain for Aislinn. The few times Aislinn had mentioned her mother, there’d always been a sense of separateness, of rejection. Sophie’s heart ached and she prayed that Trace wasn’t going to hurt Aislinn. God knows, getting dumped was no fun. Sophie had plenty of firsthand experience at that. She got out of the car and walked down to where Aislinn stood.

  “Ready?” Aislinn asked.

  Sophie took a deep breath and let the sound and sight of the ocean fill her senses. Who was she kidding? Yeah. She was ready. Ready to stop getting her heart broken. Ready to find someone who could really love all of her, not just what they saw on the outside. “What do I have to do?”

  “Walk out into the surf. When your mind is clear and open, dip the crystal into the ocean, then put it on.”

  “Shouldn’t I visualize Mr. Perfect while I’m out there?” Sophie joked as Aislinn pulled a small cloth bag with strange symbols on it from her pocket.

  “What’s in your heart is already known.” Aislinn handed the bag to Sophie. “When you’re ready, take the necklace out. I’ll go for a walk along the beach.”

  Sophie looked down at the bag. Was it her imagination, or did she feel the stone warming up? Her heart rate leaped. She’d been fascinated by all things magic since she was a kid, but until she’d wandered into Inner Magick and met Aislinn, she’d never really believed that she’d experience true magic. She’d never really believed that she’d actually possess something magical.

  Nodding to herself, fully accepting what she was about to do, Sophie turned toward the ocean, only to jump at the sound of her cell phone. Damn! Thank god it had happened now. It’d be just her luck that some telemarketer would call at the moment she was dipping the necklace into the water.

  Without looking at the phone, she pulled it off her belt and handed it to Aislinn with a small, nervous laugh. “It’s probably Trace, checking to make sure you’re where you’re supposed to be.”

  Aislinn checked the number on the display and lifted the phone to answer it. Thinking she was right about the identity of the caller, Sophie turned and walked into the warm surf.

  * * * * *

  “Your publisher mentioned that you’re just about finished with a second book,” Storm said as sat down on a tattered sofa and looked around at the dingy apartment. Obviously being a psychic investigator didn’t pay very well.

  “Yes. I am.”

  “Did you discover any true psychics?”

  “A few had potential.”

  When he didn’t expound on the comment, Storm forced air out of her lungs. This was going to be like pulling teeth. Damn. She’d imagined that the author of Tales of a Psychic Investigator would be a hell of a lot more interesting than he was turning out to be. His book had been fascinating, which had surprised her. In fact, she was going to risk talking to the Captain about it. It would make a great manual for recognizing and trapping psychic con artists, since the majority of the cases Lucca had written about involved fakes.

  She probably could have handled this over the telephone, but she’d listened to her gut, which insisted that she needed to talk to him in person. She’d been so sure that this lead would go somewhere.

  Aislinn had said that Patrick handled Lucca’s book before he was murdered, that he’d been excited. Storm grimaced and admitted that she’d let her imagination get carried away. She’d pictured herself dropping the macho murder squad egos down a couple of notches by making the bust based on Aislinn’s psychic ability. As a result, she’d chewed up the day driving here and even told the Captain that she’d eat the cost of the trip. So she might as well make the most of it.

  “Have you done any work involving psychics who could find missing people?” she asked.

  “Some.” Lucca leaned forward in what was probably his version of excitement. “Hard to verify of course. Most of the so-called psychics say they need to speak to family members or have them present. There’s almost always some exchange of information and that increases the odds of the psychic picking up nuances and being ‘right’. That and the fact that the psychic will usually provide a vague or generalized location, making it easy for someone to think the psychic was correct if the missing person is later found.”

  Storm relaxed somewhat. Apparently once Lucca got warmed up, he was willing to talk. “Have you ever encountered a situation where the psychic had no contact at all with the family, but was able to touch something and locate a missing person?”

  Lucca frowned. “Yes, but it’s rare. There was an old woman in West Virginia who seemed to have this ability. There was another in Texas. And a young woman in Montana. But there were limitations. In fact, all three had limitations.”

  “What kind of limitations?”

  “The missing person had to be in distress and want to be found.”

  Storm’s pulse did a little jump. Aislinn’s talent was the same. “You didn’t include them in your book. How come?”

  Something flashed in Lucca’s e
yes. Irritation? Anger? Embarrassment? Storm couldn’t be sure. She pressed him for an answer. “I’d think it’d be important for people to know that some of the psychics claiming to be able to find kidnapped or missing people are the real thing.”

  Lucca’s back stiffened. “Unfortunately, these women never made claims that they had this ability, so I never challenged them directly. I learned about them incidentally, as I was investigating other psychics.”

  “But I thought you said that you believed they were the real deal. That was one of the things I loved about your book. It’s obvious that you’re part scientist, part detective, that you look for clues and evidence and don’t accept just word-of-mouth testimonials,” Storm said, hoping to coax him out of his defensiveness and get him to open up again.

  “Yes. You’re quite right. Exposing psychic frauds has been an obsession of mine since childhood.” Lucca seemed to relax somewhat. “I took up residence near each of these women, then waited for someone to go missing. It’s a strategy I’ve used before, though it doesn’t always work. It depends on whether or not I’m able to make friends with the subject or with someone in the police department so that I have access when something goes wrong.”

  “How long did you have to wait?” Storm asked, fascinated and reappraising her opinion of D. L. Lucca.

  “Altogether it took two and a half years, though I was able to leave on short ‘business trips’ and investigate other psychic phenomenon.” His eyes sought a framed photograph that sat on top of a stuffed bookcase. His shoulders slumped marginally and he muttered more to himself than to Storm, “It took so much longer than I thought it would and after the first discovery I couldn’t let it drop. I should have.” Lucca’s voice trailed off.

  Storm studied the photo of the woman and child and read between the lines. Lucca’s long absences had probably cost him his marriage. “I still don’t understand why you didn’t include them in your book.”

  Lucca seemed to roll in on himself just a little bit more. Defeated? Embarrassed? Storm couldn’t tell. Lucca answered her question. “A newspaper reporter caught wind of the investigation and printed a piece about the first woman—the old woman in West Virginia. It got picked up by the Associated Press and reprinted. Overnight the psychic packed up her belongings and left town. There was absolutely no trace of where she’d gone.

  “A similar thing happened with the second woman. And the third …” his gaze once again flickered to the picture of the woman and child. “We became friends. When she learned who I was and what I did, she begged me not to draw any attention to her. She said she’d be forced to leave if her face began appearing in the news.” Lucca shrugged. “I was going through some turbulence in my personal life at the time and I let that influence me. I promised that I wouldn’t include her in any of my articles or books.”

  Storm smiled in encouragement. “That was another thing I really liked about your work, that you were prepared to ‘prove’ your conclusions by posting your working notes on the website for your book.”

  Lucca’s spirits appeared to lift with her complement and Storm felt herself softening further toward the intense man sitting in this neglected apartment. As much as she loved her job and wanted to be the best cop she could be, she didn’t want to end up like him, alone.

  Shaking off her momentary melancholy, Storm tried to concentrate on the reason she was here. Pieces of information swirled, their patterns not quite coming into focus. But rather than try to force the pattern into taking on a shape, she returned to asking questions. “When I spoke with you earlier, you said that you hadn’t had any contact with Patrick Dean. I guess you’ve probably heard about the second murder, Madame Ava. Did you ever have any contact with her?”

  “No.” Lucca actually grimaced. “In my early days I studied and exposed so-called psychics like Madame Ava, but they’re so obviously fake that I don’t waste my time on them any longer.”

  “But you’re sure you never had any contact with Dean?”

  “Yes.”

  Storm paused for a moment before opening the large envelope she’d brought with her and pulling out the copy of Lucca’s book that had been found in Dean’s desk drawer. “Dean had this in his possession.” She flipped the front cover open to expose the autograph on the title page. It was a simple signature with no note to personalize it.

  Lucca didn’t flinch or look uneasy by the revelation. He didn’t race in with explanations or defenses, but waited for Storm to say something. She finally said, “Any thoughts on how Dean got this?”

  “It could have been anywhere. The book has been out for several years. When it was first published I did a book tour and signed any number of books.”

  Storm hadn’t really expected any great revelations, but she’d hoped, given how strongly Aislinn’s claim had been that the book was important to Patrick. She pulled out a photograph that Sophie had given her and handed it to Lucca. When he stiffened she had to keep herself from pouncing. “You’re positive that you don’t know Dean?”

  Lucca acted as though he couldn’t take his eyes off of the picture. “Positive. Who’s the woman?” There was a thread of excitement in his voice now, one that hadn’t been there before. Storm’s heart stilled for several beats. “Do you know her?”

  “No. No.” Lucca tore his gaze away from the photograph. “Those women we spoke about earlier, their features were similar to this woman’s—delicate. And each of them wore elaborate earrings with crystals embedded in them, just like the woman in this picture.”

  It was Storm’s turn to lean forward. “Were the women related?”

  “I don’t know. When I learned about the second woman, I tried to investigate her background but couldn’t find any record of her parents. The same was true with the third woman, though she told me that her mother was deceased and her father remarried. I could never get her to say much about her father. I think there was some conflict with the new wife.” Lucca pinned Storm with an intense stare. “The woman in this picture is psychic, isn’t she?”

  Storm was torn between her normal caution at sharing case information and her gut belief that Lucca might have important information that would help solve the case. “Yes, I think she is,” Storm admitted. “Did the other women create charms and statues using crystal?”

  “The third woman, the one I became friendly with, created something called heartmate necklaces.” Lucca actually blushed as the words passed his lips. “I didn’t investigate that aspect of her abilities. Crystals and the like have not been an interest of mine. It’s too difficult to separate the power of suggestion and a person’s belief in something with true psychic phenomenon.”

  “What about the other two women?”

  “I wasn’t able to get close to them. There was some indication that the older woman in West Virginia was a healer. The second one may have had an auxiliary ‘power’ for lack of a better word, but I don’t have any knowledge of it.”

  When Lucca’s gaze dropped back down to the photograph, Storm decided to take a risk. “I did a consultation with her since she knew Dean. She was the one who called attention to your book. She said that it was important to Patrick, that he was handling it before he died and he was excited about it.”

  Lucca’s eyebrows drew together. “I’ll check my notes and my records, but I don’t know what the significance of my book would be. As I said, it’s been out several years.”

  “Well, thank you for your time.”

  “You’re more than welcome. Please call if you have any additional questions.”

  They rose and walked to the door. On a whim Storm asked, “The other women you mentioned, did any of them have family?”

  “Only the older woman. She was married to a trucker. In fact that’s how I stumbled upon her. I was visiting with the local sheriff when she called, frantic because her husband had gone off the road and was trapped in his truck. She was over an hour’s drive from the scene, but she pinpointed it for the sheriff. He called for assistance and
drove away—based just on that phone call—no evidence, nothing, he just took it at face value and left. I questioned his receptionist. She told me about the woman’s ability to not only find missing people, but to know where her husband was. They’d been married at least fifty years. The receptionist claimed that they didn’t even need to talk out loud any more, that what one of them knew, the other one knew. She said she’d talked to the old woman about it once and been told that it was common with ‘her kind of folk’ once they found their heartmate—that’s what the old woman called her husband, her heartmate.” He shook his head. “Unfortunately I wasn’t able to verify the information firsthand. But without exception, everyone who had contact with either the husband or the wife, claimed that it was true—there was a psychic link between the two of them.”

  * * * * *

  Aislinn looked at the number displayed on Sophie’s cell phone with a mixture of dread and heart-pounding acceptance. She was glad that Sophie hadn’t checked to see who was calling. If she had, then the opportunity to accept the heartmate necklace would have passed, and more importantly, Sophie would have been drawn deeper into whatever game Patrick’s killer was playing.

  As she watched Sophie step into the surf, Aislinn answered the phone. At the other end of the line there was only the briefest pause, then a slightly husky chuckle before Madame Fontaine said, “Child, I’ve been trying to find you. You’re needed. This missing boy is in greater danger than the last one was.”

  Fear rippled through Aislinn, not just for herself and the kidnapped boy, but for Ilsa Fontaine. “I’ll help, but only if you promise to leave town immediately,” Aislinn bluffed, unable to bear the thought of having Ilsa murdered as Patrick had been.

  “Yes, I’ll leave.”

  “Do you have something that belongs to the child?”

  “Not yet. The mother only just called. One of my clients gave her my name.”

  Aislinn’s heartbeat tripled in her chest. “Don’t let her come to your house.”