Mind Games

by Christine Amsden

  It didn’t disappoint. I think I moaned into his mouth as heat seared through my veins, running down arms and legs, and pooling somewhere low in my abdomen. There was a flutter, a moment of joyful pain, and then the explosion.

  We fell to the sofa, him slightly on top, me too intoxicated to care. He continued to kiss me everywhere he could reach – ears, throat, hands, and even the inside of my elbows, which I found I liked quite a bit. He devoured me with hands as well, touching me as if his life depended upon it. Or as if he might never get the chance again.

  Under the influence of the kiss, I allowed it. I would have allowed anything, though he stopped where my clothing began. More or less. After a while, he slowed, forcing himself to ease away by small degrees. Finally, the two of us simply lay together, my head on his chest, his heart pounding in my ear.

  Sense returned, but to my dismay, the anger did not. Or at least, not to the same degree. I should have felt angrier with him after he took advantage of me like that, but I only felt a stinging sensation behind my eyes that I desperately tried to blink away.

  “Why did you do that?” I shouldn’t have asked, not when I knew my defenses were down.

  “You told me you were dating a mind mage. I hoped it might shock some sense into you.”

  That’s what it had been about? And there I was, foolishly thinking that maybe he still wanted me.

  “Get. Out.” I drew away from him, not letting him see my face, one finger aimed at the door. To my surprise, he actually listened.

  With Evan gone I had no reason to hold back the tears, but I found I no longer needed to shed them. Instead, I reached for the phone, seeking out a friendly voice.

  Matthew answered on the first ring. “Hello?”

  “Can you read minds over the phone?” I asked.

  He laughed. “No, but please don’t tell me that means you want to get to know one another that way.”

  “No. I was just… Evan stopped by tonight.”

  The laughter died. “What did he do?”

  “Nothing, really. He just messed me up. I thought he was out of my life.”

  “Cassie, that man is dangerous. I’ll try to protect you from him, but only if you tell me the truth.”

  “He kissed me,” I said, in barely a whisper.

  Matthew cursed. “Do you want me to come over?”

  “No, not tonight. I just… wanted to hear your voice.”

  “Of course. Anytime. Why don’t you tell me about your day?”

  See, I thought defiantly, I could say no to him. If anyone was trying to mess with my mind, it was Evan Blackwood.

  6

  ANGIE MUELLER HADN’T SPOKEN TO ME since June, when I’d killed her boyfriend. He was a vampire. Not that she believed me. She and I had always had an on again, off again friendship. She had been among my childhood tormentors, but transformed into a decent human being during high school. We both joined the cheerleading squad in the ninth grade, managing bare civility until the day of the infamous cheerleading bus incident in the tenth grade. I had handed out crosses and other symbols of protection to the entire squad that morning and somehow, we had all survived unscathed when a semi crossed the median and hit us head on at speeds upwards of sixty miles per hour.

  The next day, Angie went out of her way to speak to me. “My parents are the ones who told me to stay away from you,” she confided. “I always thought you were nice.”

  Warily, because I didn’t know how far to trust her, I asked about her church. “They seem pretty hateful.”

  Angie frowned and quickly checked to make sure we couldn’t be overheard. “They told me to quit the squad. They blamed you for the bus wreck.”

  My mouth fell open a fraction. “Really?”

  “I told them about the crosses, but they wouldn’t listen. They’re afraid you and I are going to become friends unless I quit the squad and that I’ll become a witch.” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t even believe in magic.”

  “Y-you don’t?” That took me by surprise. There were people in town who turned a blind eye to the supernatural, but I’d always thought of Angie as one of those who considered it demonic in nature.

  “No, I don’t.” She said it with a finality that broached no argument. “You want to come to my place after practice tonight? I’m inviting over a few girls to watch chick flicks.”

  Chick flicks had never really been my thing, but I knew that wasn’t the issue. She was giving me an opening, and I had to decide whether or not to take it. To this day, I’m not sure why I did. It’s not like I didn’t have enough friends, which made my situation different from what Elena was going through in school. I suppose I felt like Angie needed me. Maybe that was a self-important attitude, but I always did have a soft spot for people I thought needed me for something. Besides, a part of me that I rarely examined, not even within my own mind, wanted Angie and her friends to like me. Or at least, to not hate me.

  “All right, I’ll come.”

  * * *

  I couldn’t help but think of Angie and our lost friendship as Wesley and I anticipated his trip to Gateway Christian Church on Wednesday night. I didn’t know if I regretted the loss of that friendship (again), but I did wonder about her and her life. And how much did she hate me, anyway?

  It was safer than thinking about Evan’s kiss, though I couldn’t substitute one for the other. In fact, my mind drifted back to that encounter so often that I even considered calling him to ask the question I had put off that night: Why did you break up with me?

  I resisted the impulse by keeping myself busy at work, and by dogging Madison at home to find out what she was hiding. Actually, that only worked for an hour or so, because she finally had enough and left. I couldn’t blame her. I would say that I had been indelicate, but that would understate the case. I’m not proud of that evening.

  At work, I tried to get to know my new partner, but Wesley didn’t like to talk about himself. I had pegged him correctly that first day – he was a watcher and listener. I wouldn’t call him silent, because he had no problems sharing his opinions. He simply kept himself out of it. I envied him that skill. Some days I felt like the veritable open book, and everyone around me knew what was written inside.

  I only wished I knew how Wesley felt about magic. If he didn’t believe, could he do the investigation right? I tried to ask him in a hundred subtle ways, but he wasn’t stupid, and he snapped Wednesday afternoon.

  “I can handle this! It doesn’t matter if I believe in magic or not. They do. That makes them just like any other hate group.”

  Maybe. I didn’t have a lot of experience with hate groups, but I bet he didn’t, either. So I asked. “Had a lot of experience with hate groups?”

  “Some. Gay teen got beat to death just before I left St. Louis. The trouble is figuring out which ones are just spreading the hate, and which ones might actually do something.”

  That was the trouble in a nutshell.

  “You’re too close to this,” Wesley said. “Your family is apparently being threatened by this group.”

  “My family can handle them. It’s others I’m not so sure about.” But yeah, it did piss me off that they wanted to hurt my family.

  “Well, unless you can provide me with a mind reader, this is going to take some time and a lot of work. I won’t learn anything tonight.”

  I bit my lip, thinking of Matthew. Was there any way I could convince him to go and take a peek around people’s thoughts? Maybe he could figure this thing out in one night.

  “Do you know a mind reader?” Wesley asked.

  “No,” I lied.

  But I did know I couldn’t stay home and wait while Wesley did all the legwork. Maybe I could get Matthew to help me sometime, but for the moment, I had another plan.

  * * *

  There is more to a good disguise than changing your hair or eye color. You give a lot away by the way you walk and talk, and by telltale expressions on your face. Luckily, no one at the Gateway Christian Church kne
w me very well, except for Angie, and I hoped to avoid her. As for the rest, I hit on a brilliant idea late Wednesday afternoon while cruising by the hospital emergency room and spotting a man being wheeled to his car, his leg set in a new cast.

  Crutches. If I walked on crutches, not only would it obscure the way I walked, but it would ensure that later, the only thing anyone would remember about me would be the temporary disability.

  I didn’t tell anyone about my plans because I didn’t want them to talk me out of it. Besides, if Wesley didn’t recognize me, it would be a good sign.

  When I arrived at the church at quarter to seven, I was transformed. Under the pretense of letting her practice simple cosmetic glamours on me, I let Juliana change my hair color to a subtle honey blonde that I then tied back into a French braid – something I almost never did. I have perfect vision (corrected by magic), but that night I donned a pair of dark-rimmed glasses that provided a drastic change to my face. I wore my makeup much heavier than usual, even applying dark eye makeup and mascara, which I usually skip altogether. To finish the disguise, I dove into Kaitlin’s closet and borrowed a subdued purple blouse to go with my one pair of often-ignored black slacks. I usually like more color; the purple and black made me feel like I was in mourning. Finally, I wrapped my left foot in ace bandages and grabbed a pair of crutches that Kaitlin still kept lying around from the time she had sprained her ankle.

  Someone opened the double doors of the church for me when I hobbled up on the borrowed crutches. I immediately recognized the good Samaritan as Mr. Mueller, Angie’s father and the church’s youth pastor. Here was my first test. Would he recognize me?

  “Hello there. Looks like you had a bad fall.”

  “I did,” I said, making my voice softer and a little shier.

  “I’m Pastor Mueller.”

  He clearly expected me to introduce myself, so I gave him my predetermined name. “Katie Clark.”

  “Welcome, Katie.” With a cheerful smile, he turned back to greeting the other parishioners as they arrived.

  I didn’t expect to sift through a crowd of over two hundred people and find one who looked like a murderer. Mostly, I was curious about the tone of the church. How hateful were they? How serious were they?

  In the fifteen minutes prior to the service, I thought they seemed pretty much like any large group of people. They had families, mortgages, concerns about sickness, and hopes for the future. They were pleasant. They all greeted me with warmth and nobody seemed to question my cover story – that I was in town for an extended vacation and looking for a temporary church home. They wished me peace, prayers, and blessings.

  Wesley showed up a few minutes after I did and made his way around the room, mostly talking to the men. He didn’t seem to notice me. Or if he did, he had sense enough not to give me away by singling me out or even looking my way.

  It wasn’t until the service was about to start that I caught sight of Angie Mueller, chatting with a group of women a few years older than us. She looked distracted, and every so often she would glance across the room to seek me out and stare at me.

  Uh oh. I’d been found out. Or had I? Maybe there was some other reason she kept staring at me.

  The first hour of the service, the praise and worship music, went pretty much as I’d remembered. From my place in the back row, I joined in, singing along to the repetitive words once I caught the chorus. The band wasn’t quite as good as the youth group’s band had been five years ago, but they were lively and passionate.

  Then Pastor Roberts stood to talk to the congregation. He gave everyone a minute to be seated, then he began, his voice booming in the classic cadence of a fire and brimstone pastor. “There are dark things happening in this town,” he began.

  There was a general murmur of agreement.

  “Dark things going on because we have allowed the practice of witchcraft to go on unchecked and undiscouraged. These people have made a pact with the devil, selling their very souls in exchange for fleeting mortal power!”

  I tried not to look bothered, but I could feel my face heating up. Out of the corner of my eye, I once again spotted Angie staring at me.

  “Just the other day the police were in here asking me about one of these men who made a pact with the devil. One who was brutally murdered and even now burns in the fiery depths of hell. The police were here, making threats and accusations of decent, God-fearing people, because they, too, are in the pockets of these devil worshipers. This is a blight upon our fair town and it is spreading.”

  There was a collective gasp. I found myself caught between a cringe and an eye-roll. Really, he could be all talk, but what did he think these other people were going to do? What did he think he was suggesting they do?

  “Do you know where your children are?” Roberts asked, suddenly. “Do you? Do you know where they are all day? These witches are sending their children to school with yours, infecting their minds with their evil ways. Just this evening, my beautiful little Amanda told me about one of her classmates who claims to speak to the dead!”

  I did cringe, then. I wondered if his beautiful little Amanda was one of the girls bullying my fragile little sister, Elena.

  “This little girl tried to tell Amanda it was normal and right and even that she couldn’t help it. These are the ideas our children are being exposed to in school and we must protect them!”

  Looking around, I saw that the entire congregation was captivated. I might even say spellbound. It took me a moment to piece it together, probably because the direct attack against my little sister kept his tactics from affecting me, but it finally occurred to me that the dear pastor had more than a touch of charisma. He might not win out in a head to head confrontation with my little brother, Adam, but the hypocrisy of it wasn’t lost on me.

  I couldn’t listen anymore. If I stayed put it was only a matter of time before I did something to give myself away. Taking a deep breath, I hobbled out of the back of the auditorium on my crutches, heading for the women’s restrooms. I needed to pull it together if I wanted to find out which of these people might just be crazy enough to act on the hate-filled words of Pastor Roberts, so I splashed cold water onto my face and shook my head savagely. “Get a grip.”

  The restroom door opened with a loud creak. Angie stood there, her back against the door, her arms folded across her chest. “Cassie.”

  “Crap,” I said.

  “Who are you trying to fool?” Angie asked.

  “Obviously, not you.”

  “I wasn’t sure until you bolted. That was kind of a giveaway.”

  I sighed. “I couldn’t help it. Did anyone else notice?”

  “Probably not. They were too busy watching the pastor.” She paused. “You don’t belong here. Go home.”

  “No one belongs here,” I retorted. “How can you stand to listen to him? He’s so full of hate. Is he trying to start a war or something?”

  She looked away. “He wants us to vote Sheriff Adams out of office this November, replace him with someone who’ll fire every deputy in the place and put in new people.”

  “Yeah, well, not only is Sheriff Adams the best man for the job, but he has a lot of popular support.”

  “Popular support or powerful support?” Angie asked, though I suspect we both knew it came down to the same thing.

  “You don’t believe in magic. Or was that just your way of rationalizing your friendship with me? I guess it’s not important anymore.”

  Angie didn’t move for a long time. “You killed my boyfriend.”

  My head jerked up and I stared at her, startled. “What?”

  “I don’t have any proof, but I’m sure you did.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” It wasn’t at all ridiculous. I had killed her boyfriend, but since he’d tried to eat both of us I couldn’t feel sorry about it. The trouble was, she shouldn’t have remembered. The Blairs had shrouded the entire incident, although I had always suspected a weak spot where Angie was concerned. “Is
that why you haven’t spoken to me for almost three months?”

  “I got active at church again… redesigned the fliers. Do you like them?”

  “Do I like fliers suggesting that my parents and all my brothers and sisters should die? Gee… let me think about that.”

  “Don’t get angry with me!” Angie’s voice became shrill and she took a few steps forward. “My parents warned me about you. My friends told me to stay away from you, but I decided you were worth trying to save. I was your friend and you… you…”

  “Killed your boyfriend?” I made it sound ridiculous, even though it wasn’t.

  “Yes.” She spit the word.

  “You didn’t decide to be my friend to try to save me, not that I needed it. You were my friend because you felt like rebelling and it was the best way you could imagine to tick your parents off.”

  Her thin, bony cheeks turned scarlet. “I could go in there and tell everyone who you are.”

  “What would they do then? Burn me at the stake?”

  Her nostrils flared.

  “Seriously, Angie, just answer me one thing. Do you or do you not believe in magic?”

  For a moment, she just stared at me, then she shook her head. “I believe in demons and I believe in God. One day there’s going to be a war and I believe you are playing for the wrong team.”

  I shouldn’t have been surprised. I’d always known that our friendship had been tenuous at best and that despite Angie’s deep-seated hatred of the way she had been raised, she clung to the foundation that had been built so long ago. But I was surprised. I was surprised that she could know me and still hate me so thoroughly.

  “Right now, I’m playing for the sheriff’s department. I’m undercover, so I hope you’ll stay away and let me do my job.”

  “That’s ironic. You… protecting and serving the law.”

  “I protect and serve the people, Angie. I even saved your life once.”

  Something flickered in her eyes, but she shook her head and it disappeared. “You know what? I don’t think you belong here, cop or no cop.”

  She was going to blow my cover. After everything I’d done for her, she still refused to see reason. I’d saved her life by killing her vampiric boyfriend…