Guardian Undone (Stealth Guardians Book 4)

by Tina Folsom

  “Gabriel mentioned a psychiatrist,” Winter said. “I think we should see him sooner rather than later.”

  ~ ~ ~

  One phone call to Gabriel and an hour later the meeting with Dr. Drake was set up. His office was located in the basement of a stately Edwardian mansion not far from Gabriel’s house, which meant it was also within walking distance of the twins’ flat.

  During the walk there, Logan and Winter didn’t talk. He didn’t attempt to start a conversation, sensing that Winter had said what she wanted to say for now. He didn’t blame her for her silence. In fact, he was surprised that she hadn’t hurled any heavy objects at him. Maybe she carried her anger toward him inside her like women did often.

  After her initial outburst when Manus had still been in the apartment, she hadn’t mentioned their sexual encounter again. He could guess what that meant: she wanted to forget as quickly as possible what they’d done in that motel in Trenton. As much as it pained him to know that she regretted their lovemaking, he knew that by telling her that he’d initially come to kill her, she would reject any further intimacies. Well, he’d have to live with that now. At least Winter wasn’t doing anything rash that would expose her to the demons. He was grateful for that.

  She was a smart woman. And he should have been smart enough to realize that earlier. Maybe then he could have saved their relationship. Relationship? He had to shake his head. They had no relationship, none that extended beyond protector and charge. And even that was a tenuous one.

  If—no, when—he had convinced the council to let her live, Winter would insist on a different guardian as her protector. But he didn’t want to look that far into the future. He had to concentrate on the task at hand.

  Logan looked at the number on the gate. “This is the place.”

  Winter stopped next to him, and he pushed the iron gate open to let her enter ahead of him. He didn’t attempt to take her hand, needing no confirmation that his touch wasn’t welcome. “The door at the end of the tradesmen entrance. Gabriel said it’s unlocked.”

  He closed the gate behind him and followed Winter down the narrow walkway along the imposing building. The door at the end was unassuming. There was no sign indicating that a psychiatrist practiced at these premises. Apparently vampires didn’t have to or want to advertise their business. Word got around.

  Inside, Logan was greeted by a Barbie-doll receptionist with a too-tight top and an aura that identified her as a vampire. No surprise about the latter.

  “How may I help you?” she purred in a way that had nothing to do with kittens. Her gaze only briefly drifted to Winter as if she wasn’t important at all, yet clung to Logan like static to packing material.

  “Miss Collins and I are here to see Dr. Drake. Gabriel Giles made the appointment for us,” Logan replied.

  “Oh yes, the last-minute change to our schedule.” She batted her eyelashes at him. “The doctor is expecting you.” She motioned to a door. “Go right in.”

  Logan nodded, then walked to the door. After a perfunctory knock, he opened the door and let Winter enter ahead of him, then followed her into the room and closed the door.

  He didn’t really know what he’d expected to find in a vampire psychiatrist’s office. But it wasn’t this. He shot a look at Winter, wondering about her reaction, and saw that she too was taken aback by the rather unorthodox décor.

  A black coffin-couch with faded red velvet cushions was the centerpiece of the room. Two armchairs in a plain style and a coffee table that looked suspiciously like a tombstone completed the seating arrangement. Gothic murals graced the walls, making the room look like a crypt. File cabinets with handles shaped like mini-stakes lined one wall.

  “Welcome,” Dr. Drake said.

  Logan was grateful that the tall, skinny man wasn’t wearing a black cape, but a white doctor’s coat over his business suit.

  “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice,” Logan said and shook his hand, then stepped aside and motioned to Winter. “This is Winter Collins.”

  “The psychic,” Drake said with appreciation, offering his hand to Winter. “It’s a pleasure, Miss Collins.”

  Hesitantly, she shook his hand, then pulled back.

  “Please, take a seat.”

  Drake motioned to the coffin-couch, but Logan walked to the normal-looking armchairs instead, pulled one out a little and made eye contact with Winter. She took the seat, and Logan slunk into the chair next to her. Drake, his eyebrows raised a bit, had no choice but to sit on the god-awful couch.

  Drake cleared his throat. “Mr. Giles filled me in to save time. I took the liberty of reviewing some lore about psychics to understand how best I can assist.”

  “I appreciate that, Dr. Drake,” Winter said, speaking for the first time.

  “But of course. May I just say I’m honored to finally meet a psychic face-to-face. There aren’t many of you to start with, and then of course there was a purge a few centuries ago that diminished your numbers even more…”

  “A purge? You mean psychics were exterminated?” Winter’s gaze flitted to Logan. He knew what she must be thinking. That his race was responsible for it.

  “It was a war between the witches and the psychics,” Logan explained quickly. “The witches felt threatened by the psychics’ powers.”

  Winter stared at him. “Then why is Wesley helping us?”

  “The remaining psychics negotiated a peace agreement with the witches. Besides, Wesley is of a different generation. The old wars, the old disagreements, mean nothing to him,” Logan assured her. Then he looked at Drake. “Therefore, there’s really no need to speak of it.”

  “Well,” Drake said with a tight smile, “it’s always good to know one’s history.” He turned to look at Winter. “Anyway, my understanding is that you need help in guiding your visions. In controlling them.”

  “Yes. They hit me out of nowhere. And I feel powerless when they come.”

  “Powerless? It doesn’t have to be that way.” He nodded as if nodding to himself, then continued, “Your visions are a powerful thing. Look at them like you look at emotions. Either you exert control over them, or they will control you. It’s always a matter of what you allow them to do. Take love and hate for example. Two very powerful emotions. Which one do you believe is more powerful?”

  The doctor looked at Winter expectantly. When she didn’t say anything, he prompted, “Miss Collins?”

  “Oh, you’re asking me.”

  He nodded. “Yes. Which emotion is more powerful, love or hate?”

  She hesitated. “Hate?”

  Smiling, Drake shook his head. “Love. You know why?”

  She shook her head, while Logan wondered where the shrink was going with this.

  “It’s the strongest emotion, because it comes straight from the heart, from the very essence of your being. You see, you can move mountains with love. There is infinite energy in it. It’s up to you, how to use this energy.” He cleared his throat. “What I’m trying to explain to you is that you have to start to love your visions if you want to have any power over them. If you want to start to control them.”

  Winter sighed. “It’s a little hard to love something that causes me so much pain.”

  “Well, it will come, with time. In the meantime, there are several other things we can do: guided meditation, an in-depth psychoanalysis, and relaxation exercises.” He pulled a small notebook from his coat pocket. “The guided meditation we can start right away, then you’ll need to repeat it daily. I could fit your first psychoanalysis session in tomorrow night. But you’ll need to come alone. And the relaxation exercises, for that I actually have a Tuesday night group.”

  Logan had heard enough. “Dr. Drake, I don’t think you understand the time constraint we’re under. We have twenty-four hours to get a handle on Winter’s visions.”

  Drake gave him an undignified look. “And you don’t seem to grasp that the mind of a psychic is a fragile thing.”

  “I dis
agree.” What he’d seen of Winter’s mind wasn’t fragile at all.

  “There’s no way she’ll learn to control her visions in twenty-four hours, when it’s taken other psychics years to handle them. This takes practice and careful nurturing.”

  Winter shot up from her chair. “Then what are we doing here?”

  Logan heard the desperate tone in Winter’s voice and rose. “We’re leaving.” He nodded at the shrink. “Sorry to waste your time and ours.”

  He ignored Drake’s protests, and took Winter’s arm to lead her outside.

  In the darkness of the alley, he stopped. “I’m sorry. If we had more time, maybe some of the things he mentioned would work…”

  “What are we gonna do now?” She looked at him then, fear and desperation colliding in her beautiful eyes.

  He hated seeing her like this, without hope for a future. He wouldn’t let her cry, not under his watch.

  “I’ll call Wesley, see what he’s got so far. I’m not giving up this quickly.”

  He pulled the burner phone Wesley had given him from his jacket pocket and selected the only pre-programmed number. It rang once, twice, three times.

  Suddenly, there was a click on the line.

  “Logan?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was about to call you. I’m here with another witch. I think you and Winter need to join us.”

  His heart began to beat excitedly. “Tell me where.”

  Logan memorized the address Wesley recited, then said, “We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

  21

  A taxi took them through the city, turning so many times that Winter lost track of which direction they were going. During the drive she stared outside, not really taking anything in. Disappointment was starting to mount inside her. One failure after another, first Gabriel, now Dr. Drake. Not that she blamed either of them. They had tried. But what if nobody could help her? What if she was a lost cause?

  When the cab suddenly came to a halt, Winter looked around. The taxi had stopped outside an unassuming-looking house that backed up to a large green space with tall trees and thick brush.

  Logan paid the driver and helped her out of the car.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “On the edge of the Presidio. It’s a former military installation.” He tipped his chin in the direction of the wooded area, then pointed to the house. “Come on, let’s see what Wesley has for us.”

  When they reached the front door, it was already opening.

  A curvy woman with flaming red hair stood there to greet them. Winter stared at her. She looked exactly how she’d always imagined a witch would look.

  “I’m Roxanne,” the woman said and stepped to the side. “Come on in.”

  Winter accepted the invitation and walked into the cozy foyer from which a dark wooden staircase led upstairs and several doors led into other parts of the house.

  “Thanks, Roxanne,” Logan said behind her.

  When Winter heard the door snap closed, she turned back to Roxanne. “Thanks so much for offering to help me. You’re our last hope.”

  The redhead chuckled unexpectedly. “Oh, you think I’m the witch?” Her eyes sparkled. “Did you hear that, babe?” she called out toward a door that stood ajar. “Our guest thinks I look like a witch.”

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  But Winter didn’t get a chance to apologize, because the door opened fully and a tall, broad-shouldered man walked through it, coming up the stairs from the basement.

  “Well, you could be. You sure managed to bewitch me,” he said with a smile. Then he offered his hand to Winter. “I hope you’re not disappointed, but I’m the witch in this family. Name’s Charles. My wife is a vampire.”

  Winter shook his hand, heat suffusing her cheeks. “Pleased to meet you. Uh, both of you.” Would she ever be able to figure out which preternatural species she was dealing with?

  “Logan,” Charles now said, shaking Logan’s hand, “nice to finally meet you, too. I’ve heard a lot about you and your friends. And you’re valued at Scanguards. John speaks highly of you.”

  “Thank you. He’s a good man.”

  “You work at Scanguards, too?” Winter asked.

  Charles shook his head. “Roxanne does.”

  “I’m a bodyguard for them,” Roxanne confirmed.

  Stunned, Winter stared at her, but she was saved from finding an appropriate comment, when Roxanne said, “I’m gonna have to leave you guys. My shift’s starting shortly.” She kissed her husband on the lips. “Don’t blow up the house while I’m gone.”

  Charles chuckled and gave her a loving slap on her backside. “What do I get in exchange?”

  She rolled her eyes and, shaking her head, walked past Logan and out the door.

  Charles laughed, then waved them toward the stairs leading down. “Wesley is helping me get things ready.”

  Winter followed Charles down the old staircase, Logan on her heels, and adjusted her eyes to the dimly lit staircase. “Getting what ready?”

  “The spell, of course,” Charles said, as if it was the most natural thing.

  She froze for a second and felt Logan stop behind her.

  “You’re doing a spell?”

  Charles looked over his shoulder. “Come, I’ll explain everything. I won’t do anything you don’t agree to. Deal?”

  Slowly she nodded, then followed him down the stairs. It smelled a little musty, but the smell quickly dissipated when she approached the door to another room. From there, different smells emanated: spices, herbs, perfumes.

  When she reached the open door, she stood there for a moment and looked inside the large room. It was a witch’s lair—if “lair” was the right word. Maybe they called it a brewhouse. After all, there was a large caldron in one corner and lots of large mortars sitting on wooden shelves. Glass jars were filled with various herbs and spices, and bottles with different colored liquids lined several shelves. A low fire was burning in a hearth. In another corner, there was a desk with several old books lying open on its surface. A bookcase on the wall held even more books, many with titles printed on their spines in languages she couldn’t decipher.

  Wesley stood hunched over a bowl, mixing different herbs. He raised his head. “Hey, you made it.”

  Winter walked into the room. “Hi, Wesley.”

  “Hey, Wes,” Logan said. “Nice setup you’ve got here, Charles.”

  “Thanks,” their host replied. “Keeps me busy and out of trouble while Roxanne saves the world.”

  Wesley shook his head. “Charles likes to pretend that he’s the tame house husband. Don’t be fooled. I’ve learned a lot from this guy. He’s a very powerful witch.” He looked at Winter. “And he’s found something that we believe will help you with your visions.”

  “Charles said you’re going to do a spell,” she said. “What kind of spell?”

  Wesley looked to Charles, who nodded and explained, “Right. Here’s the gist of it. Normally you would have been guided by the person who passed the gift on to you. Like a mother or father, or grandparents. Or an aunt or uncle.”

  “I have no relatives. My parents died in a car accident when I was young. My grandmother raised me, but she’s dead now too. There was nobody else.”

  “Well,” Charles said, “in cases where the psychic didn’t get a chance to learn about his or her gift from a relative, it can often be misunderstood—like in your case, so Wes tells me. It’s not uncommon to experience the visions as nightmares. How long ago did you experience your first vision?”

  “Maybe eighteen months ago.”

  “Hmm. Enough time for your mind and body to form an automatic response. You conditioned yourself to reject the visions, because you feared them. By knowing that you’re not dealing with a nightmare, but a vision, you’ve already made one step in the opposite direction. Eventually, you’ll train yourself to accept the visions as normal. But retraining yourself takes time, and I understand that you don’t hav
e a lot of it.”

  “We have even less now,” Logan interrupted. “Less than twenty-four hours.”

  “What?” Wes asked. “What the fuck happened?”

  “Manus found us. He’s given us twenty-four hours before he turns us in. I have less than a day to convince the council that Winter will be a great asset to us, and to do that we need to prove that she can control her visions. I need to give them something.”

  Charles let out a breath. “Well, we’d better get this show on the road then.” He paused for a moment. “Winter, here’s what this spell will do. Think of it as a time lapse spell. What it’ll do is to make your brain believe that a lot of time has passed since you found out that your nightmares are really visions. Your mind will adjust to this new truth and new neuropathways will forge in your brain, allowing the visions to be processed without your conditioned responses blocking them. Next time you have a vision, you should be able to guide it in the direction you want to explore.”

  “Guide it how?”

  “Let’s say, you have a vision about, I don’t know… what have you seen before?”

  “I’ve seen a cave with demons.”

  Charles nodded. “Okay, let’s say you see this cave again. With your new control, you should be able to walk inside the vision, a little bit like an avatar. You know what that is?”

  She nodded.

  “So you’ll be able to walk in the direction of where you want to see more. For example, if you want to see what’s behind a demon, or you see a door and want to know what’s behind it, you’ll be able to go and open it. But be careful. Don’t go too deep into the visions, or you can get hurt. The longer you stay inside, the more of yourself goes into the place and the things you see, and the harder it will be to come back. Do you understand?”

  She wasn’t sure if she should nod or not. She understood his words well enough, but did she really understand the implications? Was she ready for this? There were so many more things she needed to know.

  “Will I be able to force a vision?”

  “At will? No. The vision will come whenever it comes. But once it’s there, you’ll be able to guide it.”