Psychic Storm: Ten Dangerously Sexy Tales of Psychic Witches, Vampires, Mediums, Empaths and Seers

by Deanna Chase

  Working with the animals out front, helped Sam to see other aspects of the business. Working with the injured animals in the cages gave her a lopsided view. She loved seeing them before they ended up in her care.

  "Good morning, Sam."

  Lost in thought, she spun around, almost falling to the floor from her crouching position. "Good morning, Dr. Wascott."

  "How is Soldier doing?"

  A big grin split her face. The vet stopped, a stunned expression emblazoned on his normally peaceful face.

  "Soldier is doing wonderfully. He's walking around more and slowly gaining strength. He had his last medicine this morning, and he should be fine now."

  The doctor moved his head from side to side. "Honestly, Sam, I don't think I've ever seen you this happy. I'm glad the dog is bringing some life into your world."

  Heat bloomed on her cheeks as she realized she'd been babbling. "Sorry," she muttered.

  The older man sported a boyish grin. "No problem. It's quite a nice change, actually."

  Still, she couldn't help a sheepish grin, feeling a little more of her normal reserve drop off. She felt more comfortable with him than she ever had before.

  "There's a phone call for you, Dr. Wascott." One of the vet assistants walked into the room, smiling. "Good morning, Samantha. How are you today?"

  Feeling unnaturally peaceful, Sam nodded to the other woman. "I'm fine, thank you."

  "Good. There's fresh bread, a new grainy recipe from the corner bakery, in the lunchroom. Lucy also brought in some fresh creamed honey. Make sure you have some before your shift is over."

  The idea of fresh baked bread made her mouth water. "Thanks, I'd like to try it."

  "You're done now. There's a fresh pot of tea in there, too. Go enjoy." Dr. Wascott nudged Sam's arm before walking out of the room.

  The treat sounded too irresistible to ignore.

  Sam slipped into the lunchroom, slightly disappointed to find it empty. With a frown, she considered that. How long had it been since she'd relished company?

  The bread smelled luscious. A fresh yeasty aroma wafted free as Sam cut of a thick slice. An open canning jar full of creamy honey sat on the counter. In the light, the honey had a deep opaque milkiness to it. Opening the lid, Sam sniffed the contents. Using the tip of her knife, she tasted a small bit and rolled her eyes as the flavor exploded on her tongue. Oh my God, that was so good. Quickly, Sam slathered the top of her bread with a thick layer before sitting at the small table with her tea.

  "It's good, isn't it?

  Sam started in surprise, so lost in the snack she hadn't heard anyone enter. With her mouth full, she could only nod.

  Lucy grinned, cutting herself a slice.

  Afterwards, Sam headed to the library for more research books. From there, it was a quick hop over to the grocery store for a couple of items.

  She stood in line, waiting to pay for her purchase. She should have come here earlier and avoided the rush. Crowds gave her a headache. She reached up to rub her temple when she felt it.

  A long finger of evil reached out and brushed her soul.

  The grocery store disappeared, the line of people morphed into a small tidy room. The smell of medicine and aftershave assailed her nose. A gruff cough poured from her chest. Sam bent to rub her sore leg, surprised to see a cane in her right hand and plaid slippers on her feet.

  Her hand went to her chest as she shuffled over to an easy chair, stiff movements jarring her spine with each step. Evil surrounded her – him. Only she didn't think he knew about it.

  "Hey, old man?"

  The male body she inhabited jerked in surprise, turning somewhat awkwardly. The other man had a huge old lady's hat with flowers…and Christ, something that resembled a bird on top. A silk paisley scarf wrapped around the lower portion of his face, obscuring all, but his dark voracious eyes. Sam's stomach dropped. She knew that gaze. She wanted to close her eyes but they weren't her own. She wanted to jump free, but she was tied to this soul.

  "Who are you and what are you doing in my room?"

  "Just taking care of details. The mark of a professional is in giving every detail the same level of attention – no matter how small." The voice was muffled and rasping. Sam knew she wouldn't be able to identify it in real time.

  "What do you want?" the old man asked querulously. "Get out of my room." Sam wanted to run from the room, to force the old man to move toward the door. She had no control over his limbs or tongue. She could only watch, paralyzed with horror, knowing what was to come. She tried to catalogue the details for later.

  "Oh, I'm leaving, colonel. But I'll be back – you on the other hand, won't be."

  Pain exploded at the crown of Sam's head, colors danced, blinding her. She groaned. The carpet rushed up to meet her, as she collapsed to the floor.

  Darkness swirled, coaxing her into the center of the morass before becoming an all-encompassing shroud then blinking out all together. Sam hung suspended between time and reality. Not moving one way or another. Caught. Lost.

  At the last minute, Sam heard a faint voice weaving through the darkness, "Serves you right, you old bastard."

  Then the darkness was complete.

  "Excuse me." Sam was nudged gently and then again, not so gently. "Excuse me? Are you alright?"

  Sam came to, woozy and still in a half-blind state. She could hardly focus. A woman's concerned face, blurry and of an odd size came into partial focus. "Yeess." Her tongue had a fuzzy, thick feeling and if that was her voice, something was wrong. Very wrong.

  "You don't look it." The woman spoke bluntly, tugging Sam to a chair nearby. The grocery basket was removed from Sam's arms and she was gently pushed into the chair.

  Sam's eyes went black with pain. This wasn't transition, it wasn't reality either. It seemed a step in between – still painful with any movement, yet no bleeding, or other physical manifestations as far as she could tell. It would be a couple of moments before she'd be able to check.

  "Are you a diabetic? An epileptic?"

  Sam managed to shake her head slowly. "No," she whispered. "I'm fine."

  The woman didn't appear convinced. "Do you want to just sit here for a few minutes?" She rose, taking several steps away. "I can return in a moment or two and see how you are doing?" She stopped her escape. "Or I could call for an ambulance?"

  Sam eyed the woman again. Her eyes were huge with worry. Sam closed her own for a moment then reopened them again. The process worked much better this time. She gave her a tiny gentle smile. "Thank you," she murmured. "I'll just sit here until I feel better."

  "Okay." Relief washed over the woman's face. "As long as you are feeling better, then I'll leave. I’ll check on you in a little bit."

  Sam said thanks and couldn't hold back a sigh of relief when the woman left. She really didn't feel well. Yet, neither could she say that she felt really bad.

  She couldn't explain in a way anyone would understand. Whatever had just happened had drained her energy. She needed rest, and soon. First, she needed to get out of the public's eye.

  Surveying the area around her, she couldn't find her basket of groceries anywhere. They could be sitting close, waiting for her, not that she had the energy to look or to care. She'd shop later. For now, she'd be happy with getting to her truck.

  Staying upright was a challenge. Using the wall for stability, Sam slipped through the double doors to the parking lot. Her truck was somewhere in the middle. She closed her eyes and leaned against the outside wall. The fresh air helped. Several deep breaths later, her eyesight had returned to normal. If she waited just one more minute, she might be able to walk there like a normal person.

  Once at her truck, she struggled inside, shutting the door with more force than necessary. She took another deep breath and evaluated her state of health. Most functions had returned to normal. She didn't know about her speech. But the pain was gone. Achiness remained, yet that was liveable. Her motor functions had returned to normal.

 
She pulled her cell phone out and dialed Brandt.

  "Hello."

  "Brandt." She winced. No, her voice wasn't quite normal.

  "What's wrong?" His voice had no problem – it damn near split her eardrum.

  She held the phone away from her ear, groaning as her head pounded. "Don't yell, please."

  He modulated his tone. "Then tell me what's wrong. You sound terrible."

  "I'm just coming out of a vision." Sam coughed gently. "This one was weird. This time some old man was hit over the head."

  "What?"

  Sam could almost see his brow furrowed with concentration.

  "Did you see the attacker?

  "He was disguised as an old woman. The old man knew him. I think I've been at this place before. Not the same room maybe, but something similar."

  "Sam. I have another call coming in. I'll call you right back. Where are you?"

  "I'm sitting in the shopping center across from work. While waiting in line at the grocery store, the vision damn near crippled me."

  "But you're okay now?"

  "Yes. Call me soon." Sam rang off. She rested her head against the side window and closed her eyes.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  1:20 pm

  Brandt answered the second call impatiently. He needed to call Sam. Damn it all to hell. His fingers rubbed the ridge of his nose.

  "Hello." He couldn't help the shortness in his voice.

  He listened for a moment, and with the cries from the other end of the phone ringing in his ears, Brandt grabbed his keys and ran out the door.

  It was a short trip, barely fifteen minutes before Brandt drove into the parking lot of the senior care home to be greeted by the all too common sight of an ambulance. He strode forward into the empty hallway. Arriving at his mother's suite, he was surprised to find that empty, too. But maybe he shouldn't be. She could always be found at the center of any gathering – and medical emergencies definitely qualified.

  He raced to the colonel's quarters. Turning the corner, his steps slowed. A crowd had gathered at the doorway to the colonel's apartment.

  Brandt pushed his way through, his heart dropping at the sight. The colonel was on the stretcher, strapped down. An oxygen mask covered most of his face.

  Pulling his badge out, he addressed the paramedics. "What happened?" He leaned over the prone man. The colonel's wrinkled grey face resembled clay that had been baked in the sun too long. Unconsciousness hadn't smoothed the deep wrinkles splitting his face. No injuries were apparent.

  One of the paramedics walked over. "He was found on the floor. His pulse is strong and he appears to be suffering from a head injury."

  "Head injury?" Brandt bent for a closer look, but only the corner of a blood-soaked bandage was visible.

  "He might have fallen and hit his head," offered one of the many bystanders. "He wasn't as steady on his feet as he used to be."

  Brandt nodded absentmindedly. The colonel used a walking stick most times. Sure enough, there it was leaning against the wall by his big recliner. The room was so full of people it was hard to move. He stepped out of the way of the stretcher as the two attending men pushed it out to the waiting ambulance. It was only as Brandt turned around to survey the rest of the room that he saw her.

  His mom sat with her knees to her chin, her arms snugged tight around her legs like a young child. She swayed gently on the chair, tears in her eyes.

  "Mom?" Brandt approached and sat close beside her. Wrapping one arm around her, he gently rubbed her arms. "Are you okay?"

  She nodded. "I will be. Just a little upset."

  "Were you with him when he collapsed?" Brandt hugged her gently, concerned at the frailty of this feisty valiant woman. She came across as such a powerhouse, then when knocked off balance, she folded.

  Giving her time to collect herself, Brandt stared at the other curiosity seekers. Many had started to wander away in search of something more exciting. Still others were waiting, hoping to hear what Maisy would say. Brandt didn't intend to have anyone overhear them.

  "Come on. Let's go to your place." He led her through the thinning crowd to her suite. Once inside, he set her in her favorite chair then closed the door on the concerned well-wishers mingling outside. "She'll be fine folks. She's just a little upset."

  Turning back to his mother, he added, "I'll make some tea, and you can tell me all about it."

  Without waiting for an answer, Brandt put on the teakettle and returned to her side. "Now I need you to tell me what happened. Why are you so upset?"

  She lifted her head to peer at him. Torment and guilt gleamed through.

  "Did you have something to do with his collapse?" asked Brandt, confused.

  "I don't know." Maisy's eyes welled. "The dogs came today, so everyone was in the meeting rooms enjoying their visit. Everyone talked about everything, but the colonel was center stage because of the ring the police are trying to find and what the colonel was trying to remember."

  Maisy chewed her bottom lip and didn't continue.

  "Then..." prompted Brandt.

  "We walked to his apartment where I left him while I went for lunch. After lunch, I came home to lie down."

  She glanced up at her son, her bottom lip starting to curl downward. "When I woke up, I called him, except there was no answer. So, I knocked on his door." She shifted uneasily. "He didn't answer so I used my key and that...that's when I found him."

  Brandt raised his brow at the mention of his mother having keys to the colonel's apartment – but that was the least of his worries now. "So you feel guilty for falling asleep and leaving him?" he deduced.

  "If I'd stayed with him, he wouldn't have been left to lie there unconscious for so long."

  Brandt frowned. "How long is so long?" He'd received the impression that the injury was recent.

  "Probably half an hour."

  "Half an hour is nothing to feel guilty about." Brandt reached over and brushed his fingers over her cheek. "He probably fell just before you arrived."

  Her eyes begged him to be right. She suddenly blurted out, "The thing is, I locked the door when I left, and it wasn't locked when I returned."

  Brandt shook his head. "Didn't you say you used your key to get in?"

  "Yes I did, only I didn't need to because it wasn't locked."

  "So why did you use your key?"

  "I took it out, expecting to use it, only I didn't need to," she said, exasperation adding life to her eyes and fire to her voice. "Pay attention, dear."

  Right. At least she was returning to normal. Speaking of not normal, he had to call Sam. Surreptitiously, he checked his watch. The call would have to wait.

  Ignoring the key for the moment, he asked his mother, "Why are you concerned about whether the door was locked or not?"

  "I don't think he fell."

  Brandt sat up straighter. "What? What do you think happened?" He studied her face. She didn't appear to be in shock. "You think he was attacked?"

  Maisy nodded.

  "Why would anyone do that?"

  "He said he'd remembered the significance of the ring and wanted to think on it a bit, try to figure the pieces out first. Then I fell asleep and now he's injured."

  "Even if he did remember, it's unlikely someone would have attacked him over it."

  Maisy leaned toward him. "They would if they were involved."

  "True. I doubt anyone here is involved. They aren't strong enough for one thing," he said grinning.

  She sniffed, such a haughty sound that Brandt had to laugh.

  "Not everyone is ancient you know. We all have families that come to visit, and several members of the staff are certainly young enough to have committed murder."

  Brandt had to concede her point. Still...it was unlikely. "But how would anyone know what the Colonel was trying to remember?"

  Maisy's cheeks flushed pink then paled to pure white. She didn't say anything. Curious, Brandt pushed. "Mom, how would anyone know?"

  She straig
htened her legs out in front and studied her bright red toenails. "I may have had something to do with that."

  Brandt pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers and closed his eyes. "You didn't set up a betting pool on it, did you?" He opened one eye to look at her carefully.

  She reddened again. Guilt in pink. Damn.

  "So in other words, everyone in the building knew and probably a dozen more besides. All because you wouldn't listen to me."

  She opened her mouth as if to protest, then slowly closed it again. She nodded, her eyes full of remorse. "I didn't think it would be dangerous." She shrugged her shoulders in a dainty movement. "We just like to have fun here. You know that. So, we were all taking bets as to when the colonel would remember. There were some people who even bet that he'd never remember, given his age and all that." She sniffed in disgust at that suggestion. "He did remember though, and we were all cheering the winner of the pool. Then someone struck him down before he could tell us what he'd remembered. He said he was going to wait until he could talk to you first."

  Brandt sat back. It was too stupid not to be true. Now he had to wait until the colonel awoke. Which, given his advanced years, could be the case if he woke up.

  "Right." Brandt stood up. "Let's go to the hospital and see how he's doing."

  It was a quiet trip with both of them deep in thought. Once there, Maisy insisted on waiting in a chair beside the colonel in the Emergency room. He'd been stabilized, but there was no prognosis yet. Two hours later, there was no change. Still the colonel hadn’t woken.

  A tall stooped man in green scrubs approached and offered his hand. "Detective Brandt."

  "Hello, Doctor Sebastian. How are you?" Brandt watched the multiple frown lines smooth out into a real smile.

  "I'm fine. Are you here officially?"