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

by Deanna Chase

  My role in El Caos was that of a low level thug. Mostly, I ran and dealt drugs. My strength and martial arts training made me the perfect muscle to accompany packages into the rougher neighborhoods. I flew under the radar—never good enough to attract attention from higher in the organization, biding my time in the barrios. Once it became apparent I could be trusted, they started using me as part of the cleanup crew. When shit went south, someone had to carry away the bodies. Perfect job for a medium spy.

  People might think I saw spirits all the time, but it really wasn’t like that. Most spirits cross over quickly. “Cross over” to where, I didn’t know. I just know that they will eventually effervesce into the aether. Meaning, my window to question them is limited. Take Señor Gomez from last night. As his body lay on the ground getting CPR from the stripper, his spirit stood up and began wandering down the alley, confused. I called out to him with my mind.

  Gomez looked at me for a long moment, as if he were the one seeing a ghost.

  “Who are you?”

  I answered him in Spanish. “My name is Juan Carlos. Do you know what just happened to you?”

  The spirit stared down at his silvery, transparent hands. “Yes...that girl...she made me die.”

  Then I was the one confused. “Which girl?”

  Gomez pointed to where Marley stood, wringing her hands over his body.

  “How did you die?”

  “It was her. She did it with her mind.”

  His form quaked, and I knew I was losing him. “Wait! Don’t go. I need to know where Nico Diaz is. Tell me.”

  Gomez’s glowy form began to lose shape, his edges blurring. “You know Nico. He’s everywhere and nowhere all at once.” Then he glanced up at a rusty fire escape with far-away eyes. He quivered into a cloud of shimmery dust mites that rose and swirled away into the night.

  Fucking ghosts! They always had to get philosophical in the end.

  “Officer Moreno! Quit daydreaming and get your ass into my office.”

  I snapped to attention. The barking voice came from Gary Frazier, the head of this branch and my immediate supervisor. He was also a massive jackass.

  “Yes, sir. Be right there,” I answered, but he’d already begun walking away. Frazier didn’t like me. I suspected he was afraid of me, though he never communicated anything so blatant. I was the only psy agent in an office full of researchers, translators and analysts, and he didn’t quite know what to do with me.

  I straightened my tie, which had gradually worked itself loose over the morning, and strode into Frazier’s office with an air of pleasant confidence that I didn’t feel. My entire life had devolved into “fake it ’til you make it”.

  “Have a seat, Moreno.”

  I closed the door and slid into the uncomfortable chair before his large desk. “Sir.”

  He smoothed down his ridiculous greasy comb-over. “Have you completed your review of the files I sent you yesterday?”

  I nodded and proceeded to give him my report. The files were financial transactions made by several leaders of the cartel. The work numbed the mind, and there wasn’t any usable intel to be gleaned from it. Of course, I gave Frazier the long, more polite version of “This shit is a waste of my time.”

  When I finished, he grunted and continued to glare at me. Finally, he got around to the real reason he called me in. “Officer Trent Neil is in town this week, along with Deputy Director Chesley. They’ve asked us to join them on the golf course this afternoon.”

  “Us who?”

  “You and me, Moreno. Pay attention.”

  I was going to fucking kill Neil. “There must be a mistake. I appreciate the invitation, but I don’t golf—”

  “Well, then, you’re learning today. You’ve been requested, and we need a foursome. What is it, eleven now? You run on home and get changed. Meet us at Barton Creek Country Club at two o’clock. Plan on getting dinner afterward.”

  The nameless place beneath my skin seethed, but I covered it with a smile and walked out of Frazier’s office with all the enthusiasm of a guy headed to his execution. I shut down my computer to leave, annoyed that I hadn’t had more time to find another lead on Nico. While walking across the office to the door, I ruminated over what in my wardrobe could possibly pass as golf attire. That was when I bumped into Betty, the one-woman office entertainment committee.

  “Oh, there you are!” Betty always seemed surprised to see me. I wasn’t sure why. It’s not like I hadn’t been in the office five days a week for the past several months.

  “Hi, Betty.”

  “I’m taking up a collection for Tricia’s baby shower gift. Do you want to go in on it? We’re getting her one of those top-of-the-line breast pumps.”

  I didn’t know anyone named Tricia, and I sure as hell didn’t know what a breast pump was, but in an effort to get Betty to stop saying the word “breast”, I cracked open my wallet and shoved a fifty at her.

  “Oh, JC! That’s very generous.”

  “Tell Tricia congratulations on the baby.” I stepped around the still-talking woman and escaped to my car.

  I didn’t bother going home to check my closet. I just headed to the stuffiest men’s clothing store in the mall where I told the preppy-looking college boy working the floor to hook me up with something appropriate for Barton Creek. I left wearing a pair of ugly, ivory-colored trousers and a light green Polo shirt. I even bought special shoes to wear on the course. The boy assured me I’d be able to rent clubs there. Thank god, because this little outing of Neil’s was already costing me a fortune. I saved the receipt, determined to claim it on my expense report.

  Officer Trent Neil had been my handler while I was embedded with El Caos. He was one of the bravest, most capable agents I’d ever known. He was also on the fast track for climbing the CIA ranks. Not to mention, a complete sadist for making me go golfing. How long did a game of golf take, anyway?

  I made it to Barton Creek early, so I rented clubs and waited in the bar. I wanted a Cuervo, but since this was technically a work function, I settled for a sweet tea instead. Pulling out my phone, I did a web search on the rules of golf. I made it most of the way through a Wikipedia article before a heavy hand landed on my shoulder. I turned to see the Neil’s smirking face, teeth as white as a toothpaste spokesman.

  “JC, my man! How’s it going?” He clasped my shoulder like a politician.

  “I’m going to tear your balls off for this, Neil.”

  “Yeah, I missed you, too.” He expertly slid on a visor without messing up his perfectly styled sun-streaked hair. “Come say hi to Deputy Director Chesley.”

  I followed Neil outside to where Frazier was chatting with a gray-haired and stocky-looking guy. Chesley, I assumed.

  “Ah, Moreno!” Frazier called, clapping me on the shoulder like we were old pals. “I’d like you to meet Deputy Director Wayne Chesley.”

  I shook Chesley’s hand and had to resist wiping his dampness off onto my pant leg. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

  “So you’re the ghost whisperer. Are you going to tell me my future? No, wait! I don’t think I want to know.” He chuckled at his own joke, but I could tell I creeped him out just a little.

  “Sorry, I left my crystal ball at home,” I answered. It wouldn’t do any good to explain that I wasn’t a foreseer.

  “Ha, ha, just as well. I don’t buy into all that mumbo jumbo anyway.”

  I loved the way the Agency shelled out good money to employ psy agents, but then doubted our abilities. I opened my mouth to tell say as much, but Neil pinched my forearm to shut me up. If this weren’t a business thing, and we weren’t in the presence of two people with direct influence over my paychecks, I would’ve cold-cocked him.

  To say the game was sheer torture would be a colossal understatement, and to my surprise, the worst part about it wasn’t my swing. Oh, my game did suck ass. The highlight was when my ball took out the window of a neighboring house, and I had to knock on the door to confess my crime. I gave
the lady at the door Neil’s name and address to send the repair bill. It was the least the asshole could do for dragging me out there.

  No, the worst part of the day was listening to Frazier’s bullshit ass-kissing. My boss trailed around after Chesley like a needy dog all afternoon, and Chesley ate up the flattery.

  “Great stance, Chesley!”

  “Would you look at that swing? Rory McIlroy better watch his back!”

  “That sure is a nice Rolex. Is that from the Cellini Collection?”

  “Deputy Director Chesley, you’re such a handsome guy. Why don’t you let me suck your balls?”

  Okay, that last one wasn’t said out loud, but I’m sure it was implied. Every once in a while, Neil, wearing his shit-eating grin, would inject a compliment, and then cut a glance to me to see if I caught his facetiousness. Yeah, he was fucking hilarious.

  I’d lost track of which hole we were on in the-game-that-never-seemed-to-end when the boss men got tired of waiting for me to free my ball from a sand trap and chose to drive ahead. As soon as they were out of sight, I picked up my ball and stomped back up the green.

  “That’s cheating,” Neil laughed.

  “Yeah, well, if you don’t want this game to go on for ten hours, you’ll keep your trap shut.” Early on, Chesley decided that the only way I’d learn golf was by playing the game clean, no cutting corners. A-hole.

  “Hey,” Neil said, holding me back from stomping after the others. “I want to talk to you.”

  Finally! I knew Neil had a reason for dragging me out there besides the stellar opportunity to make fun of me. “What is it?”

  “Not what. Who. Nico Diaz.”

  My gut turned to ice. “What about him?”

  “He’s in town.”

  “I know that, but where?”

  Neil shrugged. “At the moment, I don’t know. But I know where he’ll be Friday night.”

  He drew a folded piece of fluorescent green paper out of his pocket and shoved it at me. I studied the paper eagerly.

  “A rave?” I asked. “Why would he go to a rave?”

  “The rave is just a cover. See that address? That’s a warehouse owned by the subsidiary of a subsidiary of a shadow corporation owned by El Caos. Word on the street has it Nico will be meeting with the distributors upstairs.”

  “Does he have the boy with him?” I asked, my voice cracking on the hope.

  “Don’t know. When Nico went ghost, the boy did, too.”

  The vein at my temple throbbed. I’d never be able to live with myself if something happened to Lucas Banda.

  “I have to get him away from those people, Neil. I told him I’d keep him safe.”

  “What’s with this kid? Banda isn’t the only kid to ever be swept off the streets into a gang. You gonna try to save them all?”

  I brushed my hand through my sweaty hair. “No. But Lucas...he’s different.”

  Neil squeezed my shoulder. “Look, Moreno, just because you identify with the boy doesn’t mean you’re responsible for saving him.”

  I did identify with Lucas, more than I’d admit to Neil. The boy saw spirits, too. Not as clear as I could, but with training... let’s just say, El Caos was no place for a psychic kid.

  “He has no family, and he wants out. I promised him I’d make that happen. Anyway, it’s my fault Nico has him. If I hadn’t slipped up and let Nico see my interest in him, he would’ve left Lucas alone.”

  “And what are you going to do if Nico didn’t bring him north?”

  “Keep looking I guess. I’m not giving up on him.”

  “No, I didn’t figure you would. Just don’t let Frazier catch you out in the field. He’d have you pushing the mail cart before you know it.”

  Neil bagged his club and set off across the green after the others. I knew he was right. I wouldn’t be the first adult to write Lucas off and call it a day. At thirteen years old, the kid had already survived seven years on the Monterrey streets, scavenging through garbage dumps to fill his belly. Who could blame him for earning a few pesos running drugs? But Lucas hated all the violence, and ghosts that roamed the barrio streets scared him. My parents saved me from the gangs and set me on the path to master my gift. I promised Lucas I’d do the same for him.

  Chapter 5

  Marley

  “Misty! Lap dance in room three.”

  I nodded to the night’s floor manager as I removed the cash stuffed in my undies from my last set. I rolled the bills into a ball and stuck it in my locker. The time on my flip-phone showed it was still early enough to call Mama before she went to sleep. A little anticipation wouldn’t hurt the customer waiting on me. I’d keep it short.

  The dressing room was too loud to talk in, so I carried the phone down the hall past the private rooms and to the alley door. I paused when my hand touched the cool metal, remembering what I’d found last night when I ducked out to make a call. Shaking my head to clear the memory, I stepped out back.

  “Shady Pines Home,” the voice answered.

  “Yeah, this is Marley Sexton. Is there someone available who can help me say good night to my mother?”

  “Sure thing, sugar. Hold on.”

  I tapped the toe of my sky-high Mary Janes and hoped this call wouldn’t take too long. Mama couldn’t really speak, but her ears worked just fine.

  The voice of a night nurse who I knew fairly well came back on the phone. “Hey, Marley.”

  “How’s Mama doing?”

  “Good, good. Had quite the appetite tonight. She ate all of her supper and still had room for pudding. Has Dr. Brewer gotten a hold of you yet about the new PT program he’d like to try? It’s got a great track record with getting stroke patents up and walking again.”

  My mouth went dry as cotton. It sounded really lame to say I couldn’t afford it. I mean, what should money matter when it came to the health of your family? But the social worker I’d spoken to already told me Medicaid wouldn’t pay for anything beyond what they were now. How was I supposed to come up with the money for this extra program when I could barely pay Mama’s bills now?

  “I’ll think about it. Can I talk to Mama now?”

  The nurse passed the phone to my mama, and I waited until I could hear her soft breath before I started in telling her about my day. Her only responses were grunts, but at least I knew she heard me. After a few minutes, I figured my customer’d been waiting long enough, so I said my “I love you” and hung up.

  Slipping back inside, I headed toward room three. Along the way, I mentally shoved all thoughts of money and Mama into a box shelved it in the back of my mind. Think sexy, I chanted silently in my work mantra.

  I stepped in the room to find a dumpy, middle-aged man sitting on the small couch, dabbing at the sweat of his brow with a handkerchief. Probably a married man put up to this by his buddies. My sexy school-girl outfit didn’t have a pocket for my phone, so I set it on top of a small cabinet that held various props and sex-toys. I wouldn’t need whips and cuffs for this one though. His nerves would have him coming in his pants or losing his erection soon enough. Good. Rubbing up on strangers was my least favorite part of the job, and the sooner this was over, the better.

  “Hi,” I said with a hint of shyness in my voice. “I’m Misty. I’m just going to put some music on.” Because of my girl-next-door image, there were two types of men who requested me for lap dances: first timers who didn’t find me as intimidating as some of my less subtle co-workers, and those with barely-legal-virgin fetishes. The way this one couldn’t meet my eyes, I pegged him for a first-timer.

  I set the iPod to a slow and sexy playlist and turned the volume to a level that didn’t discourage talking. The talkers tended to tip higher, partly because we put them at ease, and partly because conversation turned us into real women instead of just blow-up dolls. The man’s gaze roved over me as I strolled to him. When he focused in on the top of my white thigh-high stockings, visible beneath the super short pleated skirt, he gulped like one of those charact
ers on the Looney Toons.

  The dance was slow and sensual. I took my time, rocking my hips and contorting my back in time to the music. The man didn’t say much beyond a few embarrassed grunts, but his dilated pupils and shaking hands let me know he was getting into it. I slipped into autopilot, letting my body seduce him while my mind ran through the errands I needed to run tomorrow. I could use groceries. I was almost out of milk.

  My white cotton shirt and velcro skirt were on the floor, and I was grinding on his puny dick when a loud crash clamored in the room next door, followed by raised voices. The spell I’d been carefully weaving broke, and the man pushed me off his lap, making me hit the floor hard on my ass. Fuck a duck, that hurt!

  “Uh, sorry...I have to go.” He fumbled with the cash in his wallet, tossing several bills to me without looking at how much they were. He fled the room, leaving the door wide open behind him. I stood, rubbing my bruised tail bone, and picked up the cash. Three five-dollar bills? No way did I just spend twenty minutes dry-humping an insurance salesman for fifteen bucks!

  Too pissed to mess with my clothes, I shoved the cash and my phone into my bra and stomped out of the room to find Jimmy. He’d make the guy pay up.

  The door on the room where the noise came from was open, and I heard shouting inside. Unruly customer? I paused to listen.

  “Tell me where they are, bitch!”

  “I told you, I don’t have no codes!” sobbed Destiny inside.

  “Someone does.”

  “I swear,” she sniffed. “I gave him CPR, not a strip search!”

  The noise of a loud smack rang out, and I hoped it wasn’t another hit on Destiny’s poor battered face. When she’d shown up at the club tonight, Marco refused to let her dance, but she stayed in the bar anyway. Given the number of times I’d seen her sneak off with different patrons, I assumed she’d come in to make money in other ways. But this didn’t sound like no John-gone-bad.