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

by Deanna Chase

  Seconds later, he found himself inside a dark, dungeon-like corridor.

  The walls of the club ran narrow in the entryway leading to the main floor, despite the twenty-foot ceiling. Those same walls had also been painted black on one side; on the other, a dark purple, Victorian-style wallpaper with black velvet patterns shimmered faintly where it caught the candlelight. Revik trailed the velvet briefly with his fingers, still focused down the corridor where he could feel and hear others past where the space opened.

  His eyes tracked iron sconces at irregular intervals, brackets dripping white candle wax below guttering flames, the guttering likely from the opening and closing front door. A gas chandelier hung high above his head, and the carpet was new-looking and patterned with dark and light greens.

  He didn’t slow or speed his pace down the narrow corridor.

  When he entered the main floor of the club, he found it even dimmer than the corridor. Lit primarily by candlelight, the room’s lesser illumination was largely due to the size of the space and the distance between the walls.

  He didn’t enter all the way, not at first.

  He paused at the entryway instead, standing just inside the opening of the wall and outside the nearest arc of candlelight.

  He didn’t intend to linger there long. Just long enough to case the range of the room’s occupants. Even as he told himself he didn’t strictly need to do any such thing, he stood there anyway, filing information away methodically in his mind.

  Over a hundred persons, seer and human, visible.

  At least half of those were drunk. He could feel another few dozen in back rooms, also drunk and some high on wires and other human substances, probably cocaine. He felt more than a few seers on Iluvren, too, that so-called aphrodisiac drug. He felt another, larger room to the side, with an audience of some kind...something specialized.

  Revik hoped it wasn’t snuff. He didn’t want to look closely enough to find out.

  Maybe forty percent seers. Eighty percent of those were working or owned by clients visiting the bar from outside, at least if the collars were any indication. The others were likely employed directly by the club as security or other non-sex work staff.

  Revik happened to know this was one of the few seer-owned and operated clubs of its kind, albeit illegally, since seers technically couldn’t run businesses without a human “patron,” or owner. Seers couldn’t own property at all above a certain dollar amount, even gifted.

  Seers had their own underground economy, however, and had since the end of World War II. They also had their own ways of getting around human laws...particularly those of the Human Protection Act, which regulated the rights and restrictions pertaining to seers.

  Revik heard rumors that this particular club utilized blackmail as its currency of choice, some of aimed it at the highest levels of government and the financial sector.

  That, and a number of quasi-legal arrangements existed with the local human mafia. The combination kept the enforcement arm of the Human Protection Act––called Seer Containment, or SCARB––off the backs of the seers who owned this place, and off their clients, as well.

  Revik heard rumors of a connection to the Rynak, too.

  Meaning the international seer black market.

  Revik had run into those people before, too...meaning the Rynak types. Mostly in Moscow, but also years ago, in the Ukraine. It happened enough times in those years for Revik to know better than to start a fight in a bar that had even peripheral ties to the Rynak or its money.

  Revik noticed weapons, too. He counted those, as well.

  Fifteen. Twenty, if he counted the two security-types he could feel in the back.

  Most of those were handguns, and lived in shoulder holsters on seer staff that Revik marked already with his light as having some skill at infiltration. Even knowing they were probably security and hired by the club, Revik tensed at each ping he got of a concealed weapon...even though, logically, he had no reason to think those weapons might be used on him.

  Moreover, he understood the precaution––even approved of it––but the part of him that brought his fingers to the inside of his own jacket in rote, looking for a holster and a weapon that weren’t currently there, didn’t much care.

  Old habits, he supposed.

  Some he couldn’t even shake while drunk, apparently.

  A decade in the monk caves of the Pamir, trying to repent for past wrongs, didn’t seem to do much to dispel Revik’s habits in certain areas, either.

  Eventually, he had to leave the shadowed enclave of the corridor, though.

  When he felt a breeze at his back, saw the candle to his left flicker violently in the same wind, Revik moved. Walking out onto the main floor, keeping his light close to his body and as nondescript as he could, he caught a few eyes flickering in his direction, anyway. He’d expected that, given his height and what this place was. Whatever barcode tattoo he wore on his arm, the seers in here would know him for what he was...and likely a fair few of the humans, too.

  Again, out of habit, he headed for the bar.

  He found a seat at the far right end, where he could have his back more or less to the wall. Once perched on the stool, he relaxed somewhat. He’d just managed to get a bourbon out of the bartender and turned to once more check out the room, when a tall seer slumped onto the bar stool next to him.

  He smiled at Revik, ignoring his flinch even as his light snaked out, assessing Revik’s almost openly.

  “Buying or selling?” the seer asked, his voice friendly.

  Revik fought to swallow the mouthful of alcohol he’d just taken, the first he’d managed since he left the reception at the Defence College.

  He got the swallow down, then lowered the glass.

  “Buying,” he said.

  The seer’s light exuded a pulse of disappointment.

  “You’re sure?” he said, his voice as light as before.

  Revik felt his jaw harden. “Brother, I mean no offense, truly. But I don’t do that kind of work. And I’ve been asked one too many times tonight.”

  The other didn’t so much as blink at Revik’s tone. Instead, he looked Revik over, not hiding his appraisal.

  “That’s too bad,” he said, a few seconds later. “I mean no offense either, brother, but I confess to a strong temptation to try and change your mind. We need an extra for a show we’re doing in the back, and you’d be...” He tilted his head, smiling apologetically. “...Popular, I suspect. Very popular.”

  He relaxed deeper into the stool, still staring unapologetically at Revik’s body and face with dark gold eyes. Revik couldn’t help but notice the seer was handsome, tall and well-built, with Eurasian features and coloring. His light also flickered with flavors of infiltrator, giving it a sharpness that pulled at Revik’s own.

  Even so, the seer’s words made him scowl.

  Before he could say more to discourage him, the gold-eyed seer spoke, perhaps to preempt being told off a second time.

  “What’s your name, brother?” the seer said, his voice still casual, but more polite. “You don’t look familiar to me...are you visiting London?”

  Revik hesitated. He considered giving a fake name, since he could feel infiltration markers on this seer even more strongly now, and he knew infiltration was still a relatively small world. Still, he knew he couldn’t hide his identity here forever.

  Moreover, Vash told him to use his real name here, meaning in London. In effect, Revik was meant to be hiding in plain sight, as well as establishing a public residence a continent away from Alyson the Bridge.

  “Dehgoies Revik,” he said, blunt. “I just relocated here. Two months ago.”

  For the first time, a reaction skirted across the male seer’s face. It was subtle, but Revik saw it and immediately knew the source.

  The male seer knew who he was.

  So the next words out of the seer’s mouth didn’t particularly surprise him.

  “Dehgoies Revik...not the Dehgoies Revi
k? The defector?”

  Revik frowned, turning slightly so he faced the bar. More to the point, so he was no longer facing the other seer. He lifted his drink in the same set of motions. He knew they called him “the defector” behind his back, but he couldn’t for the life of him understand why some seers thought it was fine to say it to his face.

  Immediately, the other seer leaned towards him.

  “Hey,” he said, lowering his voice as he spoke nearer to his ear. “No offense meant, brother...truly. You caught me by surprise, is all. The rumor was that you’d gone full-fledged Seven. That you were in the caves of the Pamir somewhere, taking vows of celibacy and silence...chanting to the Ancestors and so on.”

  Revik’s mood didn’t improve. Nor did he look over.

  The other seer didn’t take the hint, though.

  Well, maybe he took note of it. But he didn’t leave.

  After another few swallows of the Woodford in his glass, Revik gave the gold-eyed seer a harder stare, sending a pulse of much less ambiguously-flavored light.

  “Can I help you, brother?” he said coldly.

  The other had gone back to that thoughtful stare, however. “You really just want to buy?” he said. “That’s absolutely non-negotiable?”

  Revik shook his head, snorting as he raised his glass. “Fuck. Drop it, will you?”

  “Three thousand,” the other seer said, his voice blunt. “One night’s work. That’s pounds, brother, not rupees...or even dollars. But I’d want to set it up in advance.”

  “Three thousand?” Revik stared at him, then broke out in a humorless laugh. “You really think I’m an idiot, don’t you?”

  The other seer didn’t blink. “Not at all, brother. Not at all. I’m dead fucking serious.” At Revik’s second incredulous snort, the seer leaned closer to him again. “Don’t you realize what kind of cache your name has still? I put your name out there, and I won’t just sell human tickets, friend...but seer ones, as well.”

  Revik turned again, in spite of himself. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  Rather than looking apologetic, or even nervous, like a lot of seers did once they heard Revik’s real name...this fucking seer just grinned at him like they were old pals.

  “Brother,” he said, clapping his arm with a hand and then motioning around the dark room. “Do you have any bloody idea how much some of these jokers would pay to see me do a sex show with ex-Rook, Dehgoies Revik? Hell, they’d pay just to see your cock. Trust me, I’d make the three-k back. And then some. Are you okay with pain at all?”

  Revik fought with words, but the other seer went on before he could speak.

  “Torek,” the gold-eyed seer said, holding out a hand. “Clan Bulresch. I own this place.”

  That news made Revik pause.

  He took the proffered hand in silence, his mind sifting through the new information as he shook with the other seer. If this “Torek” truly owned the place, he had some connection to the Rynak...at least, if the rumors were correct.

  Just to keep this place open, he had to be deeply connected in other respects, too, including with the local police and at least the local-level SCARB authority.

  Revik thought all this as he shook Torek’s hand, studying the gold-colored eyes.

  It didn’t occur to him until the handshake ended that to touch hands like that was a purely human gesture, not at all customary among seers. This Torek had a strong British accent, human-sounding, so maybe he’d been raised here. Revik didn’t hear even the smallest trace of the faint Asian flavor and cadence that touched the English of most seers. If he hadn’t been raised here, he’d managed to scrub his origins from his accent entirely.

  Both things suggested that he was young, possibly even younger than Revik himself.

  He looked young, too. Young enough that being raised here, among humans, was possible. He could be the kid of a domestic...or even the kid of a sex worker from the early part of the century. Given the business he’d entered as an adult, Revik’s money was on the latter.

  In any case, if he did own this place, he wasn’t someone to piss off.

  It explained his utter lack of fear of Revik, too.

  “...I could find you someone, sure,” Torek added shrewdly, still looking Revik’s body over as he leaned his elbows and back against the bar, so that their bodies faced opposite directions. “You could pay a few hundred quid to get an extension fuck...a hundred less for a blow job or human.” Torek met his gaze, his expression shrewd. Confident. “Or you could work for me for a night and walk out of here three thousand richer. More than satisfied in other respects, too...I promise you.”

  At Revik’s silence, Torek rolled his eyes, seer-fashion.

  “What’s the difference, brother...truly?” he said, sounding borderline exasperated. “A fuck is a fuck. There’s no insult in doing it this way, no loss of face, not among our people...and I promise you, I won’t let you get hurt.” Torek flicked his fingers towards the seers carrying concealed weapons in different parts of the room.

  “Ask anyone in here. I run a clean shop...and I protect the hired help even more than the clients. Could be a one-off for you...and it’s win-win for me, even if it still leaves me short a stage act tonight.” He gritted his teeth, shaking his head. “Just got word my headliner got hit by a local, anti-seer gang last night. He’s alive,” Torek clarified, as if seeing the reaction in Revik’s expression, or maybe his light. “…Just arrested. It’ll take my people until tomorrow to sort that mess out. He’s in the tank right now, downtown.”

  Torek continued to watch Revik’s face, as if trying to read his light.

  “If you’re good with the terms,” he added, gesturing with one hand. “I’ll post it now, send out a notice on the feeds and the Rynak, see if we can get a push on the numbers from the local Sark colony. I have a feeling they’d come out of the woodwork if I put your name out there...which is why I’d like the delay.”

  Torek’s grin widened, even as the seer bounced his back lightly against the black-padded bar, slapping the counter with his hands.

  “It’ll be a few hours’ work, of course,” he added, inclining his head. “...And I’d like a few weeks, since I’ll want to give it enough time to hit the circuit.” He glanced again at Revik, his eyes shrewd once more, assessing. “We’d make you comfortable tonight, though...drinks on the house. Anything you want to eat, brother. I’ll throw in a fuck for tonight, too, of course. Although a part of me would love to leave you hurting...I suspect that cloud of separation pain coming off of you would allow me to double the admissions price.”

  He winked at Revik, grinning again.

  “Your choice, though...and I’m assuming you won’t want to wait, given that you came in here for that already. I’ve got some really talented brothers and sisters working for me. And we can talk about what you’re okay with and what you’d rather I didn’t do for the act itself...tonight, if that works for you, or sometime next week, if not? Oh, and I don’t know if you have a preference? In terms of gender, that is?”

  Revik stared at him. “Female,” he said, almost before he knew he’d say it.

  The Sark grinned wider, nodding. “Noted. Can’t say I’m not disappointed, though,” he added, giving Revik’s body a harder stare. “So are we good?” he said, standing up straight. “I can write it up, if you’re the contracting sort.”

  Revik felt his head pounding, even as he stared at the gold eyes of the seer standing in front of him. He knew he’d been maneuvered into this place by someone who clearly knew how to get what he wanted. At the same time, Revik knew he could still say no, just walk out, find another club, or hell, pick up someone on the street and just take them to a hotel.

  But why?

  A fuck was a fuck, like Torek said.

  He could use the money.

  And if they got off on seeing him up there, just because of his name, so what? Vash warned Revik that he’d never successfully hide here, or anywhere in the seer world, no matte
r how many fake names he gave out. In fact, the Council of Seven had strongly suggested he not even try to hide, as it would likely only draw more attention to him. They suggested that Revik find ways to distract those watching him, instead...anything he could think of that might obscure Revik’s true job under the Council in guarding the Bridge.

  Revik could think of fewer things more distracting than doing live sex shows under his real name. In a different circumstance, it might even be funny. From a certain perspective, one might also say it was weirdly appropriate...from a penance perspective, at least.

  And yeah...he needed the money.

  Revik shook his head, snorting a little before taking a long drink of the bourbon, maybe just to buy himself a few more seconds before he felt the need to answer.

  Could he seriously be contemplating this? He’d have to stipulate with Torek that his club couldn’t use any kind of image capture. In addition to all the other rules on him, given his job as the Bridge’s official bodyguard and monitor, Revik had been warned to keep his real appearance out of the feeds at all costs, whether his name was out there in common usage or not.

  He would also need to be a hell of a lot drunker, the night of the show, that is.

  Like seriously, shit-faced drunk.

  Remembering watching Alyson that morning, while she’d been on her quasi-date with the human, Jaden...a date that lasted approximately four minutes before said human dragged her into her bedroom and proceeded to fuck her brains out...Revik’s wry smile drifted back to a frown.

  That time, he found himself speaking almost before he knew he intended to.

  “All right,” he said. “Sure.”

  Torek broke out in a grin, clapping him on the back. “Brilliant! That’s bloody brilliant! Thank you, brother.”

  Revik didn’t look at him, though.

  Instead, he tilted his head back, sucking the last of the bourbon off the ice cubes rolling around the bottom rim of his rocks glass.