by Sara Daniel
Title Page
Psychic Lies
Wiccan Haus Book Five
Sara Daniel
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An imprint of
Musa Publishing
Copyright Information
The Wiccan Haus: Psychic Lies, Copyright © Sara Daniel, 2012
All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.
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This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.
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Musa Publishing
633 Edgewood Ave
Lancaster, OH 43130
www.musapublishing.com
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Published by Musa Publishing, October 2012
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This e-Book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this ebook can be reproduced or sold by any person or business without the express permission of the publisher.
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ISBN: 978-1-61937-424-9
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Editor: Elizabeth Silver
Cover Design: Kelly Shorten
Interior Book Design: Coreen Montagna
Content Warning
This book contains adult language and scenes. This story is meant only for adults as defined by the laws of the country where you made your purchase. Store your books carefully where they cannot be accessed by younger readers.
Dedication
For Dominique Eastwick and Elizabeth Silver,
for creating the wonderful Wiccan Haus world
and allowing me to play in their sandbox.
Chapter 1
AT FIVE-FOOT-TWO, barely topping a hundred pounds, and not so much as a parking ticket to her name, Fiona Vetter shouldn’t have been concerned about security throwing her out. But she was terrified right now. If anyone wasn’t welcome at the Wiccan Haus, her name surely topped the list, despite the bright yellow crystal they’d given her to secure her reservation and trip through the portal.
When her turn came, Fiona squeezed the shiny orb tightly inside the pocket of her long black skirt, keeping her head down to avoid eye contact. On the Wiccan Haus side, two large men—both wearing black, one wearing gloves—scrutinized her.
She imagined a flashing neon sign above her head. Fake Vetter. Disgrace to her family. Shame to her world. She’d continue forward, until the moment security changed their minds and threw her back to where she was despised and mocked.
The guards didn’t touch her. She didn’t look up to see if they recognized her or tried to acknowledge her in any way.
“Follow the blue line along the floor of the hall to check-in,” one of them instructed.
The ten guests who’d gone through the portal before her turned as one toward the glowing blue line on the floor and hurried along its path. Fiona followed them to the edge of the room where the line began and sat on a stone bench against the wall.
By separating herself from the group, hopefully everyone would be checked in before she walked to the desk and ignited an uproar by announcing the disgraced Vetter was in their midst.
After a couple minutes, the larger of the security men, the one without gloves, approached her. “Ma’am, you’re welcome sit on that bench all night if you like, but the blue line on the floor will be fading soon. We ask for security purposes that you check in while it is still glowing.”
“Of course.” She jumped to her feet and hurried down the hall before she drew more attention to herself and the shame she’d brought upon the Vetter profession and the entire Vetter race.
Before she could get very far, the floor began to shake so violently that Fiona had to press her hand to the wall to keep from falling over. She was vaguely aware of someone dashing through the portal, just as a loud boom reverberated in her eardrums, followed by silence. The portal had closed.
“Cutting it close there,” one of the security men muttered.
She didn’t look back to see who they were speaking to as she headed for the check-in desk. They couldn’t throw her out now that the portal was closed, and she couldn’t go home even if her family would have welcomed her.
She reached the lobby just as the last person walked away from the desk to the elevators. The footsteps of whoever had come through the portal late were gaining behind her. If Fiona hurried, she could check in and get to the privacy of her room before she encountered anyone who might recognize her face or her name.
The lady behind the counter spared her a glance over the deck of cards spread in front of her. “Welcome to the Wiccan Haus. Dinner with the other guests in the dining room is mandatory. Don’t ask for an exception. Tell me your name so I can confirm your reservation. I’m Myron, by the way.”
Fiona glanced around to make sure no one else was in earshot. Unfortunately, the person who’d barely made the portal in time was now directly behind her: a tall, closely shaved man with coffee-colored skin and wearing an overcoat. His dark brown eyes connected with hers.
Her chest clenched in a way it never had before, a yearning and awakening at the same time. She looked away quickly, but not fast enough to stop the click of recognition—the ache of a soul discovering its mate.
Impossible. Vetters didn’t have soulmates. Vetters provided guarantees for happy lifebonds for those races that didn’t mate and didn’t have instant soulmate recognition.
Unfortunately, it didn’t matter what Vetters did or didn’t do. Fiona might have been raised as one, but she had never been one. No, Fiona was cursed with belonging to a race that did indeed have soulmates. Well, she still had freedom of choice. She didn’t have to follow the path her soul set out for her. And she wouldn’t.
She turned back to the clerk, trying to pretend she wasn’t rattled by her soul’s unpredictable discovery. “Myron?” Fiona focused on the Wiccan Haus badge attached to Myron’s shirt. “Your name tag says ‘Cemil.’”
Fiona snuck another glance behind her. The man’s hooded eyes hadn’t wavered. Her entire plan for the week centered on anonymity and hiding out, not making a connection with anyone, least of all her soulmate.
Of course, his contemptuous gaze didn’t give the impression he belonged to a race that felt soulmate connections. No, he looked as though he thought she was nuisance who was holding up the line.
“That’s mine.” A tall man with flowing blond hair stepped behind the desk next to Myron and took the badge, attaching it to his own shirt. “Honestly, Myron, you confuse the guests when you do that.” He winked at Fiona. “Happens all the time.”
Myron ignored him, seemingly engrossed in the card game before her. Fiona hoped she was a terrible employee who couldn’t find her own name tag and played games when she was supposed to be working; the alternative was her boss approved of her cards because she got psychic answers from them.
If only Fiona’s psychic powers came from something as simple as a deck of cards. Then she wouldn’t have been forced into a life of lies that had led to tragedy for an innocent woman and shame on her adoptive Vetter family.
“I need your name to check you in,” Myron said. “You shouldn’t be ashamed to say it.”
Her cards must not be telling h
er much if she had to question not only Fiona’s name but why she was ashamed of it.
Her never-to-be soulmate leaned closer. Didn’t the Wiccan Haus care about the privacy of their guests? Or maybe Fiona’s paranoia had turned all her senses crazy—especially her hidden psychic one.
“Fiona,” she whispered.
“That Fiona?” Cemil asked with concern.
She averted her gaze. There was no need to confirm. She’d disgraced the Vetter name. She deserved her family’s scorn. But she needed somewhere to stay. She had to make Cemil and Myron believe she would do nothing to bring shame on the Wiccan Haus. “I know I’m not worthy of your legendary healing powers. I just want a room for the week. I won’t disturb anyone. You won’t even know I’m here.”
“Fiona, of course you’re worthy.” Cemil hopped over the counter with a graceful leap and extended both hands to her. So, he was the empath of the four Rowan siblings who ran the island—the one who could sense a person’s feelings and heal through his touch.
She backed away before his hands made contact with her skin. “No, I’m not.” She didn’t deserve to heal, not when an innocent woman had died because of her lies.
No, I’m not—truth.
Her small, soft backside pressed against him, and Armando Verdad’s body leapt to life as if he’d never touched a woman before. The internal voice of his power was usually too strong for him to take notice of any physical reaction, but not this time.
He wouldn’t let it interfere with his mission, though. The Department of Truth-Finding was a valuable and necessary part of Syndicate security. He had one final chance to prove it before the department was dissolved.
Fiona jerked away, but he didn’t intend to let her out of his sight. She wasn’t just an incompetent Vetter, as the police and the rest of Syndicate had dismissed her. She was guilty of leading the commander’s daughter into a murderous trap, meant to avenge to commander’s brutal execution of the Chameleon race.
“We’re glad you’re here at the Wiccan Haus,” Cemil said to her but didn’t try to reach for her again. “We’re going to make this a very special week for you.”
“I don’t want anything special,” she whispered in near desperation. Of course not. Special treatment would make people notice her, and she’d most likely come here to hide. She might be able to hide from the police, but not the Department of Truth-Finding.
“Here’s your key. Room four. Second elevator,” Myron said.
Fiona grabbed the key and dashed away.
Armando headed after her. He’d barely received his last minute reservation crystal in time to slip through the portal to reach her. He wouldn’t let her escape before he had a chance to talk to her.
Cemil placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. “Check in. Then you can wander around as you please.”
Armando casually shrugged off Cemil’s hand, but it was too late. The beautiful traitor had disappeared into the elevator.
“It took me a minute to realize it was you who came through the portal in such a rush. What the hell are you doing here, Mr. Verdad?” Cyrus Rowan, wearing mirrored shades and black gloves, strode across the lobby toward him.
Armando sucked in his breath as he came face-to-face with the living legend of Syndicate security, the legend Armando had sworn his Department of Truth-Finding could match in solving crimes and protecting the Syndicate and its people. He still believed it, even if no one else did. “You know who I am?”
Cyrus’s bodyguard, Rekkus, gave a low growl as he matched his boss step-for-step. He was still in human form, but Armando had no desire to tangle with the were-tiger—whether he was human or seven hundred-pound tiger.
“Of course I do,” Cyrus said. “I just didn’t realize that you were so incompetent you didn’t know the law.”
Humiliation flamed through him, but he was too used to being compared to Cyrus and coming up short to show any outward reaction. “What law are you referring to?”
“No Syndicate investigation is allowed on our island without my express approval, which I sure as hell didn’t give.”
“The police are investigating Lizbet Jinsin’s murder.” The words left a bitter taste in Armando’s mouth. They wouldn’t be for long, he reminded himself. He’d earn back full use of his department with this case. “I’m here on my personal time.”
“My ass, you are,” Rekkus said. “I don’t need a truth-finding power to figure out you’re a liar.”
Rekkus and Cyrus didn’t play good cop, bad cop. They both filled the bad cop role. Good cop was Armando’s specialty. Being on the wrong side of the investigation, however, was not.
Well, if he wanted to be on right side of an investigation ever again, fighting evil by uncovering the truth, he needed to get the truth on the plot that had left an innocent woman dead at the hands of her supposedly loving lifebond partner. “I am a man of the truth.”
“The cards say he needs to stay,” Myron spoke up.
Cemil’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
Rekkus snorted.
“His healing is not the first priority. No Syndicate investigation will be conducted on my island.” Cyrus’s sunglasses hid any outward reaction, but his words left little doubt as to his opinion on the subject.
“Not for his healing,” Myron clarified. “For Fiona Vetter. He can help her heal.”
Armando jolted, unable to contain his surprise. He hadn’t considered bringing a co-conspirator to justice as part of healing.
“Myron, perhaps it’s time for you to take some time off to rejuvenate your own powers,” Cemil suggested gently.
“You can stay,” Cyrus addressed Armando. “For now. I’ll check your story with the Syndicate, Mr. Verdad. Expect an extremely unpleasant visit from Rekkus if it does not match what you’ve told me.”
Armando didn’t have to touch the man’s arm to know he meant every word. Armando had bought himself some time to uncover the truth of Fiona Vetter and prove the Department of Truth-Finding was an esteemed part of the Syndicate, not the butt of a joke. Unfortunately, the Syndicate’s confirmation was unlikely to keep the Rowan siblings, the menacing were-tiger, and the rest of the Wiccan Haus staff from breathing down his neck. At least he had Myron on his side.
“Room five. Elevator number two,” she said, holding out his key. “And don’t even think about bothering that poor woman tonight.”
Okay, maybe not Myron either.
Chapter 2
FIONA WENT TO THE DINING ROOM EARLY, not because she was hungry but because Myron had made it clear she wasn’t allowed to skip. Half the room was painted light green and half in dark green; darkness suited her mood, so she walked to the dark side and took a seat in the corner.
A few minutes later a woman came in. Despite an entire room full of empty tables, she headed for Fiona and took a seat next to her. “Hi, I’m Serena, resident mermaid and hydrotherapist.”
“I’m Fiona, and I’m—” the fake Vetter who predicted a happy lifebond for a sweet, lovely woman who was then murdered by her partner the very night of their lifebond ceremony “—a guest.” A guest who’d come here to hide out alone. Healing was out of the question. Lizbet Jinsin would never heal—all because Fiona had pretended to have real vetting powers. Fiona didn’t deserve to heal either.
“Let’s get you some food. It’ll help you relax,” Serena said, flagging down a member of the serving staff.
Several more people entered the dining room. They glanced Fiona’s way before separating between the light and dark green sides. She kept her gaze averted and wondered if the Rowans would kick her off the island if she refused to eat.
Instead, she cleaned her plate. The food tasted surprisingly good, considering her lack of appetite. When she lifted her head and looked around, she realized the dining room was full. Worse, Soulmate Guy was two tables away, scanning the room.
No, she couldn’t call him that; she wasn’t even going to think along those lines. She had enough to worry about without the nightm
are of mixing a soulmate with her real powers. He was nothing more than the guy who’d been behind her at the lobby desk.
But something about the way he deliberately checked out each face made her afraid he was searching for more than a hot babe to hook up with. She didn’t need another journalist wanting an interview with the woman who’d disgraced the entire Vetter race. The focus shouldn’t be on her but on the innocent woman who had died because of her mistakes.
“Thank you, Serena, for sitting with me.” For not making her feel like an outcast. “But I can’t handle this anymore. You don’t want to be seen with me when people learn who I am.”
“I was once the person no one would sit with,” Serena said. “I don’t know your story, but I won’t ever do that to you.”
Easy to say now. The man’s gaze turned to her; her soul jolted and her heart skipped a beat. He started to rise to his feet. Fiona jumped to hers first, running out of the dining room. She didn’t stop until she was locked in her room.
Several times throughout the evening, someone knocked, but Fiona sent them away without opening the door. She’d had all the interaction she could handle.
She hadn’t slept in days, and this night didn’t start out differently. She lay on the bed and relived each vetting session with Lizbet Jinsin and Philippe Mason, who’d given every appearance of being sweetly in love.
She buried her face in her pillow and rocked her body in horror, but it didn’t stop her from replaying every fact and speculation of what had occurred once Lizbet and Philippe were alone after their lifebond ceremony.
At some point though, she must have drifted off, because when she awoke someone was in her room. Stark terror shot through her. Fiona screamed and scrambled off the bed to the corner by the window. Someone had gotten around the locked door, someone who wanted revenge for what she’d allowed to happen to sweet, innocent Lizbet.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Fiona’s fog of terror lifted enough for her to notice a cheerful woman with long blond hair smiling across the room at her.
