by Cait London
Leona wanted to run, to lock the door and keep them away. As unsettled as she was now, all her psychic antenna quivering and on full alert, she might just connect with Janice—if Janice possessed any psychic gift at all. The outcome could be unpleasant for both of them.
“Okay, Leona Fiona, calm down. This is your shop and your life. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” Still, a part of her couldn’t help but mourn the girl, who appeared terrified and in need of comfort.
Owen held the shop’s door for his sister. At closer range, Janice Shaw was older than she first appeared. Dressed in a plain white blouse, jeans, and moccasins, the “Freedom” tote on her shoulder and beads around her wrist, she seemed very frightened, her hair in a ragged cut. When the tiny brass bell over the door tinkled, Janice glanced up as if expecting a predator to strike.
As she gripped Owen’s arm, he bent to her and murmured something that seemed to quiet her.
The girl’s black eyes pinned Leona, and she braced herself to meet them. She ached for the girl’s fear. If she was clairvoyant, Janice may have seen terrifying things beyond the limits of reality. One look at her, and Leona wanted to hold her, to fight for her. She walked toward them, pasted her usual businesswoman’s smile on her face, and prepared herself for any extrasensory impact.
But her body had started to heat and soften, alerted to Owen’s raw masculinity. “Hello, Owen.”
“Hello, Leona. I hope you enjoyed last night with your friend.” Owen wasted no time in letting his obvious displeasure be known, his eyes the color of frost.
She didn’t need extrasensory powers to perceive his anger. “I did,” she replied. She would make no excuses for her life, or her friends. She had given Owen no right to act possessive.
“I see.” His gaze held hers as he gestured to the girl beside him. “This is Janice, my sister—”
As Janice walked toward Leona, their eyes locked. Leona wasn’t a focused empath like Claire, but still the tentacles of Janice’s fear reached out to her. Leona’s senses picked up the image of a dark cloak surrounding the girl, keeping her prisoner. Instinctively, Leona knew that this woman-girl had been through hell. She sensed that pieces of Janice’s psyche had been methodically peeled away, leaving her exposed.
Why would anyone want to hurt this lovely, fragile girl? But the damage had been done deliberately. The odd thought shook Leona.
“Help me, spirit woman,” Janice whispered desperately, her eyes pleading with Leona.
Leona fought to stay calm; her instincts told her that it had begun, the calling she had always refused and hated, the ancient seer blood calling to hers. She would not become what her mother and grandmother had become. Smiling gently, despite every intuitive edge quivering inside her, she replied, “I’m not a spirit woman.”
“You have powers. You are strong.”
Leona wanted to scream that she’d never wanted the curse of the clairvoyants or anything to do with extrasensory perceptions. Yet visions hovered all around her, no matter how she fought them. She wanted to scream that if she “opened” fully and deliberately practiced to make her gift stronger, she’d be doomed. Everything that she didn’t want to be could possess her. Her memories of her grandmother’s insanity were enough to stop any inclination.
“You’re mistaken. I have no powers.” When Leona glanced at Owen for help, he stepped back and crossed his arms, his expression hard and unrelenting. Clearly, she was on her own to deal with Janice’s plea.
Suddenly, Janice’s thin hand reached out to grip Leona’s forearm. Everything within Leona stilled. She tried to breathe, the breath pressed from her. The impact sent her back, her hand gripping the wolf’s-head brooch as a talisman. In the heartbeats it took Leona to recover, Owen had moved in protectively, his arm around her. He used the other to take Janice’s hand, freeing Leona. “Take it easy. Janice, give her a moment.”
Leona stared up at Owen, unable to speak. How could she tell Owen that his sister had been gripped by a powerful evil?
She’d only been uneasy and restless after the man had visited her shop in July, but nothing like this.
Her body chilled, Leona was momentarily glad for Owen’s warmth and strength. Then she stepped clear, needing space to think and regroup.
“I cut my braids.” Janice’s confession seemed childlike.
“You did?” Keep calm, keep focused, keep your shields high. Maybe Leona was mistaken, maybe there was nothing evil in Janice. Perhaps Leona had only picked up the shadowy bits from Owen’s descriptions. Leona’s unwanted extrasensory perceptions could be working overtime. And they could be wrong.
“Yes. He told me to. Owen said we have to go to a beauty shop. He tried, but he’s not good at fixing women’s hair.”
“Owen told you to cut your braids?” Leona asked carefully. She wanted to run and hide, because she already knew the answer. Lurking in the Aislings’ lives was someone who wanted them dead, or mindless, and he’d already sent others to do his dirty work.
“No. He.”
He. The others the psychic vampire had used were gentle people, or young and vulnerable. Tempest’s gifted hands had traced the connection; they’d all been reached through a computer, the stronger mind taking them and using them to do his bidding. The attacks on her sisters had been performed by men whose identities had been taken over by the psychic vampire. Addicted to computers, the victims were seduced online by someone powerful, someone who wanted that Viking brooch—and the power that went with it. This girl had also been touched by the same evil; Leona sensed it…. “Janice, do you like computers?”
Owen inhaled abruptly and stiffened. “Why?”
“She can’t be near a computer, Owen. She must not use one.” The urgent warning left Leona’s lips before she realized she’d spoken.
“We decided that she should stay away from them for a while. I guess we are going to have that talk after all, aren’t we, Leona?” It wasn’t an invitation; it was an order. Owen wanted to know exactly why she’d made that exact warning.
Janice looked from her brother to Leona and back again. “She’s your woman, isn’t she, Owen?”
Owen didn’t react, and Leona suspected he’d told Janice of their one night together. “Your eyes just turned that dark gold,” he noted quietly.
Leona inhaled slowly, minding her temper. She refused to speak.
“She is a lioness, a fierce hunter,” Janice added. “Tell your sister, the designer, that I love my bag, please.”
“I will. She’ll be very happy you’re enjoying it.”
“I love horses.” Janice noted the display of Claire’s Bags and suddenly reached for one. It was “Date Night,” the bag Claire had been creating when she’d been attacked. Janice stared at the bag and clutched it in both hands. Her whisper was uneven and fearful. “He touched this, didn’t he? And you know, don’t you?”
“He?” Leona asked cautiously.
“He.” Janice rummaged in her tote and came up with a folded piece of paper. She solemnly handed it to Leona. Leona’s fingers trembled just that bit as she unfolded the paper. The man’s sketched image caused her to shiver.
Leona had seen him in her nightmares, his long black hair waving around his sharp face, twin braids tied by gold and leather, swinging like snakes. His thin mouth had spewed words angrily, his eyes wild and furious as he’d pointed to the chieftain’s brooch, cursing it….
In Leona’s mind, the sketch flipped into another image, that of Stella Mornay, her grandmother, leaning close to a very young Leona, trying to warn her…. He’s coming. He’s very near, but not quite ready. He’ll kill to get what he wants. Forgive me, Leona. Protect your sisters and your mother, for I cannot. You’ve got to stop him, Leona….
In that fleeting instant between grandmother and child, Stella Mornay transferred the man’s image to Leona’s mind. Then Stella Mornay had tried to avoid her nightmares and tangled images by drinking herself into stupors—and finally committing suicide.
Shaken, Leona managed to refold the paper and gave it back to Janice. Aware that Owen watched her intently, she attempted a normal tone. “You do lovely work, Janice. You’re an artist then?”
“I used to be a graphic artist. But now Owen won’t let me near a computer.” The ache of an artist was there, wrapped in the terror of the forbidden.
“Have you seen that man before, Leona?” Owen asked harshly.
“No.” But she had in her nightmares, and from his hard, “you’re-lying” look, Owen knew the truth.
“Let’s talk. Tonight,” Owen stated firmly to Leona before taking his sister’s hand.
Smiling at Janice, Leona selected a silk scarf with large red tropical blooms, a perfect foil for the girl’s darker complexion. Janice needed a talisman, or something to make her think that she was protected. Perhaps the scarf would seem like that talisman. “Not tonight. Here, Janice, I’d love you to have this.”
When Owen reached for his billfold, Leona shook her head. “It’s a gift.”
With the air of one who has deep pride and who has always paid his way, Owen hesitated. Then he nodded curtly.
Leona wrapped the scarf around Janice’s head and adjusted the untied ends. But inside her mind, she had focused on reaching the darkness inside Janice, easing it. “You’re going to be just fine, Janice.”
With a sudden cry, Janice wrapped her arms around Leona. Holding the girl’s thin body tightly, Leona didn’t hide her tears as she looked at Owen.
“You’re going to be fine,” she repeated against Janice’s cheek. Leona smoothed a hand over the tension in the girl’s back, and willed away the darkness hovering around her. She repeated the comfort a third time, attempting to force every particle of evil away from Janice. Leona could almost feel the evil slither away—but not quite. Its claws had sunk too deep.
Closing her eyes, Leona was shaken by her own emotions. A forgotten scene from the past, her grandmother’s warning, had just popped into her mind. And she had just discovered that she could soothe a troubled mind. How had she known what to do, to find that ragged thread in the darkness and stroke it gently?
Had Aisling done the same?
Yes. You have my gift. It’s time you used it. That quiet, always-present voice inside Leona answered.
Leona eased away and held Janice’s face in her hands. She wondered again how anyone could harm such a beautiful creature. “You believe me, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do.”
Janice’s brilliant smile warmed Leona, then she glimpsed Owen’s fierce scowl. “Don’t lead her on if you’re not going to help,” he warned.
“He was hurt, a long time ago,” Janice explained softly. “A woman.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“You do not know anything.” As if the women had invaded his privacy, Owen said, “We need to go, Janice.”
Leona hadn’t known—exactly. Now she tucked away Janice’s tidbit about Owen, noting his bristling stance. Whatever had happened between Owen and this other woman, it had left a deep scar.
“He’s afraid of you,” Janice whispered with an impish grin. “My big bad brother, so strong and fierce. He’s afraid of nothing, just one woman with red hair and green eyes. My, my.”
“Cool it.” Owen nodded curtly. With a last, meaningful glance at Leona, he led Janice out of the shop.
His expression said he would return and demand answers. Leona hadn’t agreed to help his sister, but Owen wouldn’t give up. Not when his sister needed protection. Leona didn’t blame him for that; in his position, she would do the same.
Chilled by Janice’s intuitive reaction to her and the sense that evil hovered around the girl, Leona watched both of them pass by the tinted window. They seemed almost like the ghostly images that slid more frequently to her mind. She’d felt so safe, away from large bodies of water, and now she was almost as vulnerable as Janice.
Instinctively Leona knew if she didn’t help Janice, the girl would die.
Leaning her head back, she watched the blades of the ceiling fan, the slight whispering of the air stirring around her, the lighter fabrics rustling as if alive. Suddenly she had to know. Hurrying over to the bag Janice had held and Tempest had held before her, and Claire first, as the designer, Leona touched the bag. After Claire’s attack, Tempest had picked up the evil trace in it; it had burned her psychic hands and the experience had drained her. Tempest was strong in her own right. She possessed the ability to trace a history of an object by holding it. If she’d been so badly affected, the evil on this bag was very, very strong….
Leona had held the bag before, but never like this, seeking its mysteries. She focused on her hands, on the sensations passing from the evening bag into her fingers. She caught ordinary textures and shapes, but nothing more. The bag remained cool and unresponsive in her hands. Careless of the arranged display, Leona dropped the bag to the others. “I will not let this happen to me. I won’t. I will not be the weak link that brings death—or worse—to my family.”
“Touching. My heart bleeds.”
In his underground workroom, Rolf clicked off the television. The camera in Leona’s shop had given him the entire scene of the Shaws and Leona, of Owen Shaw asking Leona to help Janice.
Leona had taken the bait. Rolf knew Janice would be perfect for the part. Leona will help her, of course. The Aislings are all basically healers, a contrast to that Viking strain that would rather fight. When Leona helps Janice, she’ll use her energy. That will drain her protective resources, and she’ll be weaker. Then, Rolf would have Leona.
Flipping back a long black braid at the side of his face, he picked up a picture of Greer Aisling. The newspaper photograph had been taken as she spoke to the World Convention of Psychic Minds ten years ago. Powerful psychics had crowded the auditorium that day, and Rolf had been primed to prove he was the best of the best. He’d challenged Greer before and lost, but he’d trained hard for that one moment. He’d thought that the headaches, the nosebleeds from practicing would be worth all the honors he would receive.
That was a mistake he wouldn’t make again. Greer was very strong, and he had lost, defeated and shamed in front of his peers. For that, she would pay. “Take one triplet down, then the rest, and that would leave Greer, all alone. Dear, dear…”
He slapped the photograph down on a cluttered workbench. “Then Greer’s mind and Thorgood’s brooch is mine. I know she has it stored away somewhere. But then, I’ll have her mind, and I’ll know how to get it, won’t I? I’ll have my family’s revenge, and my own.”
Rolf hummed as he turned back to working on the fabricated disguises that allowed him to move about easily. He expertly fluffed the gray wig that was his Alex-disguise. Everything in good time. He was closing in on Leona. One adjustment he needed to make was to move the microphone at her house. He hadn’t been able to hear what she said to the mirror last night…. And he needed to know everything in order to destroy the Aislings.
“She would barely open the door to talk to me,” Leona stated, unsettled by her attempt to talk to Sue Ann earlier. Dinner with Alex offered a respite from the traumatic day, and they’d agreed to meet at his favorite restaurant. Their usual nook was shadowed and pleasant, and Alex had been waiting when she’d arrived.
Shaking her head, she continued, “Sue Ann looked terrified. I don’t understand. She was just fine yesterday, happy, chatty, full of life. After work tonight, I drove out to her place and when she saw me, she gathered up her children and hurried inside. She wouldn’t even open the door to me. Goodness, Alex. I’ve babysat for those children. I wouldn’t harm them. I’ve had few friends outside my family, and Sue Ann has been so dear. She helped me so much after Joel’s death. This is not like her at all.”
The dim light flashed on Alex’s thick lenses
as he nodded. “You must get help right away. The shop would be too much for you to handle without part-time help. You’ll be exhausted. We can’t have that,” he said firmly, even as he eyed the blackberry cobbler in front of him. “I miss home cooking. Cynthia always had dinner ready when I came home. I’d thought it would always be that way after we—I retired.”
Leona looked at him, but her mind was filled with that sketch, the narrow hawkish features, that long black hair, the small braids close to his face, the gold threads tying them. Nothing could change that face, the bones thrusting at the skin, the cheeks hollowed, those cruel lips. It was the face in her nightmares, spewing curses at Aisling and Thorgood….
She picked at her chocolate cake and pulled a small portion apart, separating it into crumbs as she dissected each thought: Exactly who was Owen Shaw? There was something very different about him, something familiar from long ago.
As if one crumb held the answer, Leona suddenly understood. Owen’s face had been that of the Viking in her nightmare. In her vision, she had been Aisling, watching the chieftain stride toward her, fresh from raiding her village.
Her mother had had the same dream, that of a conquering chieftain approaching the ancient Celtic seer, Aisling….
Every drop of Leona’s blood, her coloring, her eyes, her visions, all traced back to Aisling. But almost hidden was that strand of that Viking fighting blood…. She could feel it stirring inside her, needing to track down the bastard stalking her family. To protect them, she could kill him. Every instinct told Leona to call him out…
Alex’s voice brought her back to their conversation. “Mm. Good pie,” he said, patting his soft middle section. “You know what the house really needs is a room that looks like a child’s, a nursery. Cynthia always wanted a baby and children, but it just never happened. Leona, if there’s anything I can help you with at the shop—you seem so troubled over Sue Ann leaving—let me know. Hey, I’m retired. I can work on this for you. Maybe I could ask around for someone to help you.”
