Psychic for Hire Series Box Set

by Hermione Stark

  All sign of it is gone now as she sleeps, her cheeks mildly flushed, her hair streamers of pale gold spread out across her pillow. She has every appearance of a sweet, innocent beauty — the last thing he expected to find when he came here. What secrets is she keeping inside that beautiful head of hers, he wonders. Her breathing is deep and even. He watches for a while until he is sure that she really is fast asleep.

  When he turns away from the bed, he shrugs his shoulders, forcing himself to mentally cast off the persona he had assumed for her benefit. The tender concern that had been on his face a moment earlier slides away. He snuffs the flame of it out in his heart. There is no room for it in this life he has chosen for himself. Duty first. Always duty.

  Storm swiftly assesses the room. Moments like this require the careful self-control he has nurtured over the years. But even years of practice are no safeguard against the unexpected. He had very nearly given himself away earlier when he had assaulted Freddie Wellesley. He could have happily killed him, and had only recovered his control just in time. Fortunately Diana had been too much in shock to have noticed.

  Storm presses down on her pillows on either side of her head, feeling for anything hidden inside them. Then he slides his hands carefully beneath each one. If she awakes, he can easily claim to have been tucking her in. He finds nothing. He extracts a small flashlight from his pocket and gets down on his knees to check beneath her bed. Again nothing.

  His heartbeat thuds steadily and evenly, only slightly more elevated than usual. He has waited years to come this close. The question is whether Diana Bellona is what he has been searching for. If she is, there will be no birthday celebrations for her tomorrow.

  He feels a wrenching tug of regret at this. He did not expect to find her so very captivating. This emotion is an unexpected inconvenience. It is not in his nature to slip up. It has been a long time since he has allowed himself to indulge in any sort of feelings. Beauty is dangerous that way. Her beauty is dangerous even to herself.

  Constantine Storm hardens his heart, or what is left of it. Beauty is so often deceitful. Beauty is worthless. He has had enough practice tearing beauty apart to reach the ugliness beneath, as he will do with her too. But first he must be sure. What he is looking for must be in this room. If not, he is going to have to extract it from inside her beautiful head.

  He checks her desk next, removing the contents of the large envelope he finds there to read the invitation card and check the flight ticket. Everything has the name Diana Bellona on it, as he had expected.

  His eyes narrow. Diana Bellona has been invited here as a guest, so why is she pretending to be a succubus escort? Whoever had invited her had left no trace of their identity on any of the enclosed papers. There is no letter included.

  He continues his search. He finds no passport to confirm her identity. No credit cards. No phone. And, rather interestingly, no luggage. Where has she hidden everything?

  He is checking the contents of her wardrobe when his phone buzzes. He hastily cancels the call before the buzzing wakes her up. Going to the en-suite bathroom, he shuts the door and turns the taps on full blast before returning the call. He listens to what the caller has to say. It is not good news for Diana Bellona. Her time is running out.

  Chapter 24

  DIANA

  When I awaken, my head is still spinning with the visions. I am so tired of them that I follow my automatic instinct to block them out. I have become an expert at shoving them to the back of my mind.

  I check the clock and find nearly the whole day is gone. It is evening already. It hardly seems to matter. I lay in bed for a long time staring up at my canopy. I cannot believe what Freddie tried to do to me. I’d thought he was my friend. I’d trusted him. His betrayal makes me want to burst in to tears all over again. Tears. Stupid tears. I am tired of being a victim.

  Anger is what I need. Pure burning anger. The sort that the little voice is never lacking in. How dare he do that to me, as if I was a piece of meat, and not a person? Meeting Storm had felt like a little spark of magic that was going to transform the rest of my life. I had been floating on a cloud. How dare Freddie ruin it?

  I hate that he did it in a moment that I had felt so blissfully happy, in a moment when my guard had been down. It is like a slap in the face from life. Like it knows I do not deserve happiness, that my bliss will always be ruined by horror. The worst bit is that I never saw it coming. Me, a so-called psychic. I’ve pushed my visions to the back of my mind and refused to listen to them and now it is like they are punishing me.

  I had dreamed of meeting Storm. I had seen his face in my visions, and now he is here in this castle, and I have danced with him as I did in my dreams, and there is absolutely no denying that my dream of him was real.

  I was stupid to think I could pick and choose which visions I want to believe and which I don’t. I have dreamed of Xander Daxx’s murder. By a shooting or by a stabbing, I don’t know. Perhaps the killer is that determined.

  How will I feel if that vision comes true too? If I could have saved him? I am here in the same castle as him. Not helpless and trapped as I had been at the Coltons’ house. If I do nothing now and he dies, it will be my fault. I will have to live with that for the rest of my life, and I don’t think I could bear it.

  Right now this castle has to be one of the most secure buildings in the whole country, so why are my dreams insisting Xander Daxx is not safe? I saw his damn magical protection bracelets with my own eyes, but it seems they are not going to save him.

  I can no longer pretend that it will all be okay even if I do nothing. He isn’t safe, even here. If I was able to be alone with him on my first evening here, why couldn’t the killer? Freddie had attacked me in this so-called secure castle. Only sheer luck had brought Storm to me in time. I may not like it, but maybe I am going to have to be Xander’s sheer luck.

  I groan as I let my mind drift back towards the dream. Snatches play in my head. Crimson dripping from white sheets. The gleaming knife on the floor. Me dancing with Storm, whirling around a ballroom to music and… and … Oh my God! The thing on the wall! Thick blood dripping off a giant clawed pawprint and slowly running down the cream colored wall.

  A bloody clawed pawprint.

  I wretch. I have to clamp my hands over my mouth until the urge to throw up goes away. It was the mark of a beast, unmistakably the mark of the Devil Claw Killer.

  A shudder trembles through my entire body. It was there all along but I just didn’t want to see it. Just remembering it makes me feel contaminated. I want to shower. Wash this feeling away. No wonder I spiraled into a panic attack yesterday.

  I cover my eyes with my hands, mortified at the memory of falling apart in front of Storm, and how he had held me so patiently while I embarrassed myself.

  The soft sound of someone clearing their throat jerks me upright in bed. In my paranoia I almost expect to see DCK himself, but it is a woman. She is sitting on a chair not too far from my bed. A tall woman with dark red hair, who I have never seen before. She is smiling at me. She stands up, and I see she is wearing a nurse’s uniform.

  “You’re up!” she says. “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine,” I say automatically, stunned to find this stranger in my room. My voice comes out hoarse. My eyes flick around the room, looking for Storm.

  “Your friend had to leave,” the woman says. “He had a work commitment. He left his number. Would you like me to call him?”

  I shake my head. “Erm… No.”

  My head was spinning enough already without this woman being here, with her cheery smile and her chipper voice. I want nothing more than for her to go away.

  “He asked for me to check on you when you awoke. Said you’d been through quite the ordeal.”

  When it looks like she might want to touch my arm, I flinch away. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  I don’t want her looking me over. How long has she been here? Did she see the bruises Freddie left? They will hav
e vanished while I slept. How will I explain that? I wonder if she has already checked on me. The possibility she might have seen my navelstone horrifies me.

  My thoughts must show on my face because she gives me a reassuring look. “I’m Nurse Remi. It’s not our policy to examine patients without their permission unless they are in immediate distress.”

  “I don’t need an examination, thanks. You can go now.”

  “Your friend said you might feel safer if I stayed with you?” she says. “In fact, he was quite insistent!”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Sometimes these things play on the mind even if you’re physically fine. Would you like to talk to someone about what happened?”

  “No.”

  I am beginning to feel irked. A glance behind her shows me that she has tidied away the messy pile of clothes on the floor that Lila had left when she had been choosing dresses for me. So she is handy. She is statuesque and pretty too, and her faint unidentifiable accent makes her seem exotic.

  The thought of her discussing my stupid panic attack with Storm, as if I was some fainting pansy of a girl, makes me burn inside. I don’t need her. I can heal on my own and I damn well don’t want her prying eyes seeing it.

  “Some visitors came to see you while you were sleeping,” she says brightly.

  “What visitors?”

  “The neighboring girls. Some of them overheard the scuffle from their rooms.”

  I close my eyes briefly, feeling awful the idea of people knowing what happened to me, of them thinking I am weak, a victim. I can already imagine them whispering about me — there goes that girl, the one who allowed herself to be attacked.

  “One of them was most insistent on seeing you,” Nurse Remi says, nodding towards a bouquet of bright flowers on my bedside table. “A redhead. She brought you those.”

  “Lila,” I murmur, feeling touched.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I sent her away. Your friend, Mr Storm, said he wanted you to rest.”

  The thought of him being protective of me lights a glow in my heart. It was sweet of him to call a nurse to check on me, interfering though she might be.

  I notice a little envelope tucked into the bouquet of flowers Lila had sent, and pluck it out. Inside is a handwritten note.

  Diana,

  I cannot believe Freddie the brute attacked you! I am going to give him hell if I see him. So glad you are okay. I’m going to teach you how to look after yourself. Come find me asap when you are feeling better, okay?

  Lots of love, Lila Xx

  P.s. Just because Storm rescued you, doesn’t make him a hero. Don’t get in too deep, too quick. Please be careful. Men are never what they seem.

  It is like a dash of cold water to my face. Is she right? Am I deluding myself? I don’t know Storm. I don’t know him at all. He told me himself that he doesn’t like Xander and I hadn’t even bothered to question it. Why would he come to the engagement party of a man he hated? Freddie deceived me. Am I really going to let Storm do it too?

  Chapter 25

  DIANA

  I had trusted Storm simply because I so badly wanted to. Because I wanted to believe he liked me. Is it enough? Aren’t people supposed to earn trust?

  My navelstone had vibrated when he arrived. Anything to do with my navelstone cannot be good. Perhaps it was a warning. Whatever it was, I can no longer just ignore it.

  I need to do something. But first I need to get rid of this pesky Nurse Remi who seems intent on sticking to me like glue. I am beginning to wonder if she will end up reporting every word I say to Princess Caroline. Does Princess Caroline know what sort of guy her favorite buddy Freddie is? Does she even care?

  My stomach growls loudly. It is just past dinner time. Oh how quickly I have gotten used to having regular meals in the day.

  “Would you like me to order some food to be delivered to your room?” Nurse Remi says.

  “Actually, I feel rude asking for a delivery when they’ve arranged a formal dinner. Could you bring me up a tray after you finish eating your own meal? I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

  “Sure. That sounds like a plan. Do you need anything before I go?”

  “No. I’m just going to stay in bed. Thanks Nurse Remi.”

  As soon as she is gone, I get out of bed. I search through all the drawers in my wardrobe before I find some normal clothes. I pull on a pair of comfy jeans and a plain top. I put my hair in a ponytail and tuck its length into my neckline. My stomach growls again, but I ignore it. I’ve gone several whole days without meals in the past, just a few hours now isn’t going to kill me.

  I need to find out who wants Xander Daxx dead, and I want desperately for it to not be Storm. I grab my castle map and check it for a library. I cannot find it. The map only highlights areas being used for party events, but I am certain a castle this size must have a library.

  As I leave my room, I worry a little about bumping into Freddie. I tell myself that I will knee him where it hurts. Or at the very least, I will scream blue murder. I won’t let him catch me out again. I catch myself thinking that if only I’d had my own phone or laptop, I could have stayed in my room. But the thought angers me. Why should I be the one who hides away?

  I head down to the main entrance and manage to find a member of staff to point me in the right direction. Fortunately the library has computers available for me to use. It is large and wonderfully quiet and smells deliciously of books, and best of all nobody else is here. At any other time I would have delighted in it and wanted to spend hours exploring the shelves. But not now.

  I find a computer tucked away in a corner behind some bookshelves, and switch it on. I am reluctant to search the internet for Storm. It feels intrusive somehow. So I decide to first look up the magical bracelets Xander had been wearing, wondering how the killer will get past them.

  I try lots of different variations of the words ‘magical protection bracelet’, including image searches, but don’t find much that looks or sounds like what I saw on Xander’s wrists. I do however find a lot of trolls on social media sites complaining about otherkind’s ‘demon-hunting police agencies’ hoarding their supernatural protections and magic rather than sharing it with humans.

  The most useful thing is one article about the American military trying to develop magical wrist bands which, when worn, somehow created a magical bullet-proof vest. Apparently their efforts had been abandoned because the bracelets only worked if the wearer had their own inherent magic to power them, and even then the bracelet’s magic restricted the wearer’s movement too much. Which wasn’t useful for human army personnel.

  I frown. If Xander’s bracelets are the same that means all they do is create an invisible bullet-proof vest, which isn’t exactly infallible. And heck, a killer like DCK might even be able to use magic to overcome the vest’s magic.

  I search the web for DCK. The number of results is overwhelming. I scan a few but they don’t tell me anything new. Just that DCK is thought to be otherkind but no one knows what species. Some even speculate that he might be a powerful human wizard.

  What everyone does agree on is that he has killed dozens of people all over the world, particularly relishing high-profile victims, but the investigating agencies have no clue who he is. He always leaves the mark of a huge clawed pawprint dipped in blood, as if to boast that this kill is his, and to taunt cops and the scared populace alike.

  Searching for DCK will get me nowhere so I take a deep breath and search for the name Constantine Storm instead. Just like with DCK, a huge number of results comes up.

  Nearly everything is about his parents. His tragic mother, Inaya Ashara, the stunning angelus actress murdered during the height of her fame and beauty. Countless news articles about his father’s trial and all the speculation on whether he did it or not, and countless opinion articles from people who had taken sides.

  The case had turned into a battle between humankind and otherkind, each side rampantly believing that Avan Sto
rm was innocent or guilty depending on their allegiance.

  A paparazzi shot of Storm from that time catches my eye. In it he is an eleven year old with haunted eyes clutching the hands of his young sisters, all of them caught in the middle of the chaos. The picture is shot in shadows but a single shaft of sunlight has struck Storm’s face and lit it up. He looks beautiful and otherworldy, as if the photographer wanted to highlight that these were not human children.

  The picture makes my heart ache. I thought Storm had told me the important stuff about his life, but he didn’t even tell me he had sisters. He didn’t tell me he’d been trapped in a riot, probably afraid for his life.

  Biting my lip, I click on a story about Avan Storm’s subsequent suicide. It feels awful to intrude into this part of Storm’s life, but I know it might be important.