Psychic for Hire Series Box Set

by Hermione Stark

  And silly, says the little voice. We have work to do.

  Since when did you err on the side of caution? I retort.

  Fortunately the banquet is done, and I don’t have to return to the tables to clear them until after the guests are gone. Which I have no intention of doing. I head to a guest bathroom to wash off the sticky custard from my hands and neck, and to put on my glitzy gold dress that the little voice had chosen for me.

  I take my time, enjoying the respite of being in this bathroom which is fancier than a bathroom has a right to be. Against one wall is an elegant chaise longue, the hand-painted wall paper behind it depicting an Otherworld lush jungle with fabulous birds. A series of small oil paintings are lit by silk-canopied lamps. The half-lit quiet in here is calming.

  Among the lotions and potions near the sink is a spritzer of exotic perfume. I use some after emerging from one of the two toilet cubicles. I take a look at my dress in the large gilt-framed mirror.

  It’s showtime, the little voice says delightedly as she catches sight of me.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” I ask her.

  Don’t worry. I’ll be in charge. And I’ll deal with anyone who makes trouble about you shirking off work. It’s not like you want to keep this job anyway.

  I turn to leave, pushing open the door, when the sound of an approaching voice startles me. It is lowered and furtive.

  Instantly I recognize Beatrice Grictor’s breathy tones. “Through here,” she is saying to someone. The person she is with groans in discomfort.

  I retreat swiftly back into the last of the two toilet cubicles, and quietly lock the door. I stand there in silence as Beatrice comes into the bathroom.

  It sounds like she’s helping someone else into the room. Someone heavy with a shuffling gait. I hear the person groan deeply as they collapse heavily onto the soft velvet chaise longue. I hear Beatrice’s heels click-click over to the outer door and lock it shut. She heaves an audible sigh of relief.

  The man she is with clears his throat, and mumbles, “It should’ve been fine. I must have forgotten to take a dose.” It is the ambassador. His jovial booming manner is gone. He sounds querulous and old.

  “You really should have taken my advice, my dear,” says Beatrice, her breathy little voice displaying only the tiniest hint of distemper. “I can recommend a very discreet young girl who can take care of your needs. We can say she is your new junior assistant.”

  “Why would I want that, when I have you?” the ambassador says. I hear him grab her, and her squeal of dismay.

  “No, no, don’t do that! You’ll spoil my dress.”

  “But darling, I need you,” he moans.

  “I know. That’s why brought you here,” she complains, still in that sweet voice. “But only take a little. Just enough to get you through the next few hours. Not too much.”

  “But darling you’re so delicious,” he wheedles.

  “No, don’t kiss me,” she cries out. “Not like that. You’ll ruin my makeup!”

  “But I like it like that,” he says.

  “Not now, Griggori!” she finally snaps. Her voice swiftly returns to beguiling and soft. “If you take too much at once you’ll fall asleep. You know how you are. And we can’t afford for that to happen tonight. Imagine if it got out that you were unwell. The press might take it upon themselves to investigate. And we don’t want them finding out about your little problem.”

  “No, not that. I couldn’t bear it,” says the ambassador. “The shame. I’d be hounded out of my position, forced to retire.”

  “Yes dear,” she soothes. “And you’d find it most discomfiting to return to Otherworld once it was known you can’t regulate your energies. It’s so unseemly.”

  “But I’m not dangerous,” the ambassador sulks, sounding like a petulant boy.

  “No, you're just my sleepy teddy bear,” she says. “But your kin wouldn't understand that. You know how they think.”

  In my head the little voice is squirming with glee. That explains it,, she crows.

  What? I ask, not fully grasping what is going on with him.

  She has to feed his Hunger like a baby, is why, she says. At indecently frequent intervals because he can’t regulate his energy levels and consumption. They call them leeches in otherworld, incubae who have to have a feeding mate wherever they go, and sometimes even needing to feed in public. It’s obscene.

  Is he feeding right now? I ask, grimacing at the moaning whimpering sounds of pleasure that the ambassador is making. Intermittent impatient sighs and noises of discomfort are coming from Beatrice.

  Yep, he’s feeding. The gluttonous boor.

  There’s no need to be mean, I say. It sounds a bit like diabetes to me. Like an illness.

  Incubae don't tolerate these sorts of physical weaknesses in their kind. And there’s every need to be mean. The night of the murder he clearly fell asleep after an overindulgent feeding. He doesn't know if she stayed with him or not, and he’s given her a false alibi because he’s too ashamed to admit to his sickness!

  Chapter 20

  STORM

  Knowing the embassy will never admit access to his team, Storm calls his one hope, Beatrice Grictor.

  She answers within a couple of rings. “Agent Storm,” she says in her familiar soft voice. “Is everything all right?”

  “Are you able to talk freely?”

  “Just give me a moment,” she says. He can hear her heels clicking on the flooring underfoot as she hurries to find a more private spot. “I can speak now.”

  “Beatrice, I could do with your help. We think one of our suspects is hiding out at the embassy. We need him for questioning.”

  “And you want me to seek the ambassador’s help to get him out?” she says.

  “Something like that.”

  “May I ask who it is?”

  “Kris Caprio. You mentioned that he is one of the patients at your practice. Raif Silverstone was his doctor.”

  “I see.” There’s already a tone in her voice which tells him that the answer is no. “I’m afraid I can’t confirm whether Mr Caprio is here or not, and I don’t think I can persuade the ambassador to help in this matter.”

  “Because Caprio’s father has many business ties to Otherworld?” Storm asks.

  “I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do. Unless…” She hesitates.

  “I’m willing to consider any idea.”

  “You really think Kris Caprio was involved?”

  “We need to question him, Beatrice. Urgently.”

  “I see. I shouldn’t really do this, but if he has anything to do with what happened with Raif, I don’t think I could live with myself. I have a couple of spare tickets to the ball that the ambassador donated to my charity. Perhaps you want to make use of them?”

  “Thank you, Beatrice. I owe you one.”

  She gives a gentle laugh. “You can take me to dinner some time. You’re an interesting man, Mr Storm.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “But please,” she adds. “You understand that I’m expecting your team to avoid any fuss inside the embassy itself? Tonight’s a big night for the ambassador. You’ll have to do your best to persuade Mr Caprio to leave the embassy of his own free will.”

  “Of course,” Storm says. “You have my assurance. We will make sure to behave as guests at all times inside the embassy.”

  He hangs up the phone and calls Remi, telling her and Monroe to head back to meet him and Leo at the office.

  “So what are you thinking?” says Leo. “You and I head in there and persuade him it’s in his best interests to come with us?” Leo gives a sarcastic grin, fully aware that this is highly unlikely to work. Especially if his intent is to escape into Otherworld via the embassy’s portal, if he hasn’t done already.

  “I bet he’s still in there,” says Storm. “He didn’t strike me as the type to miss a good party. He’ll want one last chance to live it up with his friends before he goes
into hiding.”

  He and Leo drive back in their separate cars. They arrive to find Remi and Monroe already waiting in Storm’s office.

  “What’s the plan?” says Remi eagerly. “Honey trap right? Me and Monroe head into there, and I’ll lure him out?”

  Monroe looks confused. “But he knows what you look like. You’ve questioned him, right?”

  “Yeah, he knows what I look like,” she says. “But he doesn’t know what I’ll look like tonight.”

  “Are you sure you can pull it off?” says Storm. “All the magic inside the embassy tonight will interfere with a glamour. You’ll have to go old-school.”

  “You betcha,” she says, winking. She disappears off to the undercover stores to get ready.

  Forty minutes later she returns, dressed in a full-length scarlet ball gown that drapes lovingly to her curves. A mink is clasped around her elegant shoulders with a glinting diamond brooch. Faux mink no doubt, knowing Remi. The mink conceals the bullet-proof protection bracelets on her upper arms.

  Most striking are the changes to her hair and face. Her normally bright red hair is now a gleaming deep brunette, styled in elegant waves around her face, which itself is markedly different. Her jawline looks more pointed, her forehead broader, her nose softer and given an up-tilted effect. All with the expert application of make up and shading and a hint of magic. Thick false lashes make her eyes look huge and almond-shaped, and they are now a striking crystal blue rather than her usual hazel-green.

  The whole overall effect is that she looks very little like herself and very much like someone else.

  She gives them a twirl. “What do you think?”

  Monroe’s mouth has dropped open. He doesn’t seem capable of saying a word.

  “Sexy,” says Leo in a perfectly professional tone.

  She rolls her eyes. “Not that. Do I remind you of anyone?”

  “You look remarkably like Lynesse Jones,” says Storm. “I assume that’s the effect you were going for?”

  “Don’t men always want what they can’t have?” she retorts. “I’ll wager any woman who looks like Lynesse is likely to catch Caprio’s eye.”

  “I’ve had my fill of wagers,” says Storm.

  “You look great,” says Monroe.

  Remi blushes ever so slightly. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” she says, eyeing up the tux that Monroe has changed into.

  “Enough flirting, kids,” says Leo. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  Monroe is more than ready to do so. Storm can’t tell if the kid is more excited about a date with Remi, or being undercover, or the fact that he will be driving Remi to the embassy in a newly-minted blue Jaguar E-type Zero loaned from the Agency.

  Leo and Storm follow the Jaguar in separate surveillance vans. On arrival, Remi and Monroe toss their keys to a parking valet and head inside, her arm tucked into his as she navigates the red-carpeted entryway stairs in her high heels.

  Storm finds a spot to park his van near the front entrance. Leo drives his around to cover the back. Storm keeps his ear on the audio feed from Remi and Monroe’s wires. Shortly after entering, Monroe murmurs into his hidden mike, “We’ve got eyes on the prize.”

  Storm grins. He knew Caprio had to be in there.

  “Gonna walk right by him,” murmurs Remi. Then a minute later, “Done. The bee has noticed the honey.” She sounds amused.

  “Hard not to notice when you gave him that look,” says Monroe, sounding a little sulky.

  “That’s right, baby,” she purrs at him. “Act all jealous and I bet it’ll make him more determined to win me over.”

  The couple spend all of ten minutes flirting and laughing over glasses of champagne at a prominent position at the bar before Caprio comes over to buy Remi a drink.

  “But I’ve got one right here,” Remi says, giggling.

  “Yeah, she’s already got one,” says Monroe, trying to sound threatening.

  Storm wishes there was a hidden camera to keep an eye on the scene, but conducting video surveillance inside the embassy would have been a step too far. His imagination fills in the blanks. He imagines Remi is batting those ridiculously large false lashes at Caprio.

  “A lady like you deserves a special drink,” Caprio says to her. “Not that swill.” He arrogantly orders the barman to make up a drink to his specifications.

  “So tell me,” he says to Remi. “You must be a succubus, am I right?”

  “Nuh-uh,” she says in a teasing voice. “Guess again.”

  “It’s none of your damn business what she is!” snaps Monroe.

  “Oh hush, darling,” she chides Monroe. “Let the nice man guess.”

  “Well, in that case you’re a sprite. You look delicious enough to be one. Water sprite, right?”

  “Nope.”

  “Not a wood sprite. Can’t be one of those. You’re too foxy.”

  Remi must be slapping his wrist. “Don’t be like that, silly! I know one or two gorgeous wood sprites.”

  “Yeah, but wood. It’s so boring.”

  “Maybe I’m a goblin,” she coos. “How would you like that?”

  Caprio bursts into laughter. “Nice one. That makes me need another drink. Barkeep! get me another one of these.”

  “Oh hush. You’re terrible, you are.”

  “You sure you don’t have succubus blood? You look like someone I know.”

  “Is that right? Anyone I know?”

  “Take a guess… No?… Let me give you a clue… Lyn-es—”

  “Lynesse Jones!” she screeches. “Oh my gosh! People tell me that all the time! And you knew her? Oh my gosh, isn’t it terrible what happened to her? The Devil Claw Killer as well. How exciting.”

  “I suppose you could say that,” Caprio says smarmily. “I’ve had an interesting few days.”

  “Oh my gosh. Tell me everything,” she demands in a scandalized voice.

  “Maybe later,” he says.

  “You can’t tease me like that!” she squeals in excitement. “Was she having an affair with Devil Claw? Do you know who he is?”

  Caprio chuckles. “If I did, do you think I’d be alive right now?”

  “Gosh, how scary. So did you know Lynesse well? Don’t tell me you dated her? I bet you dated her!”

  “Nah, she wasn’t my type. And anyway, wouldn’t want to trespass on my best bud’s territory. The bro code, you know?” There is a puffed up bragging tone in his voice when mentioning his famous pal.

  Remi knows exactly what to do with it. “I knew I recognized you!” she shrieks. “You’re Jared Everett’s best friend! It must be so exciting. Are you an actor too?”

  “I might have dabbled a little bit here and there,” Caprio says in a smug voice.

  Within minutes Remi has gotten rid of Monroe, who departs loudly sulking in the manner of a not-quite-new-boyfriend with a severely bruised ego.

  Remi continues to massage Caprio’s ego for a mere tantalizing two minutes before pretending to lose interest. She complains that the party is a bit boring. She moans that she really could do with a smoke.

  Keen to revive her interest, Caprio offers to escort her to the special smoking area in the embassy gardens but she whines that she likes a particular luxury brand and that she’s left them at home. Then, as if a naughty idea has occurred to her, she says her apartment is not too far, and would he be a darling and drive her there? Her car is right outside.

  She whispers in his ear that she wouldn’t mind the extra privacy either.

  Caprio hesitates. “I have a great room here,” he says. “It’ll give us all the privacy we want.”

  She gives a disparaging laugh. “No darling, not without my cigarettes. But if you can’t help, I’ll just have to find someone else.”

  She must have made a move to leave because Caprio says, “Not so fast. I can drive you there.”

  “Oh goodie,” she purrs. “I’ll even fix you my own special drink as a thanks.”

  Storm is not surprised when
, less than five minutes later, Remi and Caprio emerge from the front entrance of the embassy and traipse down the stairs, arm in arm. Storm waits for her to follow the plan and lead Caprio towards his surveillance van.

  “Come on,” Storm whispers. The plan is to wait until they have safely left the embassy’s entry way.

  At the bottom of the stairs Remi strains her neck, supposedly trying to remember where she parked her car. “Erm, I think it’s over there,” she says, vaguely pointing in Storm’s direction.