Chapter Seven

 

The kiss was good. Really fucking nice. His warm mouth was insistent without being aggressive. There was just a hint of tongue, but enough that it turned me on. I pressed closer, wanting more even though I knew this was nuts. We hardly knew each other, and yet his taste was almost familiar.

He broke the kiss first, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I mumbled, cheeks hot. I was embarrassed I’d kissed him because I was sending him mixed signals. I didn’t want to get involved with him. That wasn’t what I was looking for. But sticking my tongue in his mouth probably wasn’t getting that point across.

Wincing, he said huskily, “I swear I only came by to check on you. Not to hit on you.”

“Look, I’m not mad or upset,” I said. “We’re both adults. But I don’t want that. I don’t . . . need that. I’m sorry I kissed you. I shouldn’t have. Listen, I’ve thought over your dinner invitation, and I don’t think it’s a good idea. It has nothing to do with the kiss. I’m just not in a good place for anything. It’s not personal. I simply don’t want to get involved with you or anyone.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What’s the big deal?”

“I know. It’s not a big deal.” I avoided his gaze. “I just think the timing is off.”

“Why do I get the feeling there would be no right time?”

“I’m sure you have lots of other options. If the nurses are anything to go by, that is a certainty. I appreciate you giving me a ride home from the hospital. I appreciate you coming to check on me, although it wasn’t necessary. But I think it’s best to just drop things here.”

“Is this the brush-off?”

I moved away from him and said, “Come on, Ian. We don’t exactly run in the same circles. I can’t even think why you’d want to have dinner with me. It’s illogical.”

He lifted one shoulder. “I like you. I didn’t at first. Well, that’s not really true. I didn’t trust you at first. But I do now. I’d like to know you better.”

“That’s flattering and all,” I rumbled, “but I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” I did find him attractive. There was no denying that. However, I just didn’t want to invest time and energy getting closer to him. It had no future.

Isn’t that what I like? No strings. No future.

“I don’t give up easy,” he said with a stubborn jut to his jaw.

I smiled unwillingly. “Why are you so persistent?”

He wrinkled his brow. “I don’t really know. I just feel like I’m supposed to be in your life.”

I chuffed. “So now you’re a psychic?”

He grimaced. “No. It’s just a feeling I can’t shake.”

His sincerity washed over me. He wasn’t lying. He truly did feel that way, I could read it. But why would he feel that way? It made no sense. “I’ll . . . I’ll think about it some more. Maybe I’ll change my mind.” I moved to the door as I spoke.

“Are you just saying that to get rid of me?” he asked suspiciously.

I gave a guilty laugh. “No.” I opened the door. “But I am tired and I have work to do.”

“Okay, I can take a hint.” He stepped out onto the porch, but he hesitated. “Don’t believe everything you hear, Lorenzo. Nurses are huge gossips.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“And keep your phone on in case I want to check on you,” he said.

I sighed. “Ian, listen, you don’t need to panic if you call and I don’t answer. I shut my phone off when I work.”

He frowned. “Maybe you should just put it on vibrate.”

I laughed. “Maybe you should just calm the hell down and not assume the worst.”

He walked down the steps with a self-conscious grin. “I’m a doctor. We always assume the worst.”

“Have a good day, Doc.” I closed the door and leaned against it. The memory of his warm mouth against mine still lingered. That familiarity still persisted.

I went back to my laptop and picked up my tarot deck, choosing a card at random: The Ace of Cups, signifying the awakening of new feelings.

Ian said he felt driven to know me better. Why? What cosmic force was compelling him to pursue me, when it was so clear we weren’t a good fit?

Scowling, I slid the card back into the deck. I’d wasted enough time on Ian. With a grunt, I headed to my computer to see if I had any online clients waiting. Work was what I needed to focus on. Not men who confused me and made me feel things I didn’t want to feel.

A week later I sat with a new client, Mr. Piddleson. He’d been referred to me by Mrs. Beckom. I was thrilled she’d recommended me to one of her friends, until I found out he was yet another lost pet case. Mr. Piddleson was a man in his fifties with a bald head so shiny I was sure he waxed it. His eyes were a muddy brown, and he was a fidgety guy, always shifting in his seat and flicking his eyes around the room.

“Tweetie wouldn’t just fly away for no reason.” Mr. Piddleson clasped his hands and leaned forward. “Something happened to scare him away like that.”

I nodded. “But . . . um . . . you say Tweetie is a wild bird?”

“Yes, but we’re buddies. He always stays right near the birdbath. The most he does is fly to the corner of the yard to eat some of the apples when they’re in season.” His hands trembled, showing he was obviously agitated.

I wanted to help him if I could, but I wasn’t sure how to locate the bird. If it were even still alive. Generally, I could hunt down the animals because the client had someone who had passed, someone who was close to the lost animal. By contacting them, I could often find where the lost pet was hiding. I suspected that wouldn’t work in this case because the bird wasn’t his actual pet, and Mr. Piddleson was clearly still alive.

“Do you have something of his?” I felt stupid even asking. It wasn’t like I could talk to the bird directly, but an item of his might give me an idea if the bird was alive or not.

He held out a tiny bell tied to a red string. “This is what he wore to my Christmas party.”

I took the bell from him. “You dressed him up?”

He widened his eyes. “Well, it was a party, Lorenzo. Everybody was dressed up.”

“Of course. Forgive me. I was just surprised a wild bird would let you that close.”

“But I told you. We’re buddies.” He reached into his pocket and tugged out his wallet. “See, here’s a photo of Tweetie. Isn’t he a handsome bird?”

I studied the crinkled photo of what appeared to be a European Starling. Its striking green, purple, and blue plumage was easy to identify because they were very common in the area. “He’s very—er—handsome.”

Mr. Piddleson sighed. “I miss him so much. Please help me find him. Life just isn’t the same without him around.”

“I’ll do my best.” I cleared my throat. “Just give me a moment to see if I get anything off of the bell.”

“Certainly. Do your thing.” He sat back, clasping his hands over his round belly.

I closed my eyes, praying I got a glimpse of something. I wasn’t sure I could get Mr. Piddleson out of here if I didn’t at least throw him a bone.

“Anything at all?” he asked.

I opened one eye. “Give me just a sec. I need a little more time.” I closed my eyes and opened my mind to any spirits that might know Mr. Piddleson and by default, Tweetie. There was a faint tugging at the edges of my mind. “I think I’m getting something.”

“Oh, good.”

As the energy grew stronger, I recognized it was a child. “Can you help me?” I asked softly. “We’re trying to find Tweetie.” My chest tingled as the child’s spirit crawled inside of me like a human jungle gym.

“Jasper got him.” The little boy spoke gruffly through me. “He grabbed her in his mouth.”

Damn. I hated giving clients bad news.

Mr. Piddleson gasped. “No. Jasper hasn’t been around for months.”

I wasn’t sure who Jasper was—a dog or a cat maybe? But spirits rarely lied, and if this child’s ghost said Jasper got Tweetie, then Jasper got Tweetie. I felt the child trying to speak through me again so I relaxed my throat muscles. “He ain’t dead. He’s hiding in the bushes.”

Mr. Piddleson jumped up, and the child’s spirit receded. “Where? What bush?” He grasped his head. “I have many bushes in my yard.”

Irritation prickled me. He needed to calm down or the child wouldn’t come back. But I couldn’t speak yet to tell him that because the child was half-in and half-out of me. Finally the warm energy seeped back in. “Her wing is hurt. She’s hiding in the yellow.”

“In the yellow?” Mr. Piddleson scratched his jaw.

“Yep.”

“I don’t understand.” Mr. Piddleson wrinkled his brow.

“In the little yellow bells, bells, bells,” I sang in a sing-song voice. I felt silly, but if this was how the spirit of the kid chose to communicate, there wasn’t much I could do about it.

Mr. Piddleson looked befuddled. “The yellow . . . hmmm.”

“I suck on them, and the sweet stuff gets in my mouth.” I laughed gleefully and waved my hands at the behest of my visitor. “They’re so good.”

“There’s nothing like that in the yard right now.” Mr. Piddleson sighed. “In the spring I have honeysuckle.” He leaned toward me. “Do you mean the honeysuckle, child?”

“In the yellow.” The child began to leave me, and my energy drained with him.

“But the honeysuckle isn’t in bloom.” He pulled his brows together.

I slumped as the spirit left me completely. My body was chilled, and I trembled as I rested my elbows on the table. “Maybe they were blooming when he was alive.” I straightened and sucked in a cleansing breath. “Maybe the child was too young to understand seasons.”

“It really was a child’s spirit that you spoke to?”

“Yes.”

“Who was he?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I reached out and he was there.”

He squinted. “I don’t remember any kids dying on my street.”

“This spirit could have been from any era. He’s just around your home.”

Mr. Piddleson nodded, looking a little unsettled. “Really? He’s just lingering there?”

“That’s what many spirits do.”

“I see.” He shivered. “Well . . . it . . . it was kind of him to help me.”

“Yes. He’s harmless. You didn’t know he was there before, and you won’t see him now.”

“Okay. Good.” He seemed relieved, but then he straightened suddenly. “I must get home.” With shaking hands, he opened his wallet and tossed down some cash. “If that child is right then Tweetie needs me!” He raced to the front door and slammed it behind him.

I sat where I was for a little while, allowing time for some of my strength to seep back. There was no rush. Mr. Piddleson was my only in-person client of the day. When I didn’t feel like I’d collapse if I stood, I went into the kitchen and made some coffee. Scooping the grounds and pouring the water was soothing. I always felt slightly depressed after a spirit used my body. I leaned on the sink and stared in a daze at the dark coffee brewing into the pot.

The doorbell rang and, stifling a groan, I forced myself to go answer. When I found Ian standing on my doorstep, the rush of excitement that shot through me was unsettling. No matter how many times I told myself I had no interest in him, my body didn’t seem to agree. Tonight, he looked even hotter than usual in a cream-colored Bottega Veneta V-neck polo sweater and dark jeans.

“Hey.” My gaze dropped to the crock pot he held. “What are you doing here?”

“I brought dinner.” He smiled and gestured with his chin to his coat pocket where a bottle of wine was nestled. “And beverages.”

“What?” I blinked at him. “Why?”

“You need to eat.”

I frowned. “I do eat.”

“Oh, yeah? Me too. How about we eat together?”

I couldn’t help laughing at how unfazed he was.

“Truth is, I wanted to see you.” He winced and glanced down at the crockpot. “Any chance I can come in? My fingers are about to fall off.”

“Oh. Sorry. Come in.” I stepped back and he brushed past me. The scent of his ginger-lemon cologne made my stomach flip-flop. Rejecting him would have been so much easier if I wasn’t attracted to him.

“It’s been a week, and I haven’t heard a thing from you.” He set the crockpot on the counter and pulled the wine from his jacket. Then he faced me. “Sorry for barging in. But I knew if I left it up to you, I’d never see you again.”

I lifted my shoulder. “I just wouldn’t want to lead you on.”

He narrowed his eyes and approached. When he was a foot from me he stopped. “People need other people.”

“Do they?”

“That’s what the magazines say.”

“I like being alone.” I did too. It was much easier being on my own. Only caring about my own needs.

“Sure, but I know you enjoy my company.”

I laughed gruffly. “Oh, really?”

His lips twitched. “There’s no point in denying it. Let’s just have a nice dinner and find out some stuff about one another.”

“You mean, let’s do the very thing I told you I didn’t want to do?”

“Come on, Lorenzo. It’s a meal and some conversation. What could it hurt?”

I was too tired to fight him. “Fine.”

“Excellent.” He didn’t seem at all concerned about my lack of enthusiasm.

I gestured to the coffee pot. “Would you like some? I just made a fresh pot.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather have some wine.” He frowned. “You drink a lot of coffee.”

“It helps give me energy. The spirits drain me.”

“In what way?” Ian asked.

“Well, hosting them in my body or interacting with them even outside of my body sucks my energy, both physically and mentally. Holding the connection is exhausting. Necessary, but very tiring.”

He appeared unsure of how to respond to that, but then said, “Still, too much caffeine isn’t good for you.”

“Some might say any alcohol is too much alcohol.”

Ian grimaced. “Fair enough. Some of my colleagues would say that. I happen to think a little bit of red wine on occasion is okay.”

I laughed. “Yeah, me too.”

“Then join me in a glass of wine.”

I shrugged. “Okay.”

He smiled. Do you have a bottle opener?”

“No. I usually just chew the cork off with my teeth.” I smirked, pointing to the wine opener hanging from a nail near the sink.

“Smart ass.”

“Who? Me?” I got two glasses from the cupboard. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Uh huh.” He widened his eyes as he looked at the glasses I set down in front of him. “Are those Moser glasses?”

“Moser?” I stroked the stem of one glass, admiring the iridescent green color of the goblet. “I have no idea. I got them at a garage sale.”

“What?” He looked bewildered as he picked up the blue version. “Are you serious? Moser is a prestigious Czech glass manufacturer. If those are authentic Moser glasses, they’re very expensive.”

“They are? I just thought they were pretty,” I murmured. “I like pretty things, even though I can’t usually afford them.”

He peered at the glass closely. “It has the acid stamp. I think these are authentic Moser.”

I blinked at him, almost uneasy at the thought the glasses were valuable. “Now I’m afraid I’ll break one. I never thought twice about that before.”

He laughed, still looking surprised. “Well, count yourself lucky because those are a rare find at a garage sale.”

My hand shook slightly as I poured wine into the glasses. “I’ll guard them with my life.”

“Well, don’t do that.”

I smiled and handed him his wine.

He took it, still admiring the beauty of the glass. Eventually he lost interest in the glassware and he met my gaze. “How was your day?”

“Fine. I just got finished reuniting a lonely old man with his pet bird, Tweetie. At least, I hope they’ll be reunited.”

“I see.” He narrowed his eyes. “I’m sorry, did you say you were trying to locate a bird named . . . Tweetie?”

“You’re jealous of my exciting life, aren’t you?”

“Totally.” He sipped his wine, his expression thoughtful. “I still can’t wrap my head around you . . . channeling spirits. Although, the idea of it does fascinate me. I know you believe you have powers, and I have no way to prove you don’t, so . . . I’m willing to entertain the option that they’re real. Sort of. But I’m not fully convinced.”

I studied him. “Then why do you want to know me better? It makes no sense. If my psychic ability isn’t real then I’m either nuts, or a shyster.”

“I told you before, I feel like I’m supposed to watch out for you.”

I chuffed and moved away from him. “I don’t need watching over. Least of all from a skeptic.”

He sighed and opened his mouth to respond, when someone banged on the front door.

Frowning, I stared at the door. “Who could that be?”

“You’re not expecting anyone?” Ian asked.

“No. And I don’t take drop-in clients at night.” I moved to the door, feeling a vague sense of uneasiness. I didn’t know whoever was on the other side of the door, but I did feel they were agitated. “Maybe it’s a late day delivery.”

“Maybe an emergency drop shipment of tarot cards?” Ian said sardonically.

I gave him a dirty look and then opened the door.

On the porch stood an elderly man. His stark white hair was unkempt and his bloodshot eyes wide. He wore a rumpled green suit and white tennis shoes. He glanced around nervously, and when his gaze landed on me he whispered, “It’s really you.”

“Can I . . . help you?” The sensation of uneasiness intensified as I met his pale gaze.

“You don’t remember me?”

I hesitated. “I’m sorry. No.” His voice was vaguely familiar. “Wait. Did you call me recently?”

“Yes,” he responded, looking pleased. “You remember that?”

“Uh, yes?” I laughed awkwardly, taking a step back. He seemed to think remembering the call was a good thing. In truth, it simply made me believe he might be a stalker.

He licked his lips, wincing slightly. “I must speak to you. It’s urgent.”

I flinched as his raw anxiety prickled over my skin and through my head like thousands of tiny needles. “Well . . . if you’d like to make an appointment for tomorrow—”

“Tomorrow will be too late,” he rasped, wiping perspiration from his face with a white cotton handkerchief. “He’s closing in. He knows I have it.”

I was relieved when Ian approached us. He didn’t say anything, but just having him there as backup relaxed me.

“Who is closing in?” I murmured, trying to understand what the old man was talking about. “Who is ‘he’?”

“Sableth, of course.”

I scowled. “Who?”

“I don’t have time to explain everything. If only you remembered.” He panted, slumping against the doorjamb. “He’s probably watching us now.” He groaned. “In fact, I’m sure he is.”

It didn’t take psychic powers to see this man was very ill. He was deteriorating right in front of me. His skin was the color of gray putty and his lips tinged with blue. “You’re obviously sick. Maybe I should call an ambulance?” I glanced over my shoulder at Ian. “In fact, my friend here is a doctor.”

Ian spoke up. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

The old man’s frazzled gaze settled on Ian. “Do not fail him.”

I met Ian’s bewildered gaze as he muttered, “Fail him? What in the world?”

“Remember,” the man whispered, coughing raggedly. “Sableth revels in anguish and despair.”

“Sir, I . . . you . . . do you want to sit down?” I gestured to a wicker chair on the porch.

“No. I’m fine.” The old man wiped at his sweaty face.

He was definitely not fine. His gray color was really beginning to worry me. “Let me get you a drink of water.”

“I don’t have time for that. You’re our last hope,” he cried, breathing heavily. “He’s found you. Don’t you understand? He knows you’ve returned as prophesied.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. He was obviously unhinged. Even if he believed every word he was saying, he had to be insane.

Moving closer, Ian said, “Sir, you should try to calm down.”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “I’ll call someone to come get you. Do you have any friends or family I can contact?”

“No.” He grabbed hold of my shirt and tugged me closer. “Please just listen. Try and remember. You must try.” His breath had a hint of chemicals and garlic. “This time he’ll get his way if you don’t heed my warning.”

I managed to pull away and took two steps back. “Listen, I’m not sure what’s going on here, but—”

“You can’t imagine the havoc he’ll wreak if he gets his hands on you this time. He won’t stop until he gets what he wants. You must fight him. Use the Mossfire Stone. It’s the only way,” he hissed. Then, in a performance worthy of a horror movie, he gave a gut-wrenching gasp and lurched forward. Staggering, he fell face-forward onto the floor at my feet.