Deceiver's Bond: Book Two of A Clairvoyant's Complicated Life (4 page)

I had to sit leaning forward, my legs splayed awkwardly in the footwell, just to keep the skin of my upper arms from coming into contact with the plastic upholstery. With my wrists cuffed behind me, every hard turn posed the real risk of acquiring what were sure to be a vast array of nasty memories lurking within the well-used interior. Lancer drove aggressively, wheels chirping at almost every corner, making me wonder whether he was doing it on purpose.

By the time we arrived at the Coventry County Sheriff’s Department about fifteen minutes later, my legs trembled from fatigue and my fingers were numb. He made no move to help me out of the backseat and I certainly wasn’t going to ask for it. Most people don’t realize how much we use our arms for simple things like standing. Sadly, I was all too familiar with the shortcomings of being tied up.

Once I was out, Lancer grabbed my arm, slammed the car door shut, and jerked me toward the tinted glass doors conspicuously labeled AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. Even inside, his grip on my arm never slackened. He powered his way through the station, ushering me past more than a few open doorways, uniformed officers, and potted plants. The foliage did little to ease the sterile, oppressive feel of the environment. Our final destination was a sizable room with large skylight. Over a dozen utilitarian looking chairs lined the opposing walls. To the left, maybe twenty feet away, I spied the building’s front entrance. On my right was a high counter with a sliding window and a closed security door.

Lancer pushed me toward the window where a trim black woman wearing a Deputy Sheriff’s uniform stood waiting. On the pocket opposite her star-shaped badge, her name had been embroidered on a rectangular patch, ‘T. ROLLINGS.’ Her expression was serious and all business. Even though I was cold and shivering, the palms of my hands were sweating beneath my gloves.

While Sheriff Lancer unlocked the cuffs, Deputy Rollings plucked a clipboard from under the counter, readied a pen, and demanded, “Name.”

Before I could answer, Lancer slapped down the official paperwork with a loud thud.

Her expression remained neutral as she unfolded the page and studied it. After a moment her brown eyes shifted to regard me over the top of the document. Her short nails were painted a deep crimson. “Are you Clotilde Marie Devon?” She stumbled over the first name but didn’t butcher it completely.

“Yes, but I go by Lire.”

“Do you have any identification?” she asked.

“No. My purse is at the house. The sheriff didn’t let me get it.”

I glanced in his direction. He stood behind me, putting the handcuffs back into his pouch on his utility belt.
Asshole.
Not only was I missing my identification but I also didn’t have any of my credit cards or cell phone with my personal contacts. How was I supposed to post bail or call my attorney?

She lowered the arrest warrant to the counter in favor of the clipboard and copied down my name, glancing between the two to verify her accuracy. Finally, she spelled out my nickname, somewhat doubtful. “L-E-A-R?”

“No. It’s L-I-R-E.”

I watched her pen move from line to line as she continued her robotic questioning, efficiently completing the entries on her form, establishing my home address, phone number, place of birth, date of birth, and social security number.

She ordered me to empty my pockets after first asking whether I was carrying any weapons. I couldn’t suppress a snort at that possibility. My outburst was rewarded by a humorless, unyielding expression.

Just call me persona non grata.

I replied, “No. I’m not carrying any weapons.”

It occurred to me that I didn’t need a weapon to be lethal. Not sure what Deputy Rollings would have written on her little chart if I told her I was a pyrokinetic. Better yet, a cryokinetic—fashioning ice javelins faster than a speeding bullet. I squashed the urge to snicker.

Turning out my pockets was easy since I wasn’t carrying anything. Sheriff Lancer had already found my key ring when he arrested me, which he plunked down on the counter before leaning toward the window. “Burke! Come out here. I’m heading out.”

The door to the right opened and a tall, fit man with a medium-brown buzz cut stepped out, all but pressed into his deputy uniform. He kept his back against the door, pinning it open, while he folded his arms across his ample chest, biceps stressing the smooth fabric of his starched shirt.

At the deputy’s curt nod, the sheriff turned and strode back down the hall. “I’ll be with the DA.”

Before I had the opportunity to evaluate the newcomer any further, Deputy Rollings’ voice forced my attention back to her. “Take off your gloves. Put them in the tray along with any watches or jewelry.”

“I’m a … you know I’m a clairvoyant, right? I can take my gloves off for a moment, but I’ll need them back. If you’re going to touch any of my belongings, you’ll want to protect yourself.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

“I’m touch sensitive. And I’m guessing you’d rather keep your own thoughts private. You’re aware of what a clairvoyant can do? I can explain if you don’t.”

Her right eyebrow went up while she regarded me, but to my relief she reached under the counter and brought out a box of latex gloves.

As I complied with her directive, it dawned on me that my magic ward was now visible. Since it looked like a silver bracelet, she was sure to demand I add it to the tray. When both gloves were in the receptacle, I waited for the deputies to notice the delicately braided chain around my wrist. It was so thin, I hoped they wouldn’t notice.

Her subtly outlined eyes studied me. She wore a modest amount of makeup. Nothing too flashy. “You’re not wearing jewelry?”

Damn.

“No. Just a talisman.” I lifted my hand, but let it drop back to my side, suddenly conscious of the purple-red scars encircling each wrist.

A brief look of irritation crossed her features. “Put it in the tray.”

I pressed my lips together and shook my head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I know you’ll think I’m being difficult, but with all due respect, I won’t take it off.”

She froze, staring at me. “It’ll be cataloged, stored securely, and returned when you’re released. You will remove it.” An unmistakable threat lingered with her implacable gaze.

The sound of Deputy Burke shifting his weight made me glance in his direction. His hands rested atop his belt, giving me the impression of readiness. His shallowly set eyes regarded me with a humorless expression.

Looking back to Rollings, I said, “Sorry. This isn’t a trinket. Its magic protects me. It can’t be removed without my consent and I won’t willingly take it off. I know you have a job to do. I won’t prevent you from doing it.” I held out my wrist. “But if you insist on trying to pry it off, I ask that you wear gloves.”

She seemed to be both irritated and diverted by my response. After a moment, she nodded toward Burke and slid the box of gloves to the edge of the counter. As he stepped away from the door, it slammed shut with a loud, metallic
thud
.

Despite his stern expression, Burke’s upturned nose put him on the cute side of handsome. I guessed he was my age or a year or two younger, twenty-eight maybe. He smelled pleasantly of a spicy aftershave.

He snapped on the gloves, being careful to avoid touching the fingers of each one. Clearly, he knew how to protect himself from a clairvoyant. “You’re the one who helped the FBI on the Circle Murders case, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He nodded, face neutral, and took a hold of my offered hand. Rotating my wrist, he inspected the flimsy-looking bracelet. “These marks. They from being tied up?”

“Yes.”

“By the killer?” His brief glance was the only indication his question was more than idle chit-chat. He was curious.

“Yes. And his summoned demon.”

His eyes flicked to mine and narrowed, presumably to gauge my candor. Lifting my wrist, he cocked his head in an effort to see as much of the metal strand as possible. “There’s no clasp.”

“No. It disappeared after the warlock fastened it.”

The mention of a warlock seemed to surprise him, but he recovered quickly. He shifted his attention back to the bracelet and attempted to slide it over my hand. It was too snug to get very far.

“You know I’ll have to cut it off.”

“You can try.”

He blew out a breath, looking perplexed, and then nodded at Rollings. “Not going to take much. Scissors should do.”

She rummaged in a drawer beneath the counter. Behind her, a height chart was affixed to the wall, probably where they took the mug shots. I didn’t look forward to that humiliation. I stifled a sigh.

“You could make this go smoother by cooperating, you know,” Burke told me.

I frowned at him. “I’m not doing this to be difficult. The bracelet protects me from a very real threat and I won’t give it up.”

“You’re in a sheriff’s office surrounded by law enforcement. Nothing’s going to happen, and you’ll get it back when you leave.”

“I can see you believe that. But it doesn’t matter. The spell will break if I take it off. Just putting it back on won’t restore its power, and this type of thing isn’t easily crafted.”

Looking more annoyed than understanding, he took the heavy-duty scissors Deputy Rollings offered him. “Hold your hand out and keep it steady. I’m sure you don’t want me to catch you with the blades.”

I muttered, “Yeah, and not just because they’re sharp.”

He snipped at the strand as though it were a stray thread and looked surprised when the scissors met with resistance. Squeezing harder, the bracelet slipped past the tip of the blades. A resounding
clack
echoed off the walls.

In spite of my confidence, I was relieved the bracelet had emerged unscathed.

“Okay. It’s stronger than it looks,” he said, “Got any wire cutters under there?”

Rollings snorted. “I thought you were a strong boy, Burke. Bench pressing three-fifty I hear.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He shook his head and tried to cover a grin.

This time, he used two hands, but his strenuous effort met with the same result. As he inspected the scissors, I saw they had been dented in multiple places.

He grunted, handing them to Rollings. “Not going to happen. See for yourself.” While she examined the damaged blades, he tipped his chin toward me. “I’d say she’s on the level. The bracelet isn’t even wrinkled. We could up the ante to bolt cutters, but I have a feeling they’ll end up on the losing end. But I’m game if you want to try it.”

Rollings looked up from the scissors to glare at me. “You know this is for your own protection? You’re gonna be in a holding cell with other prisoners. I can see it won’t come off, but someone could hurt you trying.”

I shrugged. “I can take care of myself. Besides, I’ll be wearing my gloves. No one’s going to see it.”

“Who said you were getting your gloves?” she asked.

“You’d put me in a holding cell and expose me to God knows how many memories without that protection? Are you kidding?”

“They’re a strangulation hazard and can be used as a weapon,” Burke explained. “It’s for your own safety as well as the other inmates.”

“Then I require a psi-free cell or a solo-cell so I can keep my gloves.”

“We’re not running a hotel, Ms. Devon,” Rollings said.

“This is cruel and unusual punishment,” I informed her. Unfortunately, it was an empty threat. The proposed amendment to the Americans with Disabilities Act providing explicit protection for clairvoyants had been mired in Congress for the past eight years.

Rollings rolled her eyes. “You’re being treated the same way as everyone else, princess.”

“That’s the problem. I’m not like everyone else.”

Ignoring me, Rollings tipped her head toward the door. “Take her through.”

“Over here,” Burke ordered as he unlocked the metal door, holding it open while I walked past. Inside, he directed me toward the far end of the counter. “Stand there.”

I did as he requested, my eyes lighting on the blocky machine perched on the counter in front of us. It wasn’t a computer, although a monitor sat next to it. It resembled a copier without its cover … or a bizarre flatbed scanner. A rectangular glass surface occupied the device’s front half and various control buttons lined up the right side.

“Oh, God. This is a fingerprint machine, isn’t it?” I was a dope for worrying about the mug shots. Fingerprinting was a far more dangerous prospect.

“Yes.”

“You can’t seriously expect me to touch that.”

He focused on readying the machine, ignoring me.

I rubbed my temple. “Please tell me you have psi-free film that you can put over the surface.”

“I won’t tell you that, because I don’t.”

Although I stared dozens of holes into the side of his clean-cut head, Burke’s gaze never shifted from the machine’s interface screen. His continuous disregard pushed me beyond the edge of patience. Unbidden psychic energy bubbled from my core, flooding my body with intoxicating warmth. The fiery potential licked my insides and teased me with the allure of fiery retribution.

It begged to be set loose.

“Unbelievable. What is with you people? How can you be this close to Coventry Academy and not have the first clue what it’s like to be a clairvoyant? Can you imagine, even for one second, what kind of people have touched that device and what they were thinking at the time?” I folded my arms and glared at him. It was lucky flames didn’t come shooting from my eyeballs. No joke.

He looked away from the machine to regard me, oblivious to any potential danger. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Your choice.”

Behind the counter, Deputy Rollings moved a step closer, watching me. Not wanting to make my life any more complicated, I resigned myself to the inevitable.

But my mind was aflame with dark thoughts.

As long as Burke worked fast and my skin didn’t stay in contact with the scanner for too long, I could control the inflow of memories and eject them before they entered my thoughts. After years of experience, my psychic shield capability was strong, but not impervious. My hope of getting through the ordeal without a breach lasted until we reached the ring finger of my left hand. The deputy struggled to get a readable print, which kept me in contact with the machine’s surface for too long. Unbidden memories surged past my shield, into my thoughts, and flooded my mind.