Sizzle and Burn (7 page)

Her mouth curved in disdain. “Just another secret society.”

“Well, sure. Show me any group that can trace its origins back to the late sixteen hundreds that isn’t secretive. On top of that, the founder was an alchemist.”

“Sylvester Jones.”

“Right.” He smiled. “So you do know that much.”

“My aunt mentioned him.” She paused a beat. “One of your ancestors, I believe?” she added coolly.

“Right.” He grimaced. “Those old alchemists were notorious for being reclusive, secretive and obsessed. I have to tell you that the Society prides itself on following those traditions.”

“According to my aunt, Sylvester Jones’s descendants have run the Society ever since it was established.” She drummed her fingers on the arms of her chair. “The organization is not what anyone would call democratic.”

“It’s true that there has been a Jones in the Master’s Chair ever since the Society was established,” he admitted, “but as of the Victorian era there is an elected Governing Council that appoints the Master, who, in turn, answers to the Council, which can replace him. Or her.”

“If you’ve gone all modern and semi-democratic, why the secretiveness?”

“There are reasons.”

“Such as?”

“Think about it.” He angled his head toward the envelope. “You’re the real thing, a genuine psychic, but according to that file, you’re not exactly sending out weekly press releases and signing up for talk shows.”

She hesitated and then sank a little deeper into the depths of her chair. “Okay, I take your point.”

“The Society was established and continues to exist for two primary reasons: to conduct research into the paranormal and to provide a community and a refuge for people who possess paranormal talents.”

She stilled. “Refuge?”

“As a member of the Society you are automatically connected to other people like yourself, people with real psychic talents, not quacks and charlatans. You meet people who understand what it means to have additional senses.” He smiled again, just a little. “Within the Society, being psychic is, for the most part, considered normal.”

“What a concept,” she said without inflection.

“Over the centuries the public’s reaction to anything that smacks of the paranormal has varied from regarding it as witchcraft or magic to viewing the entire subject as sheer fantasy. In the middle you get all the gullible types who fall for fake gurus, mediums and fortune-tellers. Nowhere outside the Society is the paranormal considered a legitimate field of scientific study, and nowhere outside the Society are individuals with psychic talents considered normal.”

“Yes, I did sort of figure that out on my own,” she said drily.

“It’s true some police departments and desperate families hire psychics when they run out of leads on tough cases. But that doesn’t alter the fact that mainstream society thinks that folks who claim to have psychic talents are all gurus, frauds or sadly deluded.”

Her smile was too bright and too brittle. “In other words, we’re creepy.”

He’d touched a nerve.

“I’m guessing that’s how some people described your aunt?” he asked, probing gently.

“It’s how someone described me.”

“Someone you trusted?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “I’ll level with you. Even within the Society, people like you—people who hear voices—are considered to be pushing the envelope.”

“I see.”

“Try not to take it personally. Thing is, people with especially strong psychic abilities of any kind tend to make other people nervous.”

“Including other people who have similar talents?”

“Yes. But I can guarantee you it’s a hell of a lot better inside the Society than on the outside.” He looked at the envelope. “According to that file, you’ve been assisting a detective named Bradley Mitchell in the Oriana Police Department for the past year and a half. You’ve provided information that allowed him to solve a string of cold cases and a recent kidnapping.”

She tensed. “You know about my work with Bradley?”

“By all accounts, Detective Mitchell has become a rock star in the department, thanks to you. There is speculation that he will take over the department when the current chief steps down.”

“Your file is very complete.” She was clearly unhappy. “My name is never mentioned in any of Bradley’s reports.”

“I’m aware that you’ve taken great care to keep a low profile. Mitchell handles the media.”

She rallied, brisk and certain of herself again. “That’s the way I wanted it.”

“Because you didn’t care to be treated like some scam artist or a fraud or have people think that you were crazy like your aunt?”

For a couple of seconds she looked as if she might throw him out but then she gave him a brief, dazzling smile that did not touch her beautiful eyes.

“Those seemed like good reasons at the time,” she said.

“They were excellent reasons,” he agreed.

“You really do know a lot about me, don’t you?” She stopped smiling abruptly and glanced at the envelope on the table. “Has the Arcane Society been spying on me and my aunt all these years?”

“No. To tell you the truth, you both fell off the Society’s radar screen after your father was killed.”

“Then how come you know so much about my current history?”

“What I know was put together over the past twenty-four hours. The agency I represent is very good at gathering information in a hurry. But I didn’t have to read your file to guess how you would feel about being paraded around in front of the media as a police department psychic.”

“No?” Her chin came up a little. “Why is that?”

“Because I would feel the same way.”

She did not look impressed. “Is that so?”

“Given what you’ve been doing for the Oriana PD for the past eighteen months, I’m assuming you’ve got your aunt’s talent or something close to it. You hear voices in your head, right?”

She went very still.

“Relax,” he said. “I know where you’re coming from. I see visions.”

Seven

S
he was so stunned by his admission that it took her a few heartbeats to find her voice.

“Is that your idea of a joke?” she asked finally.

“No joke.” He watched her with his striking, enigmatic eyes. “The ability kicked in full force when I was in my late teens. Everyone expected me to be another para-hunter like most of the other males in my family.”

“What’s a para-hunter?”

“It’s a kind of psychic talent that jacks up an individual’s natural ability to hunt. Hunters have preternaturally fast reflexes and the ability to detect the psychic spore left by violence. In addition, they can also see well in the dark.”

She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “What do they like to hunt? Elephants? Moose? Snipe?”

He smiled. “Maybe, in ancient times, when the ability to hunt big game animals had a strong survival value. These days they tend to prefer to hunt their own kind. More of a challenge, I guess.”

Shock reverberated through her. “They hunt
people
?”

“Calm down. Most of the hunters I know work in law enforcement.” He paused a beat. “Although I have to admit that some go bad. None that I am aware of in the Jones family, however.”

“I see.” She glanced at the door, wondering if she should make a run for it.

“Take it easy,” he said. “I just told you, I’m not a para-hunter.”

She hesitated, annoyed. “Do you read minds, too?”

“No. The experts say that’s impossible.”

“What, exactly, are you?”

“Technically, I’m what’s known within the Society as a level-ten mirror talent.”

“What in the world is that?” she demanded.

“The best the experts can determine is that it’s a rare type of psychometry.”

“The ability to sense things by touch.”

“Right. Your clairaudience is another form.”

“Why do they call you a mirror talent?”

He rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled his fingers. He had the air of an academic settling into a fireside lecture. “Ever heard of mirror intuition?”

She reflected briefly. “It’s what provides people with social cues, isn’t it? If we see someone frown or smile we understand intuitively what’s going on. We don’t have to stop and analyze the expression.”

“Right. And if we see someone pick up a knife we can tell pretty fast whether the person intends to cut his steak with it or try to slit someone’s throat.”

“I read an article about the phenomenon,” she said. “The theory is that it has something to do with special neurons in the brain. They allow us to mentally mirror the actions of others and make instant judgments. It’s a bone-deep survival mechanism.”

He tapped his fingers together once. “No one knows for sure how our mirror intuition systems work but one thing is certain, almost everyone has the ability to some degree. In fact, we take it for granted until we meet up with someone who doesn’t exhibit the talent, a person with autism or a mental illness like schizophrenia, for example.”

“You’re telling me that you have a paranormal version of that ability?”

He looked at her over the tips of his fingers. “With my form of the talent I can touch a knife or a gun or a rock that was used to kill or maim someone and intuitively mirror the reactions and responses of the person who used the weapon. I can sense what that person intended to do or what the victim anticipated. I’m also pretty good in a bar fight.”

She stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”

He smiled. “My ability makes it possible to second-guess an opponent. But I try to avoid that kind of exercise.”

“I should hope so.” She frowned. “Am I a mirror talent, too?”

“No. Clairaudient psychometry works differently. It’s not a visual talent. You are most likely a level ten like me, however.”

“How do you know I’m a level ten, whatever that means?”

“Members of the Society are ranked on what’s called the Jones Scale. It runs from one to ten, according to the level of psychic energy a person generates. The analysts came up with an estimate for you because your aunt never brought you in for testing when your psychic abilities developed in your teens.”

She wasn’t sure what to say. She could hardly believe that she was sitting there, discussing psychic talents with a man who acted as if such talents were the most normal thing in the world, like having brown hair or brown eyes. She had never had anything close to such a conversation with a stranger.

With the exception of Bradley, she had never even discussed the psychic side of her nature with anyone except Aunt Vella and her small, closely knit circle of friends. Vella had discouraged such conversations, reminding her always to keep her secret. Trying to explain herself to Bradley had been a serious mistake.

As if he knew what she was thinking, Zack gave her a sympathetic smile. “Damn, you’ve missed a hell of a lot by growing up outside the Society. How many other people with genuine psychic abilities have you met over the years, aside from your aunt and your father?”

“I tracked down people who claimed to be psychic,” she admitted. “Some worked as consultants to police departments. A couple made their living as fortune-tellers. One wrote a book on how to get in touch with your psychic side through your dreams.”

His teeth flashed in a brief grin. “I read that one. It was pure crap.”

“Yes, it was.” She smiled suddenly. “Good to know someone else came to the same conclusion.” She hesitated. “The book was on the best-seller lists for several weeks.”

“There are a lot of gullible people out there and lots of frauds who are only too happy to take advantage of them.” He regarded her with a thoughtful expression. “I’m getting the feeling that, with the exception of your aunt, every so-called psychic you’ve met as an adult has been either a fake or a flake.”

“My aunt was a major exception.”

“I know. And I’ll bet every time you looked into her eyes you wondered if you were seeing your own future.”

The intimate knowledge in his expression was a little unnerving. She wasn’t accustomed to being around anyone who understood her this thoroughly. She couldn’t think of a response.

“I’m going to tell you something that is not in that file,” he said, glancing at the envelope. “One of our analysts constructed a psychological profile on you. The conclusion was that it was a miracle that you weren’t confined to an institution or heavily medicated when you first came into your parasenses.”

Ice formed inside her but she managed to keep her face politely expressionless. “Does that mean your analysts think I’m going to end up in an institution, like my aunt?”

“Hell, no.” There was easy, absolute certainty in the words.

She held her breath, afraid to trust. “Why are they so sure of that?”

“Statistically speaking, psychological problems associated with parasenses kick in early, usually around the time the talents start to appear. Mid to late teens. If you were going to end up in a psychiatric ward or on heavy-duty meds because of your clairaudient abilities, you’d know it by now.”

“But Aunt Vella didn’t start having serious problems until she was thirty-two. The same age I am now.”

“I won’t kid you, no one knows why your aunt ended up in an institution. But it is extremely unlikely that it had anything to do with her talents. She managed those just fine into her early thirties.”

“But you said your analysts were amazed that I haven’t been confined to a psychiatric hospital?”

“Clairaudient psychometry, especially when it reaches the level-ten category of power, is one of the most difficult of all talents to handle because the sensation is so intensely disturbing. Without someone to guide you through the learning curve, it’s easy to believe you’re going crazy. Other people around you usually come to that conclusion immediately and send you off to a series of doctors. You end up on a lot of drugs or in an institution. It becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

She gripped the arms of the chair so tightly her nails dug into the upholstery. “It’s as if some stranger has invaded my mind. It’s so horribly intimate and it’s so evil. It makes me feel as if I’ve been…violated.”

“Trust me, catching a glimpse or two of what that stranger experienced when he shoved a dagger into someone’s chest is just as bad. It’s as if I did the deed myself. For a while afterward, I feel—” He broke off abruptly.