Mystical Love (68 page)

The Tarot cards had arrived by overnight mail from Meta Corps, and she was damn sorry she had agreed to look at them. Each time she looked at the images, she felt violated—a sure sign that she was identifying with the slain women.

The card left at the first murder scene had been The Fool—dressed in jester attire and walking off a monstrous cliff. The second card, Judgment, had depicted the opposite feeling, with its angel blowing Saint Gabriel's horn. The third card, The High Priestess, had resonated strongly within her, and she knew without even touching the card that she had met the murdered girl here at the retreat sometime in the last two years. The fourth card she hadn't even bothered to look at. She could sense its evil right through the plastic, and her soul had shied away from imprinting it on her memory. It would lie on her desk till hell froze over, she decided. The fifth card, The Tower, she had slipped into her desk drawer after scanning. Why, she didn't know. It had just felt like the right thing to do. However, pieces of it still peeped from the corner of the drawer, as if to say, “You're not quite through with me yet.”

Realizing she needed an energy boost badly, Sonny shoved her chair back and sprang to her feet. The sound of fabric ripping made her emit a heated curse. Now the damn cards had cost her a perfectly beautiful blouse. She fingered the tattered fabric, wishing some arrogant agent from Meta Corps' office was standing in front of her. She would have loved to knock him to the floor and damn him to hell.

Delighted by such a perverse thought, she tore off her owl-framed glasses and tossed them onto the desk. What agent was Meta Corps sending? And when would he show his arrogant face? It wasn't like Meta Corps to be so vague about an agent's name.
Perhaps you're under the microscope
, her inner voice suggested.
After
all, you've been declining their requests for help the last several months.

Dismissing the dig, she fled to the windows that overlooked the carefully manicured lawns beyond the terrace. Her gaze sought the signpost marked “Serenity,” but all she saw was sheets of pelting rain. She drew in her breath. When had the storm started? Usually she sensed an impending storm coming and took pains to close the blinds. She hated storms. They played havoc with her empathic skills.

Mesmerized by the light show over the distant mountaintops, Sonny was surprised when a beam of light illuminated her reflection in the glass. She had a nice pear-shaped face, but it looked like someone else's face today—crow's feet, tension lines along the forehead … She gave a sigh, returning her attention to the hammering rain and her scattered thoughts. A face with a haunted look was appropriate for a woman suffering from a psychotic break.

A sound mind isn't everything
, her inner voice chided.
It can't hold a candle to hot, sweaty sex with a devastatingly handsome man.

Sonny made a face at her reflection.
As if we'd ever meet a man like that
, she shot back.
You have to be out in the world to accomplish that deed. And when was the last time we were out in the world
? No answer came from her ego, and Sonny's smile switched to laughter.
That's right, Miss Empath. Cross “one sexy hunk” off our Christmas list this year.

Sonny's mouth twisted into a cynical smile at her rambling mind; however, her thoughts soon switched back to the mysterious Meta Corps agent. What was his name? Was he one of their best? And why didn't he call?

“Here, drink this,” a pleasant voice said from behind her. “You look like you could use a refreshing pick-me-up.”

Sonny turned, smiling at the tall woman offering her a mug of steaming liquid. “You're an angel, Cassy,” she said, grabbing the mug and taking a quick sip. “Mm. Chamomile tea. Just the thing to calm my rattled nerves.”

“As usual, you've been conducting too many sessions in one day.”

“Those sessions pay the bills, Cassy.”

A haughty sniff came from her friend.

“You have enough money for two lifetimes. Why put yourself through such mental distress when you don't need to?”

“I have to help people, Cassy. It's my job.”

Her sniff came again, followed by the soft sound of something dropping to the floor.

“You really must be rattled today. You've dropped one of your fancy cards on the floor.”

Picking it up, Cassy offered it to Sonny, who took one look at it and turned away.
Ugh!
The Death card. Whose Death did it indicate? The frightened girl's? Or her own?
Who cares,
she answered her own question.
We are through thinking about hypnotic voices that bury bodies under the trees.

Sighing, she returned to her desk and kicked off her shoes. “It's time to stop focusing on Death cards and focus on work; otherwise, we'll be days behind in arranging my aura portrait classes.” She leaned forward, riffling through the pile of letters Cassy had brought with the tea and laid on her desk “Anything pressing in the mail?”

“Just more requests for your services.”

“Turn them all down,” Sonny said suddenly. She handed the stack back to Cassy. “You're right. It's time I take a break from absorbing people's energy for a while.”

“Well, hallelujah,” Cassy crowed. She sketched a wave and sashayed from the room, not bothering to the close the door behind her. Sonny grinned and then let her gaze drift to the High Priestess painting on her far wall.

The Seeress. The Empath. The Guardian of the Doorway.

But what doorway?
her inner voice asked.
And
w
hy are our talents showing signs of deterioration after all these years?

Stop asking questions we can't answer,
she advised her ego.
Focus on ones we can.

Her gaze scanned the top of her desk, spotting the peekaboo card still taunting her. She opened the drawer, pulled it out, and tossed the card back onto the top of the desk. It skittered across the smooth glass, stalling at the edge. It was time to focus on the Tarot cards and discern an answer. She collected the baggies and laid the cards out in a straight line. Did she want to know the answer?
Touch them,
her inner voice nudged.
Just take off your gloves and touch one of them. You'll know the killer's identity immediately.

Sonny squirmed in her chair.
No thank you, Miss Empath. You know we've given up touching objects that send us down rabbit holes filled with visions we can't interpret. The price is too high. We're just going to get a “feel” for the evidence.
She shifted her torso and settled back in her chair. Thank God she hadn't told anyone about Meta Corps' request. She'd appear more of a fool than the Fool card.

She let her gloved fingers slide over the cloaked skeleton with a giant scythe. A sudden tremor of an image started to emerge, and she pulled her fingers back rapidly. What the hell was that? She had almost initiated a vision
through
her gloves. Her current stress level must be higher than she thought. In the past, her talent had no way of setting off as long as she was wearing gloves. She took a last look at the skeleton.

“You are nothing but a big, fat jokester,” she told the card. “You have no power over me.” A flash of words assailed her mind.

I KNOW YOUR NAME AND

WHERE YOU LIVE.

Absorbing the words, Sonny felt tears ring her eyelashes. The victim had been taunted through a phone call by an annoying, arrogant bastard. No wonder she'd stopped going out and cried all the time. Sonny dropped the baggie back onto the desk and wiped her wet cheeks. She wasn't quite ready to “feel” what this victim had felt.

She turned her attention to the Judgment card. Lifting the baggie, she studied the figures rising out of the coffin. Had the second victim been buried alive?
Make a note to ask the sexy Meta Corps hunk that they send,
her inner voice advised.
And when he confirms your suspicion, give him a big, fat, juicy
kiss as a reward.

Exasperated, Sonny dropped the card.
What is your problem, Miss Empath? You've become fixated on all things sexual. Get your mind out of the bedroom and concentrate.
No further jabs came, but drops of blood did—all over the plastic baggie.

Seeing the mess, Sonny sprang to her feet, snatching a tissue from a box on her desk and wiping down the plastic. Holding her nose, she fled to the bathroom and attempted to staunch the flow of blood. She dropped her head back and wondered whether it wasn't time to see a doctor. She was showing signs of a complete unraveling. First, her mind; now, her body.

The sound of voices floated through the bathroom door, and Sonny recognized them immediately. Great. Now, on top of bleeding all over police evidence, she had to deal with her aunt and Ned. What the hell did they want?

She checked her face in the mirror, pleased to see no red marks stained it, and then, taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and exited the bathroom. Her lips snaked upward as she joined the pair.

“Both of you at once?” she quipped, dropping into her desk chair. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Ned spoke first. “I've brought your damn receipts,” he said, dropping a fat file-folder in front of her. He motioned to a metal box on the edge of her desk. “And here are the damn discs you demanded to see.”

Sonny's eyebrows rose. “I didn't demand to see anything, Ned. Daddy did.”

“What? You could've told me that sooner.” He dropped his massive frame into a chair and glared at her. “You take perverse enjoyment in telling people only half truths, don't you?”

“Oh, leave her alone, Ned,” her aunt interrupted. “If David told her to acquire the discs, she had no choice but to do it.”

“He could've asked me himself,” Ned scoffed. “His telephone works.”

Sonny saw her aunt begin fidgeting. A clash between them was imminent; she could feel it. She took back the conversation quickly.

“I've a lucid dreaming class in a few minutes, so if anyone has anything important to say, say it now.” Her gaze impaled her aunt. “Aunt Charlotte?”

“You've been oddly preoccupied all week, Sonny. I want to be sure nothing serious is going on with your health.”

“Define serious.”
Time to break the news
, her inner voice advised. Sonny waved her hands at the baggies in front of her. “Meta Corps has requested I look at some evidence involving a serial killer.”

“Dear God! You didn't accept?” Her aunt looked repulsed by such a request.

“Of course I did.”

Ned settled back in his chair, fussing with a pleat in his trousers. “I should think by now, Charlotte, you would've learned that Sonny does what she damn well pleases—regardless of what anyone else thinks or says.”

Hearing the annoyance in Ned's tone, Sonny matched it. “I do it to irk you, Ned—as payback for all the ragging you do on me.”

“If we rag on you, it's because we love you and want to protect you,” her aunt threw in. She leaned forward, placing her jeweled fingers over Sonny's gloved ones. “I know how terrible it was for you to lose your mother at twelve and then be homeschooled by me. You missed out on a lot of friendships.”

“It can't have been pleasant for Daddy to lose his wife and gain an empath at the same time,” Sonny retorted. “But I always appreciated your trying to keep the press from learning my secret and plastering it all over the news.”

Her aunt released her hand and then lifted one of the evidence baggies. Sonny tamped down an urge to snatch it from her fingers. Instead, she switched the subject.

“If there's nothing more you need from me, I need you both to leave. I've got to prepare my mind for the upcoming session. And I can't do that with your negative vibes stuck to me.” The pair continued to stare at her, rather than rising. “What? Spit it out, Aunt Charlotte,” she demanded.

“You've grown into quite a stunning woman over the years, Sonny,” her aunt remarked.

Sonny schooled her features.
Here we go. Bash the ego.
“Do you think so?” she finally asked. “Stunning enough for a rugged, good-looking man to offer me hot, sweaty sex?”

“Don't be vulgar. You know I abhor vulgarity—especially in you.”

“Lighten up, Aunt Charlotte. You know I'm only joking. Where is your sense of humor today?”

An odd silence descended on the room, and then, out of nowhere, Ned spoke up.

“As your aunt has just pointed out, you've been off your game lately. Both of us wonder whether you shouldn't back off your schedule and take a vacation. Why don't you and I go to Europe? It's been years since we've enjoyed a holiday together.”

Sonny's mouth turned down. “If I remember right, we took a holiday together not because you wanted to go, but because Daddy ordered you to take me to Europe as a graduation present. Now that I'm a grown woman, I can't imagine a worse trip. We'd be arguing the whole time. I'd rather go with a man I adore, and we're on our honeymoon.”

“I can give you the names of at least three suitable men who'd like nothing better than to marry you, Sonny,” her aunt interjected crisply. “Just say the word and I'll set up a date night.”

Sonny fired up at the offer. “Get out of my office, Aunt Charlotte, and take Ned with you, before I forget that you are family and I love you. And for your information, I am capable of finding a man on my own, preferably a virile one who can take me past naked desire to ecstatic fulfillment.”

Her aunt's scowl reappeared. “You're being vulgar again.”

“No, being vulgar is pointing out that sex doesn't take place in the hands, but between the thighs.”

Her aunt shot to her feet. “If you insist on talking like a common whore, this conversation is over.” She whirled around and strode out the door without a backward glance. Watching her disappear, Sonny sighed. One down; one to go. Her gaze drifted to Ned, who hoisted his large frame out of the chair.