Paranormal Talent Agency Episodes 4-6 Page 3

“I wasn’t sure at first. That’s why I stopped walking. I needed to focus on identifying where the mounting energy was coming from. I didn’t know if it was intended for harm initially, but then I knew it was being directed toward us.”

  “How?”

  He gave me a lop-sided smile. “That’s the million dollar question, I suppose. I can feel it and just sort of know where it’ll be sent.” He shrugged. “That’s all I got.”

  “So then you used your… protection magic?”

  “Once I knew it was coming, yes.”

  “That’s when you erected the force field. Or shield? What would you call it?”

  He chuckled. “Either of those works. I imagined a barrier between us and the magic, and then it was there.”

  “Protecting us from both the magic itself and the resulting damaged light falling?” I broke eye contact with him as I pondered. My gut feeling that Barbara hadn’t just accepted my refusal to kill Jackson must have been correct. Who was this new person? A replacement killer?

  “What are you thinking?”

  I resumed eye contact, striving to keep my face a blank. This would be the perfect time to explain my defunct-witch status. But how to begin?

  “You don’t seem very surprised.” Although said in a neutral tone, I felt the question poking around the words.

  “I saw Elizabeth Addison’s expose on Entertainment Daily,” I offered by way of explanation and it worked.

  Jackson laughed. “Yeah, I thought that reporter did a number on us with her morning show. But, I was wrong.”

  “You were?”

  He shrugged. “Despite her big exposé and continuing coverage, nothing’s really changed for any of us, day to day.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Barbara had predicted we’d be brought to light, and she also wasn’t surprised it hadn’t become a big deal. None of which I could say to Jackson.

  Jackson tilted his head. “What?”

  “Just wondering why someone would want to hurt one or both of us.”

  His expression hardened. “I intend to find out.” He placed a hand on my knee. “It’ll be okay. Normally I’d say since I’m a witch, I was the target.”

  No kidding. “Are you going to be okay?”

  “I’ll talk to the head of the Witches Council about what happened.”

  “There’s a real Witches Council?” Even though I was a nonfunctioning witch, I knew about the Witches Council. But I couldn’t acknowledge it without telling him about me – and about Barbara and her order. Not until I understood what was happening.

  Jackson squeezed my knee. “That reporter doesn’t know the half of what goes on in this town.”

  “No doubt. Wait a minute,” I interrupted myself. “You said ‘normally’ you’d believe you were the target?”

  “You could be the target,” he admitted.

  “What? Why?” My questioning tone only partly feigned.

  “I could tell my magic was drawn to protect you from the first moment I saw you. There’s usually a reason.”

  “Oh.” An ugly thought reared its head and my hands formed fists. Disappointment bubbled at the idea that he wasn’t interested in me, that I’d misread his protection magic as romantic intentions.

  “You’re going to be fine,” he assured me, misinterpreting.

  I uncurled my fingers. “I’m sure I will,” I murmured. “You probably need to go. So you can start investigating.” I rose and he stood awkwardly beside me.

  His eyes showed confusion. “Probably. Rain check?”

  I half-smiled. “Absolutely. Call me?”

  “I will.”

  I strode past him toward the front door. We stood in the open doorway for a moment. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  I nodded, feeling like a bobblehead, but not trusting myself to speak.

  Jackson leaned in to hug me, careful not to get too close as my arms limply went around him. Confusion practically radiated off him. I couldn’t blame him but I couldn’t banish that ugly thought.

  I closed the door, listened to the truck’s engine roar to life and then fade as he moved further and further away.

  A single tear slid down my cheek and I returned to the loveseat, picked my wine glass back up. I downed the rest in one large swallow and considered what I had learned. The ugly thought had told me the truth. Now I understood Jackson’s interest. He had never been interested in me for me. It was his magic telling him I needed protection.

  I remembered our brief encounters. He sure seemed to be into me. Could I have misread his intent all along? I was so confused. Well, just like I told Jackson, investigation was the next step.

  I headed to the kitchen for more wine fortification. I’d need it if I was going to challenge the demon. Again.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The déjà vu was strong today. I sat before Barbara Knollman in her office, once again gripping the sides of the leather chair like my life depended on it. Light streamed through the window behind her, the warmth not penetrating the chill on my skin.

  Barbara stared at me, dark eyes revealing nothing. Her hair was pulled back in its typical severe bun and her hands rested on her desk. Waiting.

  I swallowed past the lump in my throat. It was now or never. “Did you hire someone else to kill Jackson?”

  Barbara blinked then slowly smiled. The predator visible beneath the calm exterior. “To kill Jackson?”

  Her question-as-answer confused me. “Yes?”

  “Are you sure it was a single target?”

  Barbara’s not so cryptic response floored me. “You were trying to kill us both?”

  Barbara held both hands up. “I did nothing to you; I wasn’t there,” she denied. “Be careful what accusations you throw around without proof, Ms. Landon.”

  “You hired a replacement killer?!” My mind buzzed. She tried to kill us. In retrospect, I wasn’t truly surprised. She already wanted Jackson dead; she merely added me for refusing to complete the job.

  Barbara shrugged. “I did nothing to you.”

  “Are you saying it was just a coincidence?”

  “Choices have consequences.”

  That was the closest I was likely to get to an admission that the demon tried to kill me. “Now what?” I voiced the biggest question rumbling around in my mind.

  Barbara remained quiet, her eyes focused over my shoulder. Thinking. “We may be coming to the end of our relationship.”

  “You’re releasing me from my pact?”

  A cruel smile played on her lips. “That isn’t what I said.”

  “Oh.”

  Her gaze drilled a hole through me. “We may be coming to the end of our relationship,” she repeated

  “Am I going to hell?” I whispered.

  Barbara shocked me by belly laughing. “Not yet.”

  Thank goodness! “What does this mean?” I asked.

  “You ask so many questions you already know the answer to.” She flicked her hand toward the door. “Leave.”

  I did.

  *****

  Knowing that Barbara had put a price on my head, the truth slammed home. This was much bigger than I could handle alone. I would need reinforcements. One name came to mind.

  I tried to come up with an alternative option during the drive back to my house. I parked my car in the driveway and rested my forehead on the steering wheel. Nothing. Nobody else I knew had any experience dealing with the supernatural, and Barbara specifically. I sighed.

  Once inside, I sat at the high-top kitchen table, running my hands along the smooth dark wood surface. Delaying. I knew that. Placing this next call would be harder in some ways even than challenging the demon. What if she refused to help?

  I placed my cellphone on the table in front of me, spinning it, straightening it up, fidgeting. I sighed again. Just get it over with. Unlike with Barbara, the worst she could do was say no.

  Before I could talk myself out of
it, I snatched the phone up and made the call.

  “Catherine Rodham speaking.”

  I found myself unable to respond to the voice of the talent agent on the other end.

  “Hello? Is someone there?”

  “Catherine,” I croaked out.

  Crickets on her end.

  “Catherine?”

  “Robin, is that you?” Disgust curled around each syllable.

  “I need your help.”

  Crickets again. Oh, good grief, this was like sticks under my fingernails.

  “Please.” I closed my eyes.

  A small sigh and then she offered a ray of hope. “How can I help?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Despite her reluctance, Catherine was true to her word. She sat with her Paranormal Talent Agency friends in a private booth at the back of Soprannaturale. A were-panther from Italy owned the hole-in-the-wall paranormal café; hence the name, Italian for supernatural. It was on a dead-end street off Main Street, such that non-supernatural beings were unlikely to stumble upon it. Although, ever since the paranormal underworld had been thrown into the spotlight, hordes of Vegas tourists had made it their missions to find supernatural hotspots. But, so far, the luck of the café had held steady and none had found it.

  I could count on one hand the number of times I’d gone. Being a demon’s minion meant I was not exactly welcome. A few patrons glared at me when I stepped into the café out of the cool evening. Vampires had pushed two tables together; their fangs descended halfway and four sets of eyes stared at me like I was now on the menu. I swore I heard growls from where two werewolves with amber eyes sat at a table farther inside. When I saw two older witches whisper a possible incantation in my direction, it confirmed my undesirability.

  But I guessed it was true about having connected friends. Nobody approached me or challenged me. Even the owner, the hunky were-panther, Antonio DiMaio, simply observed me dispassionately, chocolate brown eyes hooded. I passed the scattered Formica-covered two-top tables, avoiding eye contact and focusing on the guild-framed canvases depicting lovely pastoral scenes from Italy.

  I stood awkwardly at the table, staring at the booth’s forest green vinyl upholstery instead of faces, trying not to wince at the hostility emanating from the women already seated. Well, to be fair, only one woman radiated open hostility.

  “Hi, Evie,” I greeted the vampire. Maybe I could defuse her irritation. Her blue eyes narrowed to slits and she shook her head, blond curls bouncing. Turned in the 1920s, Evie Jones was now an actress who kept that signature style.

  “Please, sit, Robin,” Mia Fynn said kindly. The nixie’s green hair was pulled into a ponytail like my own, and her emerald eyes reflected openness with a dash of wariness. I nodded and slid in next to Catherine, ignoring the way she tensed at the movement. Who was I kidding? I knew they wouldn’t make this easy.

  I sighed. “Thank you, Catherine,” I directed my opening remarks at the empath. “And thank you, Mia and Evie. For agreeing to meet with me.” My gaze dropped to my hands fidgeting in my lap. Tears threatened to overflow.

  “Why are we here?” Evie demanded.

  “Now, Evie, give her a chance,” Mia soothed, her musical nixie voice washing over the table, calming us all with her magic.

  “You said you needed my help?” Catherine prompted.

  “Yes.” Best to jump right in. “You know me as Barbara Knollman’s minion. The demon’s minion. And that’s true. I made a deal with the demon in the past.” How much to tell them? My mouth chose not to form the words, ‘I am a witch’. “I’ve mostly been her gopher, as you have pointed out before. For the first time, though, she asked something of me that I refused to do.”

  “I didn’t think there was anything off limits for a minion,” Evie said.

  My cheeks reddened. “It’s never come up before.”

  Evie shrugged. “You reap what you sow.”

  “I know. And I would understand if you didn’t want to help me.”

  “Gee, I’m glad you’re so understanding,” Evie said.

  “Evie!” Catherine said.

  “What? Why are we sitting here like we don’t have history with this minion.” Evie sat forward, pointed a finger at me. “You’ve always been a lackey. Why would we want to help you with a problem you’re having with your demon?”

  “Since you’re here, I assumed—” I stopped and looked around the table. Two sets of hooded eyes and one vampire set still narrowed in suspicion.

  “What does she want you to do?” Catherine asked. We hadn’t discussed the specifics when I called her; she’d preferred to wait and include the ladies in the conversation.

  “She wants me to kill someone.”

  Catherine and Mia gasped. “Why am I not surprised?” Evie said.

  “Who does she want you to kill?” Mia asked.

  “Jackson McKee.” At their blank expressions, I explained, “He’s a cameraman on Forbidden Island.”

  “Did she tell you why she wants him dead?” Catherine asked.

  I shook my head. “She didn’t, except that it would help her achieve her ‘goal’. And, before you ask, she wouldn’t tell me her goal.”

  Catherine tapped her fingers on the table top. “Anything else?”

  I bit my lower lip. What I was about to say was Jackson’s secret to disclose. But he would surely understand I was trying to save his life. “He’s a witch.”

  The ladies didn’t even appear shocked.

  “He must be some kind of threat to her,” Evie guessed.

  “I don’t think so. His magic is protection magic.”

  “How do you know that?” Catherine asked.

  An image of a lighting fixture falling toward my head flashed in my mind and ribbons of anxiety snaked through me. “Barbara tried to kill us. Jackson used his magic to prevent it.”

  Again, the gasps of surprise, Evie included this time. “Because you refused to kill him?” she asked.

  Was that respect I saw in her eyes? Would wonders never cease? I nodded.

  “And she got someone else to do the job?” Evie asked, her disgust now aimed at the demon.

  I nodded again.

  “How can we help?” Mia asked.

  “I’m not sure. I’d like to find and stop this replacement killer.” I looked around for water, realized none had been ordered. “I think it’s unrealistic to also stop Barbara, but,” I exhaled in a rush, “I’d like to at least break the pact before she sends me to hell.”

  Catherine gently placed her hand on my arm. “We’ll do whatever we can.” She looked at the other two. “Right, ladies?”

  “Absolutely,” Mia responded.

  Evie quirked an eyebrow, then sighed. “Yeah, I’m in, too.”

  Relief surged through me. “Thank you all so much.” Tears threatened again. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Catherine frowned. “Why isn’t Jackson here? Since he’s part of the supernatural world and he’s the target.”

  “I’m trying to protect him,” I hedged my response. “The less he knows, the better.”

  “That’s it?” Catherine pressed. I had no doubt her magical lie detector was pinging at the incompleteness of my answer.

  “I’d just rather he stays away from this as much as possible,” I demurred.

  Catherine stared at me for a beat. I could practically see her mind file my non-answer for future consideration. “Let’s brainstorm. What should be our first step?”

  “I would think we need to convince Barbara to cancel the second killer,” Evie offered with a slight lift of her right shoulder.

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Mia agreed.

  “Thoughts on how?” Catherine asked.

  My heart filled with hope as I watched these three women figuring out how to save my life. I could see a faint light at the end of that tunnel everyone talked about.

  Soon we had a plan.

  The first step? Heading ba
ck into the lion’s den – or rather, the demon’s office. Again.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I sat in the all-too-familiar leather chair in Barbara’s office. The day that I wouldn’t have to sit here could not come soon enough. She looked up from her desk. “We need to stop meeting like this.”

  Was that a joke? Thrown for a moment, I didn’t respond.

  The demon rolled her eyes. “What can I do for you, Ms. Landon?”

  Lying to the non-supernatural was easy; my years in foster care had honed that ability. Supernatural folks, well, I never knew what magical abilities they possessed. “I’ve changed my mind.” I tensed, waiting for her response.

  A single eyebrow raised. “About what?”

  “Handling that problem we discussed.”

  My skin crawled as her gaze bore into me. “To what exactly are you referring?”

  “I learned my lesson and will do your bidding as agreed.” My chin dropped a fraction, like the obedient minion I desperately needed to convince her I still was. “I will kill Jackson McKee.” I flinched from an imagined attack response and Barbara smirked. This was going swimmingly. Ugh.

  “Will you now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wonderful.”

  I breathed a small sigh of relief.

  “I truly hope you succeed first.”

  Wait. What? “First?”

  “When we initially discussed this problem, I gave you a week to solve it. When you then expressed concern a day later about being able to do so, I contracted out with a different problem-solver. Another two days have passed. That leaves three remaining,” she added, like I was a child who couldn’t do basic math. She shrugged. “Whoever gets the job done first.”

  Thoughts swirled in my mind. She watched me. She was waiting to see if I would beg. After five years, I recognized the futility of that. I controlled my rising panic. The first part of the plan had gone down in flames. On to the next…

  “I understand,” I responded. “Toward that, I decided to go with unconventional resources.”

  Barbara sat back in her chair, hands folded in front of her.

  “I approached Catherine Rodham of the Paranormal Talent Agency—”