Band of Demons (The Sanheim Chronicles, Book Two) by Rob Blackwell Page A
Authors: Rob Blackwell
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the door, he wasted no time getting to the point.
“I just want to know who that little bitch is screwing,” Gary McLean had said.
And Carol—now dressed as Madame Zora—knew. Gary’s wife, Cindy, was messing around with her best friend, Gabby. Maybe the inclination had always had been there or maybe living with Gary had driven her to desperation—Carol didn’t blame her either way. Seeing inside Gary’s mind was dreary and depressing. She firmly believed that most people were good, or at least started out that way. Gary, though… He was the exception that proved the rule.
She could have told him the truth. And when the police showed up to find two women dead, Carol could try to convince herself she had nothing to do with it. But knowledge is power, and Carol knew she would be responsible for whatever Gary’s actions were—maybe more so than Gary himself.
So she lied. Most people think psychics lie all the time, but Madame Zora disliked it. In general, it was far easier—and more profitable—to tell the truth. But not here. So she reassured him of his wife’s fidelity and suggested he was in for a dark end if he didn’t deal with his anger issues. She thought she was doing a really great job, too.
Unfortunately, Gary was not a fan. He had destroyed her room in a fit of rage, calling her a liar, bitch, and whore before finally stomping out. She should have called the police.
She didn’t and she wasn’t sure why. Certainly, she had plenty of cause. But there was a voice in the back of her mind that told her not to. And she always listened to her instincts. Listening to instincts was what being a psychic was all about.
She had just finished picking up all the beads from the now-wrecked curtain in her doorway (which Gary had rather effortlessly damaged on his way out the door) when she heard the bell that indicated a customer had come in.
It was odd for two reasons. For one, her office hours were well past over. She had agreed to meet Gary so late only because he insisted that it was a matter of life or death. For another, she was never surprised by a customer. Well, there had been the reporter last year—she hadn’t seen her coming—but that was an unusual circumstance. She always had a sense of when someone planned to visit her. It was one of her most powerful gifts. Unless…
She glanced at the envelope lying on her desk. She had only written the letter yesterday, hoping it would be some time before she had to send it. It wasn’t even finished.
But in another brief flash of inspiration, she grabbed it and looked for the right place to hide it. She needed somewhere that the reporter would find it, but her guest, whoever it was, would not. She smiled when she found the spot and moved quickly to put the letter there.
She was just turning around to face the door when a voice came from behind her.
“Hi Carol,” he said.
She intended to keep her composure no matter who her visitor was. But when she turned around, she involuntarily let out a gasp.
“Kieran,” she said, and her voice was so soft it was barely a whisper.
“That’s me,” he said, and leaned through the entranceway. He glanced at what was left of the bead curtain and smiled. “Making friends and new customers, I see.”
It must be some kind of trick, she thought. For one, he looked exactly the same. He was tall, lanky, with a mop of unkempt brown hair. He looked to be in his early 30s, which she knew for a fact was roughly 30 years younger than he really was. But the biggest shock was entirely different.
“You’re dead,” she said. “They killed you.”
“No,” he responded and walked into her room. “But sometimes I wish they had.”
God, she had forgotten how handsome he was. It wasn’t in his looks really, but the way he carried himself. If she had just taken a photo, she might have said he was average. But some people have a personality that elevates their physical characteristics. She thought she remembered
“I just want to know who that little bitch is screwing,” Gary McLean had said.
And Carol—now dressed as Madame Zora—knew. Gary’s wife, Cindy, was messing around with her best friend, Gabby. Maybe the inclination had always had been there or maybe living with Gary had driven her to desperation—Carol didn’t blame her either way. Seeing inside Gary’s mind was dreary and depressing. She firmly believed that most people were good, or at least started out that way. Gary, though… He was the exception that proved the rule.
She could have told him the truth. And when the police showed up to find two women dead, Carol could try to convince herself she had nothing to do with it. But knowledge is power, and Carol knew she would be responsible for whatever Gary’s actions were—maybe more so than Gary himself.
So she lied. Most people think psychics lie all the time, but Madame Zora disliked it. In general, it was far easier—and more profitable—to tell the truth. But not here. So she reassured him of his wife’s fidelity and suggested he was in for a dark end if he didn’t deal with his anger issues. She thought she was doing a really great job, too.
Unfortunately, Gary was not a fan. He had destroyed her room in a fit of rage, calling her a liar, bitch, and whore before finally stomping out. She should have called the police.
She didn’t and she wasn’t sure why. Certainly, she had plenty of cause. But there was a voice in the back of her mind that told her not to. And she always listened to her instincts. Listening to instincts was what being a psychic was all about.
She had just finished picking up all the beads from the now-wrecked curtain in her doorway (which Gary had rather effortlessly damaged on his way out the door) when she heard the bell that indicated a customer had come in.
It was odd for two reasons. For one, her office hours were well past over. She had agreed to meet Gary so late only because he insisted that it was a matter of life or death. For another, she was never surprised by a customer. Well, there had been the reporter last year—she hadn’t seen her coming—but that was an unusual circumstance. She always had a sense of when someone planned to visit her. It was one of her most powerful gifts. Unless…
She glanced at the envelope lying on her desk. She had only written the letter yesterday, hoping it would be some time before she had to send it. It wasn’t even finished.
But in another brief flash of inspiration, she grabbed it and looked for the right place to hide it. She needed somewhere that the reporter would find it, but her guest, whoever it was, would not. She smiled when she found the spot and moved quickly to put the letter there.
She was just turning around to face the door when a voice came from behind her.
“Hi Carol,” he said.
She intended to keep her composure no matter who her visitor was. But when she turned around, she involuntarily let out a gasp.
“Kieran,” she said, and her voice was so soft it was barely a whisper.
“That’s me,” he said, and leaned through the entranceway. He glanced at what was left of the bead curtain and smiled. “Making friends and new customers, I see.”
It must be some kind of trick, she thought. For one, he looked exactly the same. He was tall, lanky, with a mop of unkempt brown hair. He looked to be in his early 30s, which she knew for a fact was roughly 30 years younger than he really was. But the biggest shock was entirely different.
“You’re dead,” she said. “They killed you.”
“No,” he responded and walked into her room. “But sometimes I wish they had.”
God, she had forgotten how handsome he was. It wasn’t in his looks really, but the way he carried himself. If she had just taken a photo, she might have said he was average. But some people have a personality that elevates their physical characteristics. She thought she remembered
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