Storm of Visions by Christina Dodd

satisfaction cold in her dark eyes.
    Aaron had stepped in the circle under his own will. He would leave when someone else allowed him.
    So. He’d learned something today. Watch out for chalk circles.
    “Was there anything else?” Martha asked.
    Damned right, there was. “Let me see if I’ve got this right. You guys took the kid”—Aaron indicated Aleksandr—“because there was no one else, and you hope he develops a gift or some specialty you can use?”
    “I’m not privy to the decisions of the directors,” Martha said, but she nodded her head.
    “Is that why there’s only six? Because there have always been seven.” Charisma did know her stuff.
    For the first time, Aaron wondered if he should have glanced through the text he’d been given after he signed on the dotted line.
    “We have one more coming. I hope.” Martha sounded disgusted. Then she looked beyond them, and the old woman broke into a broad smile. In a voice hushed with pleasure and worship, she said, “Suzanne has arrived.”

Chapter 7

    A aron gaped in amazement.
    Martha hadn’t been saying Suzanne . She’d been saying Zusane , and no wonder she looked like an awestruck teenage girl.
    Zusane was . . . Zusane. One of those women who only had one name, who was famous for being famous, who was Hungarian or Romanian or some nationality that gave her a rich, smoky accent. Zusane had had more husbands—seven? eight?—than anyone could remember, all of them had been rich, and she’d left them all considerably less wealthy and a lot more whiny.
    Now she was walking through the subway station, three bodyguards in front, acting like the prow of a ship to cut their way through the afternoon rush hour crowd, and another two bodyguards in back, making sure that no one crowded her from behind. Because dressed like that, she was one hell of a target. She wore a long, skintight dress covered with gold sequins from the low neckline, over every inch of her curvaceous body, and down to the weighted hem. With every step, she showed a flash of shapely leg, and she walked so smoothly on four-inch spiked heels, they might as well have been Reeboks. Her black silk gloves extended from her fingertips over her elbows to her well-toned upper arms, and she held a small evening bag decorated with Swarovski crystals. Like American royalty, she waved to the crowds, shook hands, signed autographs.
    “Your jaw’s hanging open,” Charisma said.
    She was talking to Aleksandr, but Aaron shut his mouth, too.
    As Zusane stopped at Martha’s side, the bodyguards took their places around the edge of the circle and turned to face the crowds.
    Zusane put her hands on Martha’s shoulders and kissed both her cheeks. She whispered something that made Martha nod, roll her eyes, and indicate the circle.
    Lifting her skirt, Zusane carefully stepped inside. As if by magic, people stopped staring and pointing at her.
    As if by magic . . . Aaron looked around at the others. Was there something about the chalk circle that made them invisible to all the normal people and removed them from their minds?
    Of course. Magic would explain a lot.
    Zusane removed her long gloves, a slow striptease that titillated and entertained. And all the while she observed the six in the circle, her blue eyes thoughtful and perceptive. She tucked the gloves into her bag, then turned to Aaron. “Mr. Eagle. How good to see you again.” Her voice was throaty and amused.
    Aaron had run into Zusane one other time, about a year ago, right after he’d finished a job, and she’d looked at him and spoken to him as if she could see him.
    Now he knew why. She had seen him. She had a gift, too. “I’ll bet you’re the reason I’m here,” he said.
    She laughed, throwing her head back to release a light chuckle. “You don’t hold that against me, do you?”
    “No. No, I wish I could, but I can’t.”
    Up close, she wasn’t as young as she first appeared. She had wrinkles around her eyes and a faint thin