Haunted (A Bishop/SCU Novel Book 15) (12 page)

But she had barely settled behind her desk when a brief knock made her jump and brought her attention to the doorway. She frowned slightly at Toby Gilmore.

“Hey. Something up?”

Toby was chewing her bottom lip, a sure sign she was upset. Not that she was ever able to hide her feelings. Dark and exotic-looking she might be, but there was nothing in the least mysterious about Toby.

“I’m not really sure. That is . . . Melanie, have you got a minute?”

“Sure. Don’t have any afternoon appointments scheduled, and so far it hasn’t been a day for drop-ins. Have a seat.” She was slightly surprised, and more than a little uneasy, when her friend closed the office door before sitting down.

“What’s up?” she more or less repeated, warily this time.

“I’ve been reading the cards.”

Melanie sighed. “Toby, why can’t you just play solitaire when you’re bored, like everyone else? Or mahjong. I know you have both on your computer at work and your tablet for home.”

“That’s not why—I wasn’t reading the cards because I was bored, Melanie. I was reading because of the murders.”

“Murder,” Melanie said, automatically. “Just one.”

“No. I think there’s been another.”

“The cards tell you that?” Melanie asked dryly.

Toby flushed a little but kept her gaze steady. “They did. And then just a bit ago, when I was coming here, I saw Lexie and Doug leave the sheriff’s office. With their kits. They looked grim, Melanie. I didn’t see where they went; I don’t think they wanted anybody to see where they went. But I think it’s up at the old church.”

“It?”

“The body. The second victim.” She swallowed hard. “Somebody else we know.”

Melanie hoped her own face didn’t look as closed as it felt, but judging by Toby’s unhappy expression, it probably did. “You can’t possibly know where Lexie and Doug were going, or why. As for tarot, they’re just cards, you say so yourself. Just for fun.”

“Yeah, but . . . This time, what I saw . . . It was dark, Melanie. It was really dark.”

“You’re upset. We’re all upset about Scott. Of course whatever you
think
the cards told you was something bad.”

Toby bit her lip again, then said, “I thought it was just a dark man, but when I looked closer . . . Melanie, is your brother coming to Sociable? Maybe already here?”

“Is that what the cards showed you?”

Toby nodded. “The dark man, connected to you. Brother to you. And he’s some kind of cop, isn’t he? FBI? It’s all over town that Trinity called in feds to help.” Almost to herself, she added, “Maybe she knew, too. Or suspected. That there’d be more. That Scott was just the beginning.”

Carefully, Melanie said, “Deacon is only supposed to be here as family. Not official. I called him because . . . Well, because. I had no idea Trinity would call in the FBI.”

“But since she did . . . he’s official now?”

“Maybe. Probably. I haven’t talked to him yet.” Dryly, she added, “I heard from Lynne at lunch that there were three FBI agents in town.”

“Monster hunters,” Toby said quietly.

Melanie frowned at her. “All cops are really monster hunters, aren’t they?”

“Not like them.”

“Meaning?”

Toby chewed her lip a moment, clearly worried. “Your brother, the other two . . . they don’t just hunt killers. Murderers. They hunt the true monsters humanity produces—or allows to exist—from time to time. The dark ones. The evil ones.”

It didn’t sound melodramatic. At all.

Since Melanie knew what Deacon’s job consisted of, and more than most people would ever guess about an FBI agent, she couldn’t really argue. So all she said was, “Killing Scott in a locked room. And now you say he’s killed someone else. Up at the church? Another weirdly broken neck?”

Toby looked suddenly queasy. “No. No, worse than that. I saw blood, a lot of blood. And . . . other things. Awful things.”

Melanie wished she had stayed in the restaurant. Or even in her apartment. “Look, if he’s done what you say, on top of killing Scott like that, I’d say those things easily put this killer into the creepy
and
truly evil category. So? Is it so surprising federal agents would be hunting him?”

“Not that. I mean—”

“What
do
you mean, Toby?”

“I mean it’s one of us.”

Melanie sighed. “I know Trinity pretty much ruled out a stranger. And I know how hard it is to accept that somebody we might know, even think we know well, could be capable of murder at all, far less like that, but—”

“That isn’t what I’m saying.”

“What, then?”

“I’m saying it’s one of
us
, Melanie. The murderer. It’s one of The Group.”

—

HE FROWNED AS
he considered them. He had tried and failed to reach any of them, even Trinity, something that bothered him more than he wanted to admit to himself. He had the uneasy sense that the very energy that fed his abilities also enhanced theirs.

Whatever protected them, at least.

He had not factored that into his plans. This was supposed to be
his
edge, not anything that would help them. Protect them.

His gaze fell on the black dog sitting quietly at Trinity’s side, and he felt his frown deepen. Something else he hadn’t expected to be a factor—that dog. Because while he was surely protection against an admittedly unlikely nighttime break-in of her home, or if Trinity encountered the normal sort of relatively tame trouble in her job day-to-day, he wouldn’t be able to protect his mistress from the fate designed for her.

The fate he had designed for her.

Except . . . the dog had led her to the first body, and that hadn’t been part of the plan.

And now they were here, had come up here when they had no reason to. Unless they had known, or suspected. He’d planned to do something a bit later to call attention up here, judging the time right to let more of the fine citizens of Sociable have a better look at his handiwork. Maybe start a small fire . . .

Even fireworks. To draw the kids later in the afternoon, after school.

But that would be a problem now. Because here they were, a cop and three feds. A cop, a sheriff, who had shown her hand plainly: She would do everything in her power to shield her town from at least the worst details of horrible murder.

A sheriff who did not yet know she was part of this.

A fed who was connected to Sociable by blood.

And two other feds who had no idea what it was they had come here to face.

His frown faded, replaced by a smile. And he began to quietly hum under his breath as he settled down to watch them.

They stood several yards away and watched as Lexie and Doug did their work with grim white faces. None of them wanted to look over at the steps of the church, where Doc Beeson sat hunched, his craggy face ancient now and his eyes curiously blank.

It felt like an intrusion, looking at him.

“Did you arrive with a preliminary profile?” Trinity asked almost mechanically.

“Not one ready to share,” Hollis answered. “Bishop felt we needed to learn more about the victim and have a better feel for the area. Not just facts in a report or photographs, but . . . a sense of here. The place. The people. A sense of Sociable. Sometimes these extra senses of ours provide information most standard profilers never get. And sometimes we really need that.”

“So Bishop does believe a local is committing these murders,” Trinity was saying.

It was DeMarco who said, “Well, a stranger would stick out, that’s fairly obvious. I’m betting most of the townsfolk already know the three of us have arrived, and have been discussing us, and we’ve only been here a few hours.”

“Probably so,” Trinity acknowledged with a sigh that misted the air before her.

Deacon shrugged. “I didn’t come in a black SUV, so not so obviously a fed. I doubt Melanie told anyone her brother was coming for a visit, not if she didn’t tell you.” Half under his breath, he said, “Knowing her, she probably started having second thoughts the moment I said I was on my way.”

Hollis looked at him curiously but didn’t ask.

Trinity merely nodded. “But I bet it’s already known you’re FBI. I did run your plates. Which means my office knows. And it’s well past lunchtime, so most of the first shift have left the office on break or for lunch. Or both. So, yeah, word should be spreading.”

But her gaze was on Hollis, and she immediately added, “What is it?”

“Hmmm?” Hollis looked at her, then blinked. “Dunno.”

“Not a spirit?”

“No. I haven’t seen—or felt—what I would normally with a spirit nearby, and definitely haven’t seen a spirit.” She didn’t add that that particular sense had been AWOL for months now. She shifted slightly, as though physically uncomfortable, and she was frowning. “This . . . Something feels . . . off.”

“A murder victim isn’t enough?” Trinity asked warily.

“Oh, it’s enough. But this is . . . something else. I’ve felt it since we got up here. Really felt it in the parsonage. Something is just . . . off.”

“Off, how?” her partner asked her. “Your sense of a place tends to come from normal observation—or a spirit energy.”

“This is different. You still don’t feel a threat?”

DeMarco glanced around them, inwardly checking with the primal sense that virtually always warned him of danger, then shook his head. “No, same as before. No weapon pointed this way. You think we’re being watched?”

“I know we are.” Hollis was momentarily surprised by her own certainty and frowned at the sheriff before allowing her restless gaze to roam around the area, suddenly conscious that there was nothing on the slopes above them but forest, dense and dark even in winter, and that it seemed to loom over them. “Like Reese said, I don’t usually feel things like that unless there’s a spirit somewhere about. But this feeling is getting stronger, and I still don’t see anything the rest of you don’t see.”
Except a really creepy forest looming over us.
“Or anyone.”

Calm as always, DeMarco said, “Maybe energy of some other kind. You could be more sensitive to energy in general now. Can you tell if it’s positive or negative?”

“Negative.” She had answered without hesitation and frowned again as she looked at him, repeating more slowly, “Negative.”

Trinity said, “That doesn’t sound good.”

“No, it usually isn’t. But not necessarily . . . damaging.”

“You mean to the general populace, or psychics?”

Hollis was faintly surprised for a moment, then said wryly, “I seldom think of how energy affects non-psychics. But of course it does, it affects all living things. And electronics, of course; they can go haywire in a place like this, or just not work the way they’re supposed to work.”

“What about people?”

“Just taking a guess based on how uncomfortable I feel, and with no idea how long it’s been in the area, I’d say the non-psychics in this area, especially the ones more sensitive to energy fields, could be dealing with short tempers, maybe depression or just a general anxiety.”

“And you psychics?”

“Varies, depending on the individual. Some of us feel it, some don’t.” She eyed the two men and raised her brows.

DeMarco shook his head. “I don’t feel anything odd.”

Deacon hesitated, then said, “I might be picking up on Hollis, but my skin still feels like it’s crawling a bit.”

Hollis sighed, then said dryly, “And people wonder why I’m still single.” Without waiting for a response or reaction to that, she went on immediately. “Like I said, it’s making me feel just mildly uncomfortable, at least right now. But even if psychics aren’t consciously aware, energy can affect us and usually does. There’s just no way to predict how.”

“Wonderful,” Trinity said.

Hollis eyed the others, one by one, obviously concentrating. “Your auras have changed a bit. Sort of a metallic shimmer on the outer edges. Metallic usually means energy; I’m guessing we’re all instinctively blocking that.”

“So far, at least,” DeMarco murmured.

Trinity asked Hollis, “Can you see your own aura?”

“Usually not, even in a mirror. And I don’t block too well; being psychic is relatively new to me, and I haven’t been able to build much of a shield. Plus, I broadcast, which is why Deacon is probably feeling uneasy.”

Trinity lifted her brows in a silent question.

“Broadcasting is another one of my bells and whistles. Other psychics tend to pick up my thoughts or emotions on some level. Even through their own shields sometimes, especially if I’m really upset about something.” She sighed. “I don’t like it, and I’m working on a shield, but in the meantime I have moments where I feel . . . very exposed.”

“Wouldn’t that mean negative energy would affect you more than anyone with a shield?”

“You’d think. But not so much. Not really many absolutes with this stuff, just what each of us has experienced to date.” Hollis shrugged, adding briefly, “It has to do with how I became a psychic, and it’s a long story. Short version is that I’m sensitive to negative energy but I deal with it better than most other psychics. So far, it hasn’t been damaging.”

There was a moment of silence, during which Hollis became conscious that she was being stared at.

“What?”

DeMarco stepped closer and held out his handkerchief. In a very level voice, he said, “Hollis, your nose is bleeding.”

—

HOLLIS CHECKED THE
handkerchief, then refolded it and stuck it into her pocket, making a mental note to have it cleaned before returning it to Reese. Not that he cared. But she did.

“I think it’s stopped.”

They were all watching her as if she were a fragile vase on a shaky shelf, and it irritated her. “Really. I think it’s stopped. I’m fine.”

Deacon said slowly, “I think maybe the question should be, why did it start?”

“I don’t know. Hell, we’re halfway up a mountain; maybe it’s the altitude.”

“Never bothered you before,” DeMarco said.

Traitor.

Hollis wondered if she was broadcasting, and rather hoped she was. She couldn’t tell from his face, which was as impassive as it generally was. “I have a slight headache,” she confessed finally, feeling sulky as a child for that moment. She jammed her hands into the pockets of her jacket, resisting the urge to rub the back of her neck—or bang her aching head against something. Because it was more than a
slight
headache, it was a wall banger, and it had started abruptly just about the same time the nosebleed had started.

And she had no idea why she didn’t want to explain any of that.

Instead, she said, “I probably shouldn’t have pushed so hard to see your auras.”

“You had to push hard?” Again, DeMarco.

“Yeah.” It wasn’t until she said it that Hollis realized. “But that’s usually the easiest thing I do. I mean, I concentrate, but it doesn’t take anything out of me, not like dealing with spirits does. Not like healing does.”
And you were letting me see your aura, so I didn’t have to push harder just for you.

Him and his double shield.

She was still wondering if she was broadcasting. Or if he was just reading her. Because even when he said he
wasn’t
, she had to wonder about that, especially when something about his eyes told her he knew all the things she wasn’t saying out loud.

Damn telepaths.

DeMarco and Deacon exchanged looks, and the former said, “You said the wrongness you felt was negative.”

“I also said I deal with negative energy well, never mind the nosebleed. I deal with it very well, in fact. You of all people should know that.”

A very slight frown drew his brows together, for DeMarco the equivalent of a scowl. “That was spiritual energy. Even the negative stuff. Right?”

“Yeah. At least . . . I’m pretty sure it was.”

“But you said whatever you feel up here isn’t that kind of energy.”

“Well, one of us said that.” It was her turn to frown. “Maybe it’s the geology of this place; didn’t you bring that up? Trinity, are there a lot of metals in this mountain? I mean, do you get an unusual number of lightning strikes, serious problems with electronics, compasses that go nuts?”

Trinity didn’t hesitate, clearly relieved to talk about anything other than the second murdered friend this week. “Down close to Main Street, no problems to speak of. The higher you climb, the more likely you are to run into the sort of things you listed.” She paused, then added, “Virtually all the buildings along the top dozen or so cross streets have lightning rods, securely grounded, and more than the average number of surge protectors for their electronics; our electronics store is one of the most successful businesses in town, as a matter of fact.”

“Yeah, I saw some of the lightning rods. They made me wonder even before we got up here,” Hollis said almost absently. “We have plenty of experience with how energy can interfere with and even destroy electronics.”

“Glad there’s at least a reason for it,” Trinity said rather dryly. “I’ve often wondered, even though there’s always been a lot of energy up here. Sometimes you can stand down on Main Street totally in the dry, and watch a storm up here. A bad storm.”

Hollis nodded slowly. “Which could explain why I didn’t feel anything odd down on Main. Maybe it
is
just the geography of the place.”

Trinity asked, “Would that make you feel as though you were being watched?”

“I have no idea—though I imagine negative energy could make me feel any number of negative things. As I said, this is a learn-as-you-go sort of thing, figuring out the abilities, what they can do, what causes or triggers them. If they are triggered.”

“Are they triggered by energy?” Trinity asked directly.

“We think so. Rarely. It’s more likely to be triggered by physical or emotional trauma, a head injury, that sort of thing. It isn’t often that we encounter energy fields powerful enough to affect us.”

“But you have,” DeMarco pointed out. “At least twice before that I know of. And both times the energy was negative.”

Hollis was faintly surprised that he mentioned that, but she had learned over time that her partner never let something slip by accident; for whatever reason, he felt it was an important bit of information the others needed to know.

To Trinity, Hollis said, “I’ve been psychically stable for months now, but I have a history of developing additional abilities during highly stressful situations or when there’s excess energy about. At first, I was just a medium; that was triggered by physical and emotional trauma. Then came the other stuff, popping up almost always during intense cases. Broadcasting—sometimes as if I’m powerfully telepathic and able to send thoughts, though never receive—and seeing auras and healing myself and others. Most recently, we discovered I could channel energy, even dark energy, and more or less make it positive energy instead.”

“How?”

“Beats me. All I know is that it comes in dark and leaves bright.”

After a moment, Trinity said, “Forgive my saying, but that sounds weird as hell.”

“Pretty much the way it feels. Although it had a temporary strengthening effect on me physically, which was a nice change.” She didn’t mention the other physical change, which was not as intense as it had been but was still present: Her eyes had literally turned a different shade of blue.
Also weird, a very long story to explain it, and so why even mention it?
“Mostly, using our abilities leaves us tired at best and drained at worst, especially if it’s a dangerous situation.”

“Sorry to keep harping on the subject,” Trinity said, “but if you channel dark, negative energy that’s bright and positive when you release it—what happens to the dark? I mean, do you literally change positive to negative? Because I didn’t think that was the way energy worked.”