Em.
Which wasn’t any of my business, except for the fact that Em was my best friend, and she was worried, so that made me worry.
I was a fixer. I couldn’t help myself.
My call went straight to Aiden’s voicemail, and I left a quick message asking him to call me back about a case.
I pulled the pink bear from the coffee table onto my lap and stared into its small black eyes. Holding it between my hands, I tried to replicate what had happened earlier in my office, but saw nothing. Felt nothing.
I sighed.
“Just about done here,” the locksmith said. “You gonna be okay here? You need a ride someplace?”
“Thanks,” I said, “but I’m okay.”
His face pulled into a frown as he wiped his hand on a rag pulled from his pocket. “You call me if you change your mind. I’ve got three daughters of my own, and I’d want someone looking after them.”
I smiled. Sometimes I forgot how kind people could be. “Thank you. I have your card if I need you.”
With a brusque nod, he packed up his stuff. “I’ll send your father the bill.”
“I’ll make sure he pays it.”
The man laughed. He set a ring of keys on the table—he’d already given me several new key cards to hand out. “You take care, Ms. Valentine, and get to that doctor.” With a wink, he added, “I’ll see myself out.”
I debated walking him out just to show I could, but quickly decided against it. In fact, I was seriously considering staying on this couch for the next three days. If not for the extreme heat, an arsonist on the loose, an abandoned cat at my place, and a missing Sean, I might have.
Instead, I stared again at the pink bear.
Orlinda had forbid us from searching for the little girl through other methods besides our abilities. No Googling allowed.
However, I was itching to do a search for a missing little girl named Bethany . Where was she from? Had there been any leads in her case at all? Had any clues been found?
I wouldn’t do an online search, however. I’d trust Orlinda’s process, as painful as it was.
The office phone rang, and I gave it the evil eye for a long second before I hauled myself off the couch and hopped, one-footed, over to Suz’s desk.
I grabbed the phone. “Valentine, Inc., this is Lucy, may I help you?”
“Lucy Valentine!” a woman shouted. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all day.”
By the harsh tone, I knew immediately that it was Annie Hendrix. An image of enormous breasts popped into my mind, and I shook my head to get rid of it. “Hi, Annie.”
“Don’t you ‘Hi, Annie’ me. You don’t know what I’ve been going through. What I’ve endured.”
Annie was a professional psychic, working full-time at a place on Tremont Street . Her gift was automatic writing—jotting down information guided by spirits who’d passed over. Despite her histrionics, she’d become quite successful in her field.
I sat in Suz’s seat. My patience had worn paper thin, so I bit my lip to keep from giving Annie a flip response. My head was starting to ache.
“I cannot afford to lose business, Lucy Valentine. So whatever you’ve done to me, undo it.”
A nice bath. That’s what I needed. A glass of wine.
And maybe some morphine.
Rubbing my temple, I said, “You lost me. Undo what?”
“Whatever hex you put on me.”
I opened Suz’s drawers, hoping to find a wayward bottle of aspirin. “Annie, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“All day, Lucy Valentine! All day. Whenever a client came in, and I pulled out a fresh sheet of paper to do their reading, do you know what I wrote?”
“Enlighten me.”
“Your name. Lucy Valentine , over and over.”
“Why?”
“You’ve hexed me!”
“I hate to break it to you, Annie, but I’m a psychic, not any kind of witch. I don’t have hexing powers.”
“Well,” she said with a big dose of acrimony, “you kind of seem like a witch to me.”
I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it, unable to believe
Which wasn’t any of my business, except for the fact that Em was my best friend, and she was worried, so that made me worry.
I was a fixer. I couldn’t help myself.
My call went straight to Aiden’s voicemail, and I left a quick message asking him to call me back about a case.
I pulled the pink bear from the coffee table onto my lap and stared into its small black eyes. Holding it between my hands, I tried to replicate what had happened earlier in my office, but saw nothing. Felt nothing.
I sighed.
“Just about done here,” the locksmith said. “You gonna be okay here? You need a ride someplace?”
“Thanks,” I said, “but I’m okay.”
His face pulled into a frown as he wiped his hand on a rag pulled from his pocket. “You call me if you change your mind. I’ve got three daughters of my own, and I’d want someone looking after them.”
I smiled. Sometimes I forgot how kind people could be. “Thank you. I have your card if I need you.”
With a brusque nod, he packed up his stuff. “I’ll send your father the bill.”
“I’ll make sure he pays it.”
The man laughed. He set a ring of keys on the table—he’d already given me several new key cards to hand out. “You take care, Ms. Valentine, and get to that doctor.” With a wink, he added, “I’ll see myself out.”
I debated walking him out just to show I could, but quickly decided against it. In fact, I was seriously considering staying on this couch for the next three days. If not for the extreme heat, an arsonist on the loose, an abandoned cat at my place, and a missing Sean, I might have.
Instead, I stared again at the pink bear.
Orlinda had forbid us from searching for the little girl through other methods besides our abilities. No Googling allowed.
However, I was itching to do a search for a missing little girl named Bethany . Where was she from? Had there been any leads in her case at all? Had any clues been found?
I wouldn’t do an online search, however. I’d trust Orlinda’s process, as painful as it was.
The office phone rang, and I gave it the evil eye for a long second before I hauled myself off the couch and hopped, one-footed, over to Suz’s desk.
I grabbed the phone. “Valentine, Inc., this is Lucy, may I help you?”
“Lucy Valentine!” a woman shouted. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all day.”
By the harsh tone, I knew immediately that it was Annie Hendrix. An image of enormous breasts popped into my mind, and I shook my head to get rid of it. “Hi, Annie.”
“Don’t you ‘Hi, Annie’ me. You don’t know what I’ve been going through. What I’ve endured.”
Annie was a professional psychic, working full-time at a place on Tremont Street . Her gift was automatic writing—jotting down information guided by spirits who’d passed over. Despite her histrionics, she’d become quite successful in her field.
I sat in Suz’s seat. My patience had worn paper thin, so I bit my lip to keep from giving Annie a flip response. My head was starting to ache.
“I cannot afford to lose business, Lucy Valentine. So whatever you’ve done to me, undo it.”
A nice bath. That’s what I needed. A glass of wine.
And maybe some morphine.
Rubbing my temple, I said, “You lost me. Undo what?”
“Whatever hex you put on me.”
I opened Suz’s drawers, hoping to find a wayward bottle of aspirin. “Annie, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“All day, Lucy Valentine! All day. Whenever a client came in, and I pulled out a fresh sheet of paper to do their reading, do you know what I wrote?”
“Enlighten me.”
“Your name. Lucy Valentine , over and over.”
“Why?”
“You’ve hexed me!”
“I hate to break it to you, Annie, but I’m a psychic, not any kind of witch. I don’t have hexing powers.”
“Well,” she said with a big dose of acrimony, “you kind of seem like a witch to me.”
I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it, unable to believe
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