So weird.
I held my chest. “And half the time, you scare the crap out of me.”
Millicent didn’t like it when I used words like “crap” or “hell,” let alone, the bigger, more colorful words. This, I suspected, was a holdover from her previous, and slightly more prudish, incarnation. Now, she frowned in mild distaste.
“I don’t mean to scare you, Allison.”
“I know, I know, it’s just a lucky bonus.”
She moved in closer and now I could feel her warmth, which was an odd thing to say about a discarnate entity. Still, when Millicent was particularly energized—and excited—she veritably radiated heat. Granted, it was my heat back to me; meaning, she drew energy from me—and the surrounding household—which was why my lights now flickered and my refrigerator hummed and sputtered.
She ignored my last comment. Millicent often ignored my jibes and jabs and witticisms. Instead, she said, “Part of your education, child, is to know when to step aside...and when to take action.”
“And let nature take its course?”
She nodded. Now she was directly in front of me, so close that I could see the irises of her eyes. They might have flared briefly with a small fire...or that could have been my imagination. Had she had bad breath, I would have known. She didn’t, thank God, mostly because she didn’t breathe.
Once again, I soaked her in, studying her every feature, and as I did, I had brief flashes—as I often had when she was nearby, and especially when she made a full physical appearance, as she was doing now—of us as teenagers, in a long-ago time, in a forgotten forest, practicing our witchcraft...and loving every minute of it. There was, of course, another witch with us. Samantha Moon. The three of us were something to behold...and something to respect and to even fear.
Most of what I had learned in those bygone, forgotten days was lost to me. Sort of. With Millicent’s guidance, I was quickly coming into my own, growing more powerful and knowledgeable.
Samantha Moon? Not so much. My undead friend was now on her own path; that was, she was on the path of the bloodsuckers, which made the witch threesome now a twosome. According to Millicent, we were stronger as three. Anything done in threes was powerful. From prayers to witchcraft.
Of course, I was presently the only mortal among the three of us, which was a problem. Millicent was still technically a witch, although a dead one. As I’d discovered, her being dead didn’t matter much. She did naturally and easily on the “other side” what I was having trouble doing on “this side.” Still, there were rules in place, rules that limited her involvement in this world—the physical world. She was a force to be reckoned with...and a witch, through and through.
The same couldn’t be said for my friend, Sam. From what I had gathered, the witchy spark had left her the moment she became something else. Or, more accurately, the moment something very dark and evil had entered into her. It was something Sam was fighting to this day.
But that was another story.
The story I found myself in now was one that was troubling...but one that I was determined to do something about.
“No, child,” said Millicent, who still used her manner of speech from her last incarnation. “Now is the time to step aside. There is great danger in that home.”
“What kind of danger?”
“There is a presence, something hidden.”
“Fine. Whatever. It can just stay hidden. But I’ll be damned if I’ll just let a man die. I can’t do that.”
“His death has nothing to do with you, Allison. His death is between him...and forces much greater than you and I.”
I stepped around her, mostly out of respect, although I knew I could have just as easily stepped through her, too. However, doing so would have set in motion a fit of shivering that would have lasted me several minutes.
At the door, I turned back to her and said, “Well, this greater force is just going to have to back off.”
“Allison—”
But I was already out the door.
Chapter Three
I was driving.
Traffic from Beverly Hills to Santa Monica always gets dicey the closer you get to the 405 Freeway. Luckily, I knew all of the shortcuts...and yeah, I might have even used a touch of prescience to find the fastest route through it. Either way, I soon found myself on Wilshire Boulevard, where I passed many beautiful glass buildings that reflected the setting sun. I also passed smaller businesses that reflected, if anything, the proverbial American Dream. There were costume shops and gaming shops and tobacco shops and coffee shops and Irish bars and gay bars and Greek cafés.
When I passed the fourth Starbucks, I finally took notice and pulled into the drive-thru. I ordered a decaf latte with half and half only, secretly longing for a mocha, but knowing I was going to need all the psychic help I could get in a manner of minutes. So, no caffeine, dammit.
Now sipping contently, I headed back out into the heavy traffic and put my mind on what I had seen during my initial scan of Billy Turner. Yes, I knew his last name, too. I could have told him that, but I didn’t want to freak him out too much. Besides, I was already freaked enough for the two of us.
After all, I had seen, quite literally, his death.
If what I had seen was correct—and thanks to Millicent, I had little doubt that it was correct—it was going to happen soon.
In a matter of days, in fact.
I considered calling Samantha Moon, but I knew she would be with her kids, probably making them a dinner she couldn’t eat. I also considered calling my other good friend, Bernice, a psychic of a very different type—that is, the not-so-very-talented-type—but she was working the evening shift at The Psychic Hotline. Yes, not all psychics at the Hotline were cut from the same cloth. My experience was that many were shams, although some had a hint of real ability, like my friend, Bernice.
For now, though, I figured I needed more information. That meant I needed to talk to Billy directly, and in person. There was still a small chance that I had not read Billy correctly, which I doubted. I had to quell that doubt, which was another reason why I had agreed to meet him face-to-face. The fact that he was also cute had almost nothing to do with it.
Almost.
I glanced at the address I had written down. Unbeknownst to Billy Turner, I had remained psychically connected to him after the phone call had been disconnected. Once I made a connection with someone, I could stay connected with them as long as I wanted. In this case, I passed in and around his house, noting the house number and street address. Yes, I’m kind of like a superhero.