Chapter Nine

For the first time in months she turned off most of the lights before she got into bed. The exceptions were the bathroom fixture and the plug-in night-lights scattered throughout the apartment. Her stupid phobia seemed less intense tonight. She was pretty sure that was because of the battered private investigator sleeping on her recliner. He was a train wreck, but something about his energy suggested competence. At least he finally believed her.

She changed into her customary nightgown, brushed her teeth, and sat down on the edge of the bed. She opened a drawer in the nightstand and picked up the small black velvet pouch. Opening the bag, she removed the three crystals and set them out in a row on top of the nightstand.

She sat quietly for a time, taking in the soothing vibe of the crystals. Silently she chanted the mantra her aunt had given her: I am calm. I am serene. I am centered. I exhale the bad energy and inhale the good.

After a while she settled under the covers and reflected again on the fact that she knew almost nothing about her uninvited houseguest. His prints and his aura would be visible in the shadows now that most of the lights were off. It wouldn’t hurt to take a quick glance. In fact, it was the smart thing to do. She needed information about him.

She waited a few more minutes, absorbing the silence. When she was satisfied that he was probably asleep she eased the quilt aside and got out of bed.

She opened the door of her bedroom and padded softly down the hall. Her bare feet made almost no noise on the imitation wood floor. When she reached the entryway at the front door, she stopped. As long as she did not take a few more steps and go around the corner into the main room Gideon could not see her from his position on the recliner. She waited again.

Silence.

She went into her other vision and studied the splashes of energy on the floor. A nearby night-light cast a weak glow that muted but did not entirely mask the pools of paranormal radiance.

Gideon’s prints burned quicksilver-hot in the shadows.

Instinctively she took a step back. She was still struggling to read and interpret energy prints but she knew raw power when she encountered it. She was locked in for the night with the man who had laid down the tracks on her floor.

She took a deep breath. Okay, maybe Gideon did have some serious talent, but that didn’t mean he could actually render someone unconscious with a psychic punch. Did it? How could she possibly know? This was uncharted territory. She was still in the process of trying to cope with her own rapidly evolving senses. Still afraid of what the future might hold for her.

But although her nerves were shivering with acute awareness, she was not getting the dreaded vibe of an oncoming anxiety attack. There were none of the icy chills she had experienced when she had viewed the stalker’s disturbing prints the previous night. None of the ominous vibes she had detected in the prints left by Irene Morgan’s undercover cop boyfriend.

“See anything interesting?” Gideon asked from the living room.

She yelped, caught her breath, composed herself, and walked around the corner. There was enough ambient light slanting through the windows to reveal the recliner and its occupant.

Gideon’s aura—fierce, powerful, and fascinating—blazed in the shadows. She should have been afraid. Instead, she was thrilled . There was no other word for her response.

She ignored his question and asked one of her own instead. “Did you really put that man into a coma tonight?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Trust me, you really do not want to know.”

“Screw it,” she said. “It’s bad enough that I’ve got a beat-up investigator who ought to be in an ER. I don’t need one with a depressing, cryptic attitude.”

“What the hell?”

“Right now the only reason you’ve got my case, Gideon Sweetwater, is because you have apparently condescended to take my claims about the paranormal elements involved seriously. I realize that most professional investigators would not get that far. So, yes, I’m stuck with you. That doesn’t mean I will put up with a bad attitude.”

Gideon pressed the recliner button. The chair brought him to an upright position. “What is your problem?”

“As my Aunt Cybil would say, get over yourself. You’re not the only one who got saddled with a dumbass talent. At least you’ve found a way to make what appears to be a very good living with yours. I, on the other hand, am trying to pay the rent and stay out of an asylum.”

“An asylum?”

“Good night.”

She stalked back into the bedroom, closed the door with some force, got under the covers, and once again opened her senses to the gentle vibes of the three crystals.

I am calm. I am serene. I am centered. I exhale the bad energy and inhale the good.