Page 14 of Soothsayer

“As sure as I can be.”

“Well then.” He stole my cigarette and stubbed it out against the brick. “I guess you’ve got some calls to make.”

Chapter Eight

Ireally only had one call to make, and that was to the author of the article on Egilsson. Andre Jones was a multitasker?I had to give him that. He’d written about half the articles in this month’sModern Parapsychia, in addition to posting articles on completely different subjects on two different news blogs.

He was a freelancer, willing to go almost anywhere to get a story, including a three-month stint in Turkey last year that had led to a piece being picked up byRolling Stone. We’d chatted a little bit before he’d interviewed me, and he was a surprisingly relaxed guy, not dogmatic or demanding about how he expected things to go. He didn’t ask me to do any parlor tricks to prove I was psychic, but he didn’t go out of his way to debunk the idea either. It had been pretty balanced, all things considered, which was why I didn’t think he’d reject me out of hand for asking about his sources for the other article.

“I’ve gotta say, I didn’t expect I’d hear from you again,” he said once I got through, his voice every bit as smooth and soothing asI remembered. He’d laughed at me last time when I’d mentioned that he sounded like he gave good voice, saying he could get his newborn daughter to sleep in under five minutes by singing to her. “No offense, but I got the feeling you only did that interview because you’d been forced to.”

“That’s exactly why I did it,” I agreed. “But I’m not calling about the interview. You wrote another article about a guy called Ólafur Egilsson.”

“Right, that.” His laugh sounded a little self-deprecating. “I was basically just looking for filler at that point, man. The guy’s way better known for his business interests than for anything potentially supernatural, but the fact that he’s basically uprooted an acre of his home country and brought it all the way over to the US is pretty strange.”

He was right, that was strange, but it danced around the information I was looking for now. “Do you know if he’s still in Chicago?”

“No, I haven’t done any work on that story since last month.” Andre’s tone sounded considering. “Why? Is there more there I should be considering?”

Now came my crisis of conscience. I wasn’t prone to them, but occasionally they hit me like a shovel to the back of the head. I had a gift, but it was specific to whoever I made eye contact with. I couldn’t just predict the future, and Marisol’s cards had already been less than helpful. What I wanted—what Ineeded—was a researcher, someone to help me figure out what was going on before I walked into a bear’s den and got myself mauled. I wasn’t a coward, but there was no way I was getting anywhere near Egilsson, even with Sören as bait, without some serious prep work. But I couldn’t guarantee that it was going to be safe, not for myself and not for anyone I enlisted to help me.

“Cillian?”

“Sorry,” I said, focusing back on the call. “Listen, about that story?there might be something else there, but I’m not asking you to get involved in it.”

“Something else like freaky, supernatural shit, something?”

I scoffed at the phone. “You don’t believe in the supernatural, remember?” That hadn’t been hard to suss out. I didn’t have to look into Andre’s eyes to know he was working forModern Parapsychiabecause he needed the money, not because he was a true believer.

“Just because I haven’t seen any evidence of it doesn’t mean it’s not there. What, you gonna make a believer out of me?”

I just might.“Look, I need as much information as I can get on Ólafur Egilsson, his crew, and his cargo. I’m coming to Chicago, so if you could just point me in the right direction, I’d appreciate it.”

“I thought you didn’t like flying.” Another tidbit he’d gotten out of me with his subtle chatter before the interview.

“I don’t.” Stuck in a plane with nothing to look at but the back of the seat in front of me, in case I picked up fates from the people around me? Flying brought out the worse kinds of anxieties in people, and when someone was emotional, they were a lot easier to read. It was safe to say that Ihatedflying. “But I need to go there regardless.”

“Where are you staying?”

“I’ve got no fucking clue. Somewhere close to wherever that warehouse is, I guess. Feel free to pass that info along any time,” I added sarcastically.

“There aren’t any hotels in that part of town. Not to mention, if you’re interested in the people and less on the cargo, you’re not gonna find them there.”

“Where will I find them?”

“Tell me why you want to know and I’ll tell you where they were as of three weeks ago.”

“The why is the dangerous part.” Time to lay it out there and see if he still wanted a piece of this once he had a better idea of what was going on. “I don’t know what’s going on, I don’t know anything about why they’ve brought part of Iceland to America, but I know this guy. There’s something really, really wrong with what’s happening, and I need to find out what that is.”

“Is this some kind of psychic premonition?”

“No. More like what I’m hoping is a case of mistaken identity, but I don’t think it is. I have to know one way or the other, though.”

There was a moment of silence. “How do you know Egilsson?”

“I was a guest of his for a while.” Let Andre make of that what he wanted. “I can’t promise you a story out of this. I can’t give you any information that will make helping me out worth your time. I just need to know how to find these guys, and then I’ll leave you alone.” That was as honest as I could be. I wasn’t going to reduce myself to hunting down Andre and forcing our eyes to meet in order to get the information I needed. I wasn’t that desperate, not yet.

“But the situation might be kinda dangerous?” He didn’t sound like he minded the prospect.

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