Page 52 of It takes a Psychic

Her sister gives her another push. She soars higher. Now she can read the entire sign.Griffin Investigations. Want Answers? We’ll Get Them for You. Call Now. No Waiting.

There is a phone number. She and Molly have memorized it.

“Okay, I can see it,” she says.

She waits for her sister to demand her turn on the swings. There are rules. Once you can see the sign you have to let the other person have a turn. But Molly doesn’t say anything. That’s not right. Why isn’t Molly demanding her turn?

The swing slows down. She prepares to jump off and switch places. But when she looks back, she sees that Molly is no longer there…

A man’s voice slithers into the dream, changing the script…

“…You will be my Guardians. In exchange for your loyalty, I will give you power such as you have never known. Together we will establish a new civilization. Follow me into the glorious future…”

She came awake, aware that something or someone was tapping on the window. But that was impossible. Her room was on the second floor.

The voice came again…

“…The future I will give you is one in which all power will be in the hands of those whose paranormal senses have evolved to the next level. I will use the greatest secret of the Old World to endow you with talents beyond anything you have dreamed of…”

She sat up suddenly, her pulse pounding.

The rez-screen was on, illuminating the room in a cold blue light. A video featuring an all-too-familiar figure from history was playing. Vincent Lee Vance, dramatically handsome, charismatic, and endowed with the mesmerizing voice of a prophet, held forth to a silent, unseen audience.

Dressed in the black-and-khaki uniform of the rebellion, Vance commanded the stage. His dark, gleaming shoulder-length hair was brushed straight back in a style that emphasized his sharp bird-of-prey profile.There appeared to be a wall of solid rock in the background, but it was impossible to make out the rest of his surroundings because the lighting was strategically focused on him.

Historians had frequently pointed out that Vance had possessed a flair for the theatrical. Modern psychologists who had studied his rise and fall had concluded that he had the scary para-psych profile of a classic cult leader. There was no question but that his charisma was off the charts. Even in a grainy video it was hard to look away.

More tapping on the glass.

She scrambled out of bed and peeked through the curtains. Roxy was on the ledge. There was a small object clutched in two of her paws.

“Roxy.”

She opened the window. Foggy night air flowed into the room. Roxy chortled, fluffed out, and tumbled inside. Ignoring the rez-screen, she bounded up onto the foot of the bed and graciously held out an unpolished, untuned crystal.

Ayellowcrystal.

Dread iced Leona’s senses. She shut the window and went back to the bed to accept the crystal gift.

“Where have you been, or shouldn’t I ask?” she whispered.

A couple of sharp raps on the door jolted her. She checked the time. Nearly one in the morning. She glanced at Roxy, who appeared unconcerned about the late-night caller.

“So, probably not the ghost of Vincent Lee Vance, right?”

She crossed the room on bare feet and peered through the peephole. Oliver stood in the hall. He was not wearing his glasses. His hair was tousled from sleep. He was dressed in a black T-shirt and the trousers he’d had on earlier. He was wearing shoes but he had not bothered to tie the laces.

She yanked open the door. “Did your rez-screen come on a few minutes ago?”

“Yes,” he said.

The cold energy in his eyes was unnerving. No wonder he usually wore glasses, she thought.

He moved into the room and patted Roxy, who responded with a welcoming chortle. Leona closed the door and turned around. Oliver was studying the screen as if it were a mysterious artifact.

“Interesting,” he said.

She realized she was very glad to see him. His presence eased some of the tension inside her. She was not alone in this very weird town. Belatedly it occurred to her that she was in her ancient flannel pajamas. After her restless sleep she probably had bed head. It should not have mattered. But it did.

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