After Moonrise: Possessed / Haunted

“Sadly, no. You’re in my house, remember?”

Lauren looked around, as if she hadn’t remembered until then. “Oh, yeah, that’s right. You don’t bring clients here.”

“I don’t brew strong tea with honey for them, either. Which is what I’m going to do for you. Sit. Don’t move. Don’t faint. And don’t fucking disappear on me again.”

“Yes, sir,” she said with what he already understood was uncharacteristic meekness.

He stopped halfway to the kitchen. “And for Christ’s sake, don’t call me sir. I was an NCO. I used to work for a living, unlike a fucking officer.”

He didn’t need to be psychic to feel Lauren’s confusion all the way from the living room. “Civilians …” he grumbled as he clattered through his orderly cupboards and flipped on the electric kettle, tossing a bag of English breakfast tea, a dollop of local honey, a squeeze of fresh lemon and a healthy slosh of single-malt Scotch into each of the large mugs.

When he brought the brewed and spiked tea to the living room he was relieved to see that Lauren was sitting up and studying the art on his fireplace mantel. She turned and raised a brow at him. “Erté?”

“Yep,” he said, handing her the mug of tea. She took the couch and he sat in a leather chair across from it.

“Your wife likes Erté?”

“Not married. Anymore. And no, she did not. I like Erté.”

“Erté was gay.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that.”

She raised a brow at him. “You were military, weren’t you?”

“Air force—OSI, that’s Office of Special Investigations to civilians. Ten years—been out for almost five now,” he said, sipped his tea and then added, “FYI—most military men don’t give a shit whether the guy beside him is gay. They care more that the guy will stay beside him and cover his back. You shouldn’t stereotype, Miss Wilcox, since you don’t appreciate it when people assume you’re just some stuck-up rich bitch who doesn’t work for a living.”

Her other brow raised at the word bitch, but she just sipped her tea, nodded and said, “Scotch and lemon and honey is my sister’s favorite kind of tea.”

“Was,” Raef corrected her. “She’s dead. Let’s start right now with dealing with that, even though you can still see her and talk to her. That might help you start separating yourself from what’s happening to her—at least long enough for me to try to figure out how to catch the guy who’s doing it to her.”

“She’s not going to be able to help you do that.”

“Because he’s keeping her from helping me,” Raef said.

“He’s keeping her from helping anyone—even me. Any time Aubrey tries to talk about her murder, even tries to hint about it, it’s like he has some kind of electric line into her soul.” Lauren shook her head and Raef could see she was fighting back tears. “How the hell can he keep causing her such pain even after her body is dead?”

Raef didn’t have one damn clue about how to answer that question, so he countered with one of his own. “It’s not just Aubrey who feels pain caused by him. It’s you, too.”

“Yes, it’s me, too. And that’s not all. She’s getting weaker. He’s draining her, and the weaker she gets—the more she’s drained—the weaker I get. Somehow he can use her, and apparently several other people, even though they are all dead.” Lauren stared into his eyes. “How? How is he doing it?”

“I’m going to be straight with you, Lauren. I’ve never heard of anything like this. Even when I was in the air force and Tracked terrorists. I experienced some really bad stuff, and some really bizarre stuff, but nothing that was leeching a ghost’s soul and the ghost’s living twin. Sorry, but I just don’t have the answers for you.”

“So, basically, you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Basically, you’re correct. With your case I do not.”

“Well, then, what am I going to do? Just fade away with Aubrey where we’ll exist forever somewhere between agony and darkness?” This time a tear escaped Lauren’s eye and rolled down her smooth cheek.

“Not if I can help it,” Raef heard himself say.

Lauren threw up her hands and repeated, “How?”

“By doing something I hate like hell. I’m going to call in the cavalry and ask for help, even though it’s a damn annoying cavalry and she’s going to be obnoxiously pleased that she’s going to have to bail me out.”

5

“She’s way too small to be the cavalry,” Lauren whispered from beside Raef.

They were sitting at his huge old desk peering into the big-screen Mac as the redhead answered the video call. She raised a scarlet brow and turned clear green eyes on Lauren, saying, “I don’t know what you mean by cavalry, but she’s not deaf.”

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Lauren began. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Yeah, yeah, stand down, tough girl,” Raef interrupted. “Milana Buineviciute, this is Lauren Wilcox. She’s a client of mine and I called you the cavalry, she didn’t.” Raef moved his gaze from the quick-tempered little redhead to Lauren. “Lana is the head medium for our Oklahoma City branch of After Moonrise. She’s a pain in the ass, and even though she claims to be Lithuanian I suspect her of being a Russian spy, but she knows more shit about ghosts than anyone I’ve ever met. Not that that’s a compliment.”

“Atsiknisk,” Lana told Raef blandly. “Which means ‘fuck off’—in Lithuanian, not Russian. Try moving into the twenty-first century, Raef. The Cold War has been over for longer than I’ve been alive.” She looked at Lauren. “Good to meet you, Lauren.” Lana glanced back at Raef. “Hey, sudzius, she’s not a ghost.”

“I’ve worked with you long enough to know you’re calling me a shithead, and I know Lauren isn’t a ghost, Nazi. It’s her twin sister who is dead.”

“Nazis were German, not Russian or Lithuanian,” Lana told Raef smoothly before turning her attention back to Lauren. “A twin’s death is always difficult. Her ghost, she is with you?”

Lauren nodded. “Yes, quite often, actually.”

“What you are doing with this girl?” Lana snapped the question to Raef, her accent suddenly becoming more pronounced with her annoyance. “She should be working with a medium. If Vivian Peterson isn’t the right choice there in Tulsa, bring her here to me.”

“Her sister was murdered—that’s why she’s here with me, not because I’m into overtime or trying to poach someone’s clients. You should know that,” Raef said, not caring that he sounded as pissed as he felt.

Lana’s expression softened and she brushed back a strand of bright red hair from her forehead. “Sorry, Raef. You are right. I’ve been going through my own sudas lately.”

“Which makes you the shithead?” he said with a quick smile.

“Taip. Definitely. And now that we’ve established that, I am ready to listen.” Lana picked up a legal pad and a pen. “Tell me what has happened.”

Raef quickly recapped Aubrey’s death and the events that had followed, reluctantly admitting everything, even the fact that he could feel her softer emotions, and ending with her latest manifestation in his living room. While he talked, Lana took notes, asked just a few pointed questions and looked grimmer and grimmer. When he was done she sighed and ran her hand through her fiery hair again.

“Do you know what he is? This murderer who steals souls?” Lauren asked into the silence.

“I do, but only through rumor and what amounts to fairy tales used to frighten children.”

Lauren looked confused and Lana smiled. “I should clarify and say fairy tales used to frighten psychic children.”

Raef felt a sliver of shock and sat up straighter. “The murderer is a psychic.”

“Taip,” Lana agreed. “But more specifically, the murderer is a psychic whose Gift has to be much like yours.”

“Mine?” Raef shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

“You said you felt her emotions, and they were all softer, positive emotions. That’s not the norm for you, Raef.”