A Kiss of Shadows Read Free Page A

with her abilities. Most untrained psychics are either crazy, criminals, or suicides by the time they’re thirty. She had to be a very strong person to be as together as she looked. But this very strong woman looked at me with tears trembling in her eyes. “We didn’t come here to be abused.”
    Jeremy had stepped closer to us, but was being careful not to touch any of us. He knew better. “No one is abusing you, Ms. Phelps. The spell on Mrs. Norton tried to . . . leach onto my colleague. Ms. Gentry was merely trying to push the spell off of her when you touched her. You should never touch anyone when they’re working magic, Ms. Phelps. The results can be unpredictable.”
    The woman looked from one to the other of us, and her face said clearly she didn’t believe us. “Come on, Frances. We’re getting the fuck out of here.”
    â€œI can’t,” Frances said in a voice grown small and submissive. She was staring up at me, fear plain in her eyes, but it was fear of me.
    She felt the energy wrapped around our hands, pressing us together, but she thought I was doing it. “I swear to you, Mrs. Norton, I am not doing this. Whatever magic has been used against you, it thinks I’m tasty. I need to peel it off of me and let it flow back into you.”
    â€œI want to get rid of it,” she said, voice high with a faint edge of hysteria trailing around the edges.
    â€œIf I don’t pull it off of me, then whoever did this to you will be able to trace me. They’ll be able to find me. They’ll know that I work at a detective agency that specializes in supernatural problems, magical solutions.” It was our slogan. “They’ll know that you came here for help. I don’t think you want that, Mrs. Norton.”
    A fine trembling started in her hands and spread up her arms, until she stood there shivering as if she were cold. Maybe she was, but it wasn’t the kind of cold that an extra sweater would fix. No amount of outer warmth would cure the coldness inside. She’d have to be warmed from the damaged core of her soul out to her fingertips. Someone would have to pour power into her, magic into her, a little bit at a time, like thawing some ancient body found frozen in ice. If you thawed it too fast, you’d cause more damage than if you just left it alone. Such delicate use of power was beyond my abilities. All I could have done was give her a measure of calmness, taken some of her fear—but whoever laid the spell on her would sense that, too. They wouldn’t be able to trace me by it, but they’d know she’d been to see a practitioner, someone who’d tried to help her on a psychic level. Call it a hunch, but whoever laid the spell wouldn’t like that. They might do something rash, like speed up the process.
    I could feel the sucking energy of the spell, trying to breech my defenses, to feed on me, too. It was like magical cancer, but as easy to catch as the flu. How many people had she infected? How many people were walking around with this spell draining little bits of their energy? Someone who was only a little bit psychic might know something had happened, but not what. They’d avoid Frances Norton because she’d hurt them, but they might not realize for weeks, months, that the tiredness, the vague feelings of hopelessness, the depression, were being caused by a spell.
    I started to tell her what I was about to do, but staring into her wide eyes, I didn’t bother. She’d just tense up, be more afraid. The best I could do was make it as invisible to her as possible. I would try to make sure she didn’t feel it slide back inside her, but that was the best I could do.
    The spell had grown thicker, blacker, more real, just from those few extra moments of sitting against my skin. I began to peel it down my arm. It clung like tar, and it took a lot more concentration to push it back, rolling it back on