Early on, the flashing lights had nearly given me seizures. They had taken some getting used to. Now, I knew that each particle of light was, in fact, giving life to the night itself. They formed a sort of staticy laser light show for me and me alone. Now, seeing them was second nature for me. Up close, there was less static. What these light particles were, I didn’t know, but I always suspected I was seeing the hidden energy that connected all of us. Humans and vampires alike.
Spirits themselves seemed to be composed of this very energy, as I had watched countless such entities form and reform, disappear and reappear, all using this sort of Universal Energy.
Weird shit, for sure, but welcome to my life.
Now, I searched within the staticy light particles for something that could be dead. Something that could be watching me in return. But I saw nothing. Just the dancing lights that jived and boogied through my vision.
The lack of spiritual activity was significant. It meant that someone hadn’t recently passed here. That someone hadn’t, in fact, been murdered. This, of course, was just conjecture on my part and was based on my own personal experience with the spirit world. Murdered souls often lingered, sometimes for decades, in the locations of their deaths. I had seen such souls. Hell, I had seen a few today when I was driving along the freeway, standing by the side of the crowded thoroughfare, and forlornly watching the living drive by. These, I knew, had perished there on the freeway, in car accidents, no doubt.
Why the dead lingered, I didn’t know, but I had seen my fair share of them. So much so that they were now part of my life. My creepy, creepy life. In my experience, spirits appeared in one of three ways: either as souls visiting the living, as the forgotten dead, lost and haunted, or as a memory of itself, neither alive nor dead, repeating itself over and over.
I saw none of that here.
Murder sites also had an effect on the environment. A very obvious effect. At such a location, the swirling light energy was even more chaotic. It would swirl and scatter and explode...reminiscent of an active volcano spewing magma. Often, though, I would see another kind of energy within this disturbance. Spirit energy, too. The murdered victim, in fact. Not always, but often.
There was no such energy here. Instead, the light particles swept through naturally, peacefully, unhindered by the shock of death.
I walked the perimeter of the expansive parking lot, which took a few minutes. The east side consisted of a low shrub wall that bordered the Taco Bell next door. At this hour, Taco Bell had more customers than Starbucks, with a line of cars wending through its drive-thru. I spied surveillance cameras above and around Taco Bell. Anyone heading this way would have been picked up by the Bell’s cameras, too. I logged this away for future inquiry.
I continued around the perimeter. The south-facing part of the lot, opposite the driveway into the parking lot, was interesting. There were lots of places where someone could hide here. A strip of land bordered it, with the freeway itself next to it. Trash and weeds crowded for space, all of which I saw clearly, thanks to the bright streaks of light that illuminated the night. I continued standing there, scanning.
Sure, there were lots of places to escape to, once a person actually left the Starbucks cafe. So far, there was no evidence of Lucy Gleason ever leaving, only entering.
I studied the Starbucks from the parking lot, taking it in. It was part of a small strip mall: attached to it was a dry cleaner, and next to that was a Subway. The Taco Bell was in the next parking lot over, separated by a shrub wall.
I spotted two surveillance cameras, one on each side of the building. Starbucks itself had only one entrance inside, with a rear entrance as well. I frowned and studied the scene, biting my lower lip, but not hard enough to draw blood.
Next, I went inside the Starbucks. It was a typical ‘Bucks, as Tammy would call it. She was the coffee addict in the family. I was a very different kind of addict. This ‘Bucks had all the sleek, postmodern, industrial décor that one came to expect from a Starbucks. A lot of seating. Open space, with a small hallway that led off to the bathrooms. I examined the women’s. Typical: a single room with the toilet in the far corner. A sink. A metal trash can. Nowhere to hide. A quick peek in the men’s restroom suggested the same.
I sighed, and then headed out to the lobby. I ordered a venti water, which sounded a lot fancier than it looked. I sat in the far booth and studied the interior, searching for any psychic hits or evidence of foul play.
I got neither.
I hate when that happens.
Chapter Seven
The three of us were jogging.
A human, a vampire, and a witch. Yes, I know it sounds like the opening to a bad joke: a human, a vampire, and a witch go to a bar. The human orders a glass of wine. The vampire orders a goblet of blood. The witch orders a magic potion. Or something like that.
“Well?” asked Allison.
“Well, what?”
“What’s the punchline?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I was making it up as I go.”
“Oh, God,” said Mary Lou, “are you two doing your mind-thingy again?”
“That might be the first time I heard anyone call telepathy a thingy,” said Allison. For the most part, Allison and my sister, Mary Lou, got along marvelously.
Except...
Except Mary Lou, as the only one of us without any obvious extrasensory abilities, felt like the odd woman out. I suspected she might be a little jealous of my friendship and easy communication with Allison. I reminded my sister that, as of yet, I had no ability to read her mind, which was the case for all of my blood relatives. It was no slight on her, and it didn’t mean I loved her any less. My daughter, of course, was a different story; she could read family members’ minds, mine included.
Your daughter, thought Allison, telepathically following my train of thought, is going to be powerful.