Bitter, an Oracle, is furious against Mike, a young man who ambushed her at the end of an OA meeting. Read Chapter 6.
My encounter with Magic Mike had upset me. I was
shaking and couldn’t make it stop. The more desperate I got to stop it, the
angrier I got. Come on, don’t lose your
grip! Relax! Why did I have to relax?! The guy was stalking me! Victim or
not, stammerer or not, well-intentioned or not, he shouldn’t have followed me
out of a OA meeting!
I drew myself a hot bath, hoping it would bring me off
the brink of another Trance. I came out of the water half an hour later, still
dangerously unsteady. My skin was all pruned, my body felt warm and loose, as
well as a little shaky. I embraced the exhaustion, put on my PJs and curled up
in bed with my phone.
I didn’t want to call Mazellan – it wasn’t the best of
times – but, if I had to fall in a Trance, I figured I might as well make money
with it.
He picked up the call at once. “Ain’t that my favorite
bittersweet Scryer?” was his cheerful greeting.
“Cut the crap. You’ve got work for me?”
“Sure. I’ve been keeping a couple of prime gigs aside
just in case you called.”
“Prime? What kind of prime gigs?”
“The kind you can do in five minutes, top, and earn
two thousand doing.”
I frowned at my phone. Things that sounded too good to
be true generally were. “What gives? You know I won’t do anything illegal.”
The slime-ball broke off. “Now, darling, that’s-”
I cut him off, “It’s not up for negotiation.”
He grumbled a while longer before he finally moved on,
“Well, it leaves only one gig. It’s well-paid too, but it’s longer-time.”
“Tell me more.” Someone rang the doorbell just then.
“Hang on,” I said. I glanced through the peephole and swore a blue streak, “Go
on, it’s no one.”
The bell rang abuse at me as if to say, ‘liar’.
“Whoever No One
is,” Mazellan drawled, “they’re making a racket.”
“None of your business. Tell me about the gig.”
“It’s for a small research outfit called “the Kowalski Project”. It’s very well-funded
– a couple of prominent backers, I checked into that for you: two serious hedge-funds
and the Griffin Group.”
I rolled my eyes. Count on Nigel Mazellan to check
into a potential client’s finances first…
“But what do they do?”
I asked.
“Do?” he replied. “Research.”
“Into what?”
“Who cares?” he scoffed. I let my silence speak for
me, until he relented, “Some kind of neuroscience BS. They want to do MRI
imaging on your brain during and between Trances.”
It sounded awfully vague and made-up. Somehow,
Mazellan seemed to hear my doubts over the line.
“Come on, Bitter, it could be more than a one-off and
you would get to deal directly with the Project’s
people. No handler fee to pay.”
Shit. He loved his handler fee. There had to be a
hefty commission for him somewhere in there – very hefty, judging by how insistent
he was being.
“How much?” I asked.
I had to make him repeat the figure twice, I could
barely hear him over the noise. The insistent ringing at my door had given way
to pounding.
“I’m-I’m not leaving!” Magic Mike yelled outside.
I whistled at the respectable amount Mazellan quoted.
“Nice. Text me the details. I’ll give them a call as soon as I’ve taken care of
something.”
“Sure thing. Take care of yourself, Bit.”
I opened the door before my neighbors called the cops.
I stood by my impression that Mike Murphy wasn’t dangerous. He was a right
nuisance, however. He shoved his hand in the opening, making me glad I had left
the chain on.
“I’m-m no-t leaving un-n-ntil you listen,” he told me.
I would have been impressed if he didn’t look so
terrified.
“You’ve got five minutes, I’m listening.”
“M-My-My-” Still not the best idea to pressure him. He
was up to another false start, but he managed, “My brother’s missing.
K-K-K-Kyle. He-he-he’s t-Hm-” He paused, as if he had exhausted his capacity
for speech. I was unwittingly impressed when he forced himself to go on, “He’s
twenty-nine. Older-than m-me-me.” His face was scarlet, he wouldn’t meet my
eyes, and his Adam’s apple was doing crazy somersaults. “He’s been g-g-gone
three-days. Th-The police ca-can’t do anything.”
And, all of a sudden, I knew everything I needed to
know. The police, of course.
“I’m sorry for your brother,” I told Mike – and I was.
His brother was lucky he had family to care for him. “But I can’t help you.
Whoever sent you my way made a terrible mistake.”
“M-My brother-”
“I’m sorry. I suggest that you send a request to
either the OES or the Open Eye.”
“They won’t-”
“I’m sorry.”
I reached through the opening to shove him away. He
staggered back. I closed the door.
A nagging voice
whispered in my ear, I tried not to listen. It was saying that neither the OES
not the Open Eye would be interested in Kyle Murphy.
Read Chapter 8 to find out who sent Mike Murphy to Bitter.
I know, I'll have to do BIG CUTS in the first few chapters. And yep, that's when the story starts making sense.
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