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"On the bright side, it may be a smaller group now. Those flyer distributors? They were handing them out to employees near Nast headquarters. According to this guy's sources, they haven't been seen since."
"Cue the ominous music. Need an evil scapegoat, blame my family. Very unfair, notwithstanding the fact that they're usually responsible."
Adam laughed.
"I have one that claims the Pack ate an activist in New York State," I said. "That's what they get for coming around Stonehaven with their recruitment flyers. Clay must have mistaken them for Jehovah's Witnesses."
"I had something similar in my pile," Adam said. "Except mine was about killer vampires."
"Figures. If you want to stir up a big pot of panic in the supernatural world, convince them the werewolves and vampires are on a rampage. Oh, wait!" I skimmed an e-mail. "Our group has a name. Thank God. I was thinking I'd need to give them one, and it wouldn't have been pretty."
Adam leaned over. "The Supernatural Liberation Movement? Please tell me that's a joke."
"Nope. It's pinging matches in a half-dozen e-mails. Apparently, they don't have anyone with marketing experience on their board of directors or they'd have gone for Supernatural Liberation Army Movement. Then they'd have a cool acronym. Oh, hell, I say we just do them a favor and fix their name. SLAM it is. And that's what we'll do to them."
seven
It's only an hour flight to Portland, but security procedures mean it's often quicker to drive--or at least it's more convenient. So we drove the rental car back to Portland and returned it there, then we packed bags of fresh clothing, grabbed some supplies from the office, and caught a plane to the next stop on my information gathering tour.
I'd told Adam we were going to see another of my mother's old contacts. He didn't ask for details; he never did. While he'd met most of the folks in my black book, this was someone I'd only visited once since my mother died, and not with Adam.
When we opened the door to her office, it jangled to the tune of "Jingle Bells." A miniature train set--Santa pulling cars filled with presents--chugged around the room. The waiting area smelled of peppermint and pine. That probably had something to do with the bowls filled with candy canes and potted dwarf conifers festooned with lights.
"Someone's really late taking down the decorations," Adam said.
"It's Las Vegas," I said. "Cheesy is encouraged. Holly loves Christmas. She says it makes people happy. Happy is good."
"Holly?"
"Yep. She told me once that she'd been damned tempted to marry a guy named Chris Kringle even though he was eighty and had breath that would kill a cat."
I grabbed a candy cane and wandered over to her consultation room door. Beyond it, I could hear Holly talking to a client.
"Beware the man with the empty green eyes," she intoned. "He is looking to fill his soul by stealing from yours."
I glanced through the partly open door. The dark room was lit only by candles. Pumpkin pie candles, by the smell. At a tiny table, the client--dark-haired, in her twenties--sat with her back to me. Across from her was a white-haired woman with eyes just as white, staring blindly into nothing.
Holly Grayson, shaman by birth, psychic by trade. Not that she had any ability to see into the future. No supernatural does. But like every good shaman, she had an ayumi--a spirit guide--who could spy on clients and learn enough about them so she could then "predict" their future. Holly wasn't as altruistic as Jaime, but she wasn't all bad either. I'm sure her client should beware the "man with the empty green eyes," likely a lover with those eyes fixed on her bank account.
Holly flipped over another tarot card. I'm not sentimental, but I have to admit, the hanging Santa kind of freaked me out.
"I see a life in suspension," Holly said. "You fight against the stasis. You sway, side to side, struggling to get free, to move on."
"I'm frustrated," the woman said.
"Which is the problem." Holly tapped the hanging Santa, her blind eyes staring straight ahead. "You are too eager. Embr
ace this time of suspension. Relax. Take a step back and look--truly look--at your choices."
The session came to an end after a few more cards and the young woman rose, leaning across the table to clasp Holly's hands.
"Thank you. You have such a gift."
Holly smiled beatifically. "The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. But he is always generous. If given the choice, I would give up my vision again for the gift of the second sight." She rolled back from the table, her electric wheelchair purring. "And my legs for the chance to step into the lives of others, and make a difference."
I went to cast a cover spell, remembered I couldn't, and quickly waved Adam back into the corner with me. I don't think it would have mattered. The young woman was so caught up in her own thoughts she walked right past us.
Adam arched his brows as I tiptoed into the room where Holly was gathering up her tarot cards.
