Shadows: a Novel of the Keepers (PsiFinder 2)

By B. T. Jaybush

It’s a year since the events in "Relics" (PsiFinder 1), a year that has seen a whirlwind of growth and development in Christinas Amies’ world. Her Psionic strength and ability have grown exponentially; she’s able to do more with her powers ... and at the same time, she finds herself called on to undertake more and more difficult challenges. She reconnects with an old friend/colleague, FBI agent James Weymore ... which challenges her “entanglement avoidance system” as well as complicating her professional world. Work gets even more complicated when she stumbles on ex-Keeper “Bud,” who designates himself as Christina’s personal Psionic trainer. Her personal life gets more complicated as her A&L Locating family grows by one: Annie Pitts comes on board as A&L’s new receptionist ... and Christina’s Little Sister (and everything that having a “sister” entails). And all this is before she runs into the new bad guy in town ... who has taken the Stone of Ages as his own and plans to use it to cleanse humanity with a Psionic flood!

• Language: English
• Publisher: B. T. Jaybush
• Release date: Feb 29, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311665898

B. T. Jaybush

B. T. Jaybush is the pen name of Brian and Timothy Jaybush, a father and son team specializing in Fantasy, Science Fiction, and Paranormal worlds. • Winners: 2008 Zirdland.com Novel Writing Contest (“Relics”) • Finalists: 2010 Santa Fe Screenplay Contest (“Outpost Station,” the screenplay version of “Sydney Chambers: Captain”) Brian Jaybush cut his teeth reading science fiction, starting with Asimov's I, Robot at age 10 and progressing insatiably from there. He has been writing all his life, starting as a journalist in junior high school and continuing with legal and technical writing later in life (BA History, 1975; Juris Doctor, 1978). Retirement from 30 years in the telecommunications industry has allowed him to concentrate on fiction writing full time, in partnership with his son, Timothy. Timothy Jaybush also began reading and writing science fiction at an early age, leading to an uncanny ability to construct unusual and entertaining story lines. In addition to working full-time, Tim graduated from the University of Washington with a degree in Philosophy.

Book preview

I looked around the crowded mall, scanning every nook and cranny with both my eyes and my far more sensitive Psionic senses. The bastard was here somewhere and he was not getting away from me again.

Me? I’m Christina Amies, and I’m a Psionic Finder.

Let me emphasize, I’m not a private investigator or bounty hunter, I’m a finder. I am most definitely not a psychic. A psychic is a person who claims to find stuff that normal senses can’t detect. A Psionic actually has extra senses, beyond the usual five. So while I see and hear, touch, taste, and smell, with the best of them, I can also see around corners, read surface thoughts and emotions, even move things without physically touching them … and as a finder, I find things — real things — with the power of my mind.

Yes, I can even bend a spoon with my thoughts. Didn’t believe that one myself until I bent my first spoon.

I used to think I was the only person in the world with Psionic abilities. A year ago I learned the hard way that there are a lot more people like me, hiding in plain sight just like I do — a much bigger story that I’ll get to in a bit. For now, in my little corner of the world, I’m still the only practicing Psionic that I know of ... and I am, bar none, the best Psionic finder of all. Anywhere.

Which wasn’t much comfort right then, because the particular piece of scum in question was a kidnapper I’d contracted with the cops to track down. I'd located him, just as I was contracted to do, but when the police had closed in on the place, the bastard had stabbed the boy he’d kidnapped and taken off. The kid clung to life in the hospital; I was severely pissed off and more determined than ever to nail the S.O.B.

For two days I’d been close, but not close enough, and I was fed up. He was going down now.

A flicker of movement in the aether* caught my attention. In an instant I had my Psionic senses focused on the corresponding physical point … and there he was.

Almost as though he’d felt my probe, the guy bolted, heading for a bank of escalators in the middle of the fourth-floor concourse, shoving a couple of bystanders out of the way and loping down toward the third floor. Now that I’d spotted him, though, I was able to glean his surface thoughts — he was heading for the underground parking garage, five floors down.

Good. Perfect.

I don’t like malls at the best of times. So many people crowded together sorely test my mental shielding — those barriers I have to erect and maintain when I’m around other people so I’m not overwhelmed by their leaked thoughts and emotions. Peoples’ mental meanderings are always in the aether around me, constantly pummeling at my senses. It takes a conscious effort for me to block them out. In small gatherings it’s not a problem; in a mall — especially one as big and crowded as this one — it could seem like wading through sticky mental syrup with every step, every breath.

That my quarry had come here had been, for him, a supremely smart move. In malls, I have to concentrate so much on keeping stuff out that I have a lot less resources left to bring things in. The mental noise created by hundreds of milling shoppers severely crimps my searching; I’m essentially restricted to the area immediately around me.

Wah, wah, enough self-pity. I’d found him despite the inconvenience — and now he was moving to a parking garage where there was sure to be a lot less Psionic noise and a lot less shoppers to observe me take him down. The headache that had been growing since I arrived at Shopper’s Nirvana was about to be history.

I watched for a moment as the scumbag disappeared down the moving stairs, then smiled to myself and headed to where I’d earlier noticed an elevator. I’d had the guy in my sights and senses long enough to tag him with a Psionic tether — that’s like a string through the aether. Once I have one of those tacked in my brain I can follow it to find who- or whatever is on the other end, no matter where it goes, no matter where I am. Even though the perp would get to the garage level before I did, I had him dead to rights — no need to keep the asshole in sight, no need to scramble down multiple escalators.

The thing is, escalators and stairs creep me out. It’s not a phobia — honest! — but I avoid them whenever I can. Elevators are my friends.

As the elevator opened on level P1 I heard an engine roar to life. I stepped out of my transport and let my senses soar across the sea of metal steeds, following my Psionic thread to the car that had just been started. There it was ... and guess who was at the wheel. The creep had played right into my hands: he’d snagged a primo ride, replete with all of the fancy electronic bells and whistles like power mirrors, power locks, power seats … not to mention all the nifty security tricks that trap a felon inside until the police can arrive. It even sends a 911 call for help when something goes wrong.

I was about to make something go seriously wrong.

I heard the car wheels squeal as the creep attempted to burn rubber toward the exit, but speed would not help him today. As he started to accelerate down the aisle with only one turn left between him and the great outdoors, I envisioned grabbing hold of the car’s front end with a telekinetic lasso. I set myself, grit my teeth ... and pulled.

There was a time in my life when that maneuver would have been like trying to grab a bucking bronco with a piece of spaghetti. Today, my telekinetic grip is like iron: Nothing is too heavy for me to lift — and believe me, I’ve tested myself on a laundry list of heavy stuff: Steam shovels. Eighteen wheelers. An entire small building.

A year ago — at the same time I’d learned that hard lesson about not being the only Psionic in the world — I’d gotten my hands on an ancient relic called The Stone of Ages. As well as giving me an incredible head trip and a splitting headache, touching The Stone had seemed to somehow boost my Psionic power. The effect has gotten more pronounced as I’ve gained practice.

Stopping a car nowadays is kid stuff.

Anyway, I didn’t immediately halt the scumbag’s forward progress; instead, I slowed the car until its tires squealed ever more loudly against the concrete floor. My quarry’s emotions showed puzzlement, then desperation; he stomped harder on the gas, revving the engine, causing the wheels to spin even faster, the tires to smoke, and my ears to hurt.

Enough. I tightened my telekinetic grip on the vehicle, bringing it to a full stop, then quickly probed at the electronics under the hood.

There. I tripped the engine kill switch; immediately, fuel flow to the injectors was cut off. A moment later the engine began sputter. Another moment and I’d engaged the car’s power locks and activated the theft alarm, which disabled the lock release and the door handles.

The wild animal was caged.

Finally, just because he deserved it, I turned the power seat warmers on full and used the power seat adjustment to jam the driver’s seat as close to the steering wheel as it would go. He was not only trapped, he would very shortly be as miserable as I could make him.

The hard part of the capture taken care of, I activated the call for help circuit; then, as a cherry on top, I set off the car’s audible alarm. A quick brush of the scumbag’s emotions almost made me laugh; he was completely flummoxed as to why the car had turned on him and was beginning to cry for help as I pulled my senses away from him.

I turned my attention to notifying the cops so I could get paid.

I had just grabbed my cell phone when it rang in my hand. A glance at the Blackberry’s screen showed me the main number at my office — our receptionist, Annie, calling to check up on me. I clicked the green accept button.

I’ve only got a minute, Annie, I said over the reverberating racket of the ongoing car alarm. I’ve got to call the cops to secure this kidnapper.

There was a moment’s silence before I heard a worried voice through the phone’s earpiece. What’s that noise, Christina? Are you all right?

I chuckled. Yeah, I’m fine — that noise is just ‘music’ to keep the bad guy company while he waits for his police escort. What’s up?

There’s been a lawyer bugging me all day to make an appointment with you, Annie told me, accepting my explanation but speaking rapidly. He says he needs you to find the lost heir to an estate. I wanted to be sure you were OK with taking on another missing person before I gave him an answer.

I smiled — Annie was always looking out for me, as though she was my real sister rather than the little sister I was mentoring.

Sure, why not? I was riding the flush of success and ready to take on the world. Sounds like it could be boring. I could use a bit of boring right now. Go ahead and set up an interview. I should be in tomorrow.

Will do, Annie said, her usual cheer reasserting itself. You be careful, Christina.

Always, Little Sister. I’ll see you in the morning. Say hi to Bill for me. I clicked the Blackberry’s red button to end the call, then speed-dialed the lead detective on the kidnapping case.

Detective Boggs, he answered a moment later, then immediately asked, hello? Is that a car alarm? Are you all right?

I’m fine, Sam, I told him. It’s Christina Amies. That car alarm is the gift wrapping on Jack Skanski.

Skanski? You’ve found him?

Found him and detained him— Oops. Can’t tell him that, now, can I? Well, detained him after a fashion, in the mall parking garage. He’s trapped in a car he tried to steal — one of those newish ones with the built-in theft protection, you know?

Boggs laughed for a moment. You’re kidding me. After that slick escape he pulled the other day he’s trapped himself by being stupid?

No joke, detective, the alarm is proof. Speaking of which, I hope you can get someone here pretty quick to turn the damn alarm off. It’s giving me a headache. The alarm was starting to hurt my ears and I couldn’t leave until the police showed up to take Skanski into custody and sign off on my finder’s claim.

I’ve got dispatch checking on it right now, Christina, and — hold on. He was gone a moment, then came back. Apparently the car put out a 911. A unit is on its way. I’m having the responders updated on what to expect, and I’ll head that way in a minute as well. Will you still be there?

Not if the patrol car gets here first, I told him, even as a police car with its lights already flashing pulled into the garage. And what do you know, there they are. I’ll introduce myself to the officers and then I’ve got to be on my way.

I understand, Boggs chuckled. Well, thanks for the good work, Christina. As usual, we owe you.

And also as usual, all you have to do is make sure my bill gets paid and we’re even.

I like Sam Boggs; he’s a good guy and does solid detective work, but he still can’t get past thinking I do this as a public service. If I’ve told him once, I’ve told him a hundred times: Finding is my job, just like it’s his job to lock the guy up. Gratitude is fine, but he doesn’t owe me one. Make sure that the check gets cut and we’re good.

Yeah, yeah, I know, he said, still sounding good-natured. I’m too old a dog to get that trick straight in my head. Still, I’m really glad you’re on our side.

Yeah, well I don’t see how anyone could be on Skanski’s side. My throat filled with bile at the thought. Any news about the kidnapped boy?

Docs are now saying that he’s going to pull through, Boggs reported. We got to him in time, thanks to you.

I heaved a small sigh of relief. Well, that’s something, anyway. Gotta go now, Sam, the officers have arrived.

OK.

It took me a couple of minutes to work my way across the garage to the hobbled car. The alarm stopped just as I arrived; apparently the cops had contacted the monitoring company with the car’s information. In blissful silence, I was able to hail one of the officers so I could get a signature on my claim card.

I’ve been doing this long enough that most cops within a hundred miles of my office know about me. Even if they haven’t met me, they appreciate what I do to assist their efforts. I’d met this particular officer before; Sgt. Dormeier gave me a huge grin for the situation our trapped felon was in, and happily autographed the document that acted as proof that my end of a contract was fulfilled.

It’s always a pleasure when you find the doer for us, Ms. Amies, Dormeier said through the grin, then glanced once more at the car. This one’s almost gift wrapped, and — hey, what the heck?

I followed the sergeant’s eyes to the front end of the vehicle, and felt a chill run through me at the sight. There was a clearly visible circle of crumpled metal crossing the car’s hood and down the side at exactly the spot where I’d envisioned telekinetically lassoing the fleeing metal beast. Apparently I’d grabbed just a bit too hard.

Oops.

While I stared at my gaffe, struggling to keep my jaw from dropping, Sgt. Dormeier had taken a step over to the front of the car and was gently touching the damage.

What in the world could have done this, he wondered aloud, a look of perplexity fixed on his face. He glanced at me for a moment, then back to the car. I’ve never seen anything like it.

I took a quick breath to be sure my voice wouldn’t squeak, then worked as hard as I could to keep my tone level.

I haven’t a clue, Sergeant, I told him, even as I felt my heart pound in my chest. It’s a new one on me, too. Well, it was new, even if I did have a bit more than a clue what had caused it.

Dormeier took a step back and shook his head. You’d think a guy trying to steal a car would at least pick one in good condition, he said, clearly unimpressed with Skanski’s abilities as a thief. But then, someone who’s almost killed a young boy clearly ain’t that bright to start with.

I decided the smartest thing for me to do was keep my mouth shut. Apparently Dormeier was done wondering about the matter, anyway, as he called over to his partner, OK, Hank, cover him. It’s time to have the alarm people pop the doors for us. Then he turned to look at me for a brief moment.

Thanks again, Ms. Amies, but you’d better clear out of here. Don’t want you in the line of fire while we hogtie the perp.

On my way, Sergeant, I told him, then fled as quickly as I could to locate my own car and celebrate having found one more creep.

On the way, I made a mental note to work some more on that whole lasso thing.

2

The obnoxious "CLANG! Clooooong!" of the doorbell sounded sharply at eight the next morning, bringing an involuntary grimace to my face as I sat at my desk, pounding out the paperwork on Skanski.

I absolutely hate the sound of that bell. Back when Bill Lemley and I had started A&L Locating Service, it had been a necessary evil; we’d not had a receptionist, so if Bill and I were both huddled in our offices, a client could decide that no one was home and leave without us ever knowing. Not exactly a good way to run a business.

Fortunately, that bleak picture was no longer true. The grimace on my face quickly turned to a fond smile as the bell’s obnoxious clamor was replaced by the perky voice of our receptionist, Annie Pitts.

Good morning, welcome to A&L Locating! Do you have an appointment with Ms. Amies or Mr. Lemley?

Ah, Annie … the brightest thing to happen into my life since I met Bill Lemley way back at the U of Cantor. Annie was our receptionist, Bill’s unofficial foster daughter … and my little sister, as in Big Sisters of America. I tuned out the reception room conversation and reveled for a moment in the quirk of fortune that had brought her to us.

A year ago — just before learning I wasn’t The Lone Psionic — I saved the life of a would-be bank robber by telekinetically diverting a bullet. The guy had still been hit, but he wasn’t killed and the robbery was over. He’d been quickly convicted and sent to prison for a long time.

Normally I wouldn’t have given Alvin Pitts any more thought than I did to Jack Skanski … except, it turned out that Pitts wasn’t the crook he had seemed. He hadn’t been robbing the bank to get rich; he’d been trying to pay for life-saving medical treatment for his daughter. I learned this tragic little tidbit too late to do anything for Alvin Pitts. Fortunately, there had still been time to do something for Annie Pitts.

Bill Lemley is my partner, the L part of A&L Locating, and someone who loves numbers and all the stuff that I hate. After I told him Annie’s story, he was able to set up a public appeal account for her — you know, one of those worthy cause deals the TV news hounds just love to promote? — and to spread the word far and wide that it was Annie’s health that led Pitts to stage the foiled robbery.

A sad story about a kid is such an irresistible combination that within a couple of weeks the appeal brought in more than enough money to cover Annie’s surgery and follow-up care. In fact, once the local medical types lowered their fees as a service to a deserving child, there was even enough to jump start Annie’s college fund.

All of which made me feel pretty smug … until I learned that Annie insisted on meeting me before she would accept the largesse.

I had nearly trembled with apprehension as I approached the hospital the day before the surgery. Though I could sense she was in pain, Annie was still incredibly chipper when I stuck my head through the door of her hospital room.

Hey, up for a visitor?

She shut off the omnipresent hospital TV and turned to look at me. Sure, she said, her voice quiet but a large sparkle in her eyes. But only if that visitor is Christina Amies.

Guilty. I’d walked the rest of the way into the room, coming to a stop at her bedside.

Ms. Amies, she’d said when I reached her, I wanted to meet you for more than just a thank you.

I’m not the one you need to thank, I began, but Annie had cut me off.

Hey, I’m smart enough to know I’d be heading for a hospice right now if you hadn’t started that fund. Her eyes had glowed with a combination of ... what, surprise and happiness? Fear and worry? I brushed her emotions briefly to try and identify what she was feeling, only to find the one emotion that I had never even considered.

Love.

Uh-oh.

I’d felt myself blush at her words and the emotions behind them. I get lucky some times, I’d said, trying to dismiss the whole thing with a shrug. Annie had smiled all the more.

If that’s the case, then your luck is my luck this time. She’d reached out to touch my hand as it rested on her bed table. I just — well, there’s no way I can pay you back, so I’m not even going to try. What I’m going to do instead is ask you for something else.

Uh ... OK. I was suddenly having a hard time breathing. What is it you have in mind?

She’d paused a moment, her eyes tearing enough that she’d had to wipe them quickly before continuing. I know that my Dad is going to be gone for a long time, and I don’t have anyone else. No one that I know of, anyway.

And just why didn’t you mention this to me, Bill? What about your mother?

Annie had shaken her head emphatically. She walked out on me and Dad a long time ago.

I’d felt a wave of cold at Annie’s words. My dad abandoned me and my mom in much the same way when I was twelve; I hadn’t seen or heard from him since. When Mom died, I’d had no real family left; Bill Lemley had become my de facto family, as well as being my partner.

I drew a breath and shook my head to clear the memories before I’d managed to respond.

So, what is it you want me to do for you?

Annie had tensed, her lip trembling as she’d turned her head toward me.

I was hoping you could be my Big Sister. I’d felt emotions flood me even as Annie continued her whispered plea. Mr. Lemley said you’d probably be OK with it, but that I have to ask you myself.

I’d melted inside.

When I had first broached the idea of helping Annie, Bill accused me of acting motherly; I’d told him the most I would cop to was acting big sisterly. It was weeks later when I stood in Annie’s room ... but it was almost as though she had read my mind. She was offering me the one thing that I couldn’t possibly turn down. I’d had no choice but to swallow hard and nod.

Sure.

Trouble is, I don’t have any siblings. What do I know from being a sister?

Annie came through the surgery like a champ. It took months of follow-up therapy — and finishing high school from her hospital bed and turning eighteen — before she was able to talk with her Big Sister about plans for her future ... and to announce that, for some reason I simply couldn’t understand, she had decided to center that future around me.

To say that the idea really freaked me out is to say that grass is green or the sky is blue. Sure, by then I’d come to love Annie as much as she loved me; being around her had opened up a whole new world for me, a world with sibling rivalry and girl talk and all the things I’d never known as an only child. But the idea of being the center of another person’s world? That scared me spitless.

Then I got to thinking, seeing as how our reception desk was empty ...

Bill and I eventually reached an accord with Annie. She would try her hand at being our receptionist. If it worked out, she would stay; if not, we’d help her find something else. In the meantime, Bill and his wife, Sandy, took her in as their unofficial foster daughter … unofficial, since at eighteen she was already an adult in the eyes of the state.

Almost a year after she’d become my little sister, Annie began working as our receptionist. She took to it like a duck to water, working out so well that two months in Bill suggested we buy a company car and assign it to Annie so she could run errands for us. I agreed, since having wheels meant she’d be able to come into the office at seven instead of arriving with Bill at nine — and the idea of early-morning company intrigued me.

I haven’t regretted it for a moment. Little Sister is really good company.

My reverie was dispelled by a soft knock at the door. Annie stepped into my office and mostly closed the door behind her, as I’d taught her to do when there was a client in the other room. Her five-foot-five frame crackled with nervous energy under her bobbed layers of gorgeous blond hair as she looked at me with veiled concern.

Christina, she said in a quiet tone, it’s that lawyer I called you about yesterday. Rolfe Golding. The one looking to find a missing heir.

I groaned inwardly. The just-whupped-ass high I’d had the day before had dissipated overnight and for the life of me, I couldn’t think of one good reason why had I agreed to another missing person case. Given a choice between finding things or finding people, I choose things every time — people aren’t always as grateful to be found as you might expect. Doesn’t anyone just lose a wallet or a dog anymore?

Still, a job is a job and estate lawyers usually don’t blink at my fees. Besides, I’d already committed myself to at least talking to him when I told Annie to make the appointment. I gave a small sigh.

Sure, Annie, bring him in, I told her.

Within weeks I would wish that I’d made a very different choice.

3

In the tawdry hallway of a shabby apartment building, light from a single 25-watt bulb cast more gloomy shadows than it dispersed as I ghosted my way among the passageway’s nooks and crannies. Soon enough I faced a door whose peeling paint lacked even the dignity of an apartment number, the numerals 512 sloppily tacked instead to the wall next to the door.

The decrepit state of the portal was fully in line with the slum-like condition of the area as a whole. Calling it a bad part of town would be to massively deny the true ghetto-like character of the area. I’ve seen pictures of bombed-out cities that look good by comparison.

It was almost two months since estate lawyer Rolfe Golding had darkened my office door, bearing a cashier’s check made out to A&L Locating in an amount that had nearly caused me to drool. He’d been polite, to the point, even suave in a slimy, lawyerly fashion, and had calmly explained that his estate client simply needed one final heir notified of his status before the process of probate could be completed. I’d nodded, made understanding noises, smiled at all the appropriate moments, and eagerly accepted the check despite my reluctance to take on another lost person case. I mean, how hard could it be to find someone who stood to inherit a passel of money?

Might as well ask, how hard could it be to surgically remove your own appendix?

Despite my initial enthusiasm the job had turned into week after week after week of irritation. Searching for Jefferson Hawkings had become the most frustrating case I had ever undertaken, bar none. I could easily see how the family whose fortune he stood to inherit had managed to lose him; I even began to wonder if the loss might even have been intentional.

I couldn’t help but wonder if I was chasing a shadow.

In nine separate Seeking sessions over six weeks I’d Psionically found Hawkings. Each and every time, when I had arrived to inform him of his bloody good fortune, he’d been nowhere around at the location I’d determined, despite my having done a careful follow-up no more than fifteen minutes before knocking on the door.

Come on, I’m better than that!

The first time I found him, he located to a snazzy hotel suite in downtown Chicago. I remember grinning when I completed the locate; that particular place of lodging is noted for the exquisitely wonderful restaurant it houses. I figured I’d dine like a queen for dinner after eating the guy for lunch.

Yeah, right. I got no meal that day, in any sense of the word.

When I got into his room — which I’d Psionically verified not ten minutes earlier — there was nothing left but the Psionic resonance of his having been there. His actual self was somewhere in the mists of the Windy City.

I didn’t pound my head against a wall over the miss; yes, it was annoying, but hardly worth risking a concussion. The miscue was nearer than I’d suffered before, but it wasn’t the first time a quarry had skipped just ahead of me. Life is as it is. I simply moved on, to try again.

And again. And again ...

As the weeks wore on, Hawkings’ methodology began to change, changes which made the chore of tracking him more and more onerous. The digs he chose to hide in got seedier and