The Adventures of Jillian Spectre. Nic Tatano
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blue eyes I could get lost in if I were ten years older or he were ten years younger. Champagne Rolex on his wrist, french-cuffed shirt with gold cufflinks. Tells me he manages a mutual fund. I’m wondering why the hell a guy who looks this good and is obviously loaded needs help with romance.
And then he tells me. “I’m thinking my fiancée is cheating on me.”
“I’m thinking your fiancée is an idiot,” I mutter.
Oops, he heard me. He furrows his brow. “Excuse me?”
I smile and laugh a bit. “Forgive my attempt at humor. But what you said surprised me. I mean, well, I would guess women would be beating a path to the door of a guy who looks like you and wears a watch that costs more than most cars.”
He offers a sheepish grin. “That, uh, used to be the case. But I’m ready to settle down. I need to be sure my fiancée is as well.”
“Any particular reason you think she’s cheating?”
“Well, lots of calls to our apartment lately that hang up when I answer. She’s working late a lot. And, she, uh, had a reputation as a party girl a few years ago.”
“Fair enough. You brought a picture of her?”
He nods and reaches into his back pocket, then pulls out his wallet. “Sure.” He removes a small photo and hands it to me.
I can see why he’s worried. Blonde, stunning, holding a drink, obviously hammered past the legal limit, wearing a skirt up to her ass. “She’s really pretty,” I say, as I hand it back to him.
“Sometimes they’re too pretty, if you know what I mean.”
“I don’t, but let’s get started. I want you to take my hands for a moment, look at me, and ask a very specific question.”
“Okay.” I reach out and he takes my hands, then looks at me with those incredible eyes that make me gulp. “Is Jennifer Logan cheating on me?”
“Now close your eyes and focus on your question, and only your question.”
He closes his eyes. I do the same as I let go of his hands and take the crystal ball in mine. I focus on this Greek god sitting five feet away, then on his bimbo fiancee. I’ve got a pretty good idea what the future will reveal. A minute later I look at him. “Okay, open your eyes.”
He does, and I look at the ball.
Which is already fogged up.
Emotion. But it’s all his this time. I personally don’t feel anything one way or the other.
“Well?” he asks.
I put up one finger. “Patience. The image is clearing.”
It does and reveals an image of his fiancée actually working late. But she’s doing so with another man, and it’s obvious they’re attracted to each other. The clothes come off, the image begins to get a bit X-rated, my eyes grow wide as I can’t help but blush at a scene that belongs on late night Cinemax.
“You see something?” he asks.
I nod. “You were right. She’s with another man. Someone at her office. The name on the door reads…Dan Jellison.”
His hands ball into fists, the blue eyes narrow and fill with hate. “I’ll kill him,” he says.
And then I see him do it.
“So after you saw this man kill his fiancée and her lover, what happened?”
This time it’s just one prosecutor at The Summit, and Sebastien is being a lot nicer this time. He’s politely asking questions instead of demanding answers. We’re in his office, along with my mom.
“Right after he said ‘I’ll kill him,’ he got up and stormed out. I followed him out to the street and tried to get him to come back but he ignored me. Got in his car and peeled off.”
“And then what did you do?”
“I pulled out my cell phone and called Fuzzball. The police got there just in time or they would have been dead.”
Sebastien makes some notes on the legal pad, which sits atop his massive oak desk, then turns to my mother. “Is she always emotional?”
“I’m not an emotional person!” I say, realizing I sounded like one. “Who wouldn’t get emotional after seeing real-life murders?”
He put up a hand toward me. “Please, Jillian. I’m asking your mother.”
“No,” she says. “Jillian’s usually very calm. Doesn’t get angry. She’s very easygoing. We get along remarkably well, especially considering half the teenagers out there don’t even speak to their parents.” She shoots me a look and smiles. I nod back, silently thanking her for not telling Sebastien about our argument last week about my father.
The ticking of an ancient grandfather clock is the only sound in the room for the moment. Sebastien leans back in his leather swivel rocker and looks up at the ceiling, as if searching for answers. I sit silently, looking around the dark paneled room at the very old oil paintings of people I don’t recognize, probably paranormal pioneers of some sort. Finally he breaks the silence. “Tell me what you were thinking during each reading when you felt emotion.”
“Well, with the murders, I was more scared than upset. I mean, watching murders that are real instead of the stuff you see in movies scared the hell out of me. I could feel my heart pounding. In the last case, I was even more frightened because the man sitting across from me was the murderer.”
“And yet you ran after him. Weren’t you afraid for your own safety?”
He has a point. If I was so scared, why did I run after him? “I guess…maybe subconsciously I knew his anger wasn’t directed at me. I was hoping to calm him down and maybe stop him from killing people.”
“And the situation with your friend Roxanne?”
Great, let’s bring up that memory again. “I was upset. It might have been easier to see Ryan with another girl than her. I know that doesn’t make sense, because she’s like a sister to me and I want the best for her. But somehow seeing him ask her out on a date really hit me the wrong way.”
He nods and makes more notes.
My mother leans forward in her chair. “Sebastien, is there any precedent for this?”
“For seers seeing the afterlife or having images race by as she described, no. As for emotion affecting one’s powers, you know the answer to that one.”
I whip my head toward her. “Mom?”
Mom looks away as Sebastien answers. “Emotion…in a few cases, has acted as somewhat of a magnifier…something that takes powers to the next level. We know of three cases in particular.” Sebastien’s eyes grow sad.
“I’m most afraid to ask,” I say, with a lump in my throat.
He nods. “Yes. Your father is one of the three.”
“And who—”
“The other two are dead.”
***
I guess I should tell you about Fuzzball, who, due to my unusual powers, is likely to become my partner in crime.
Or at least in stopping it.
Spencer Ball is New York City’s top detective, solving just about every case to which he’s assigned. At thirty-five years of age he’s a household name when it comes to the city’s high profile crimes. It doesn’t hurt that he has the classic looks of a model, his shirtless buffed physique having