Psychic Appeal- Urban Fantasy

Psychic Appeal Chapter 3

Sunday dawned bright and cheerful. The light invaded my bedroom through the window over my bed, and, despite the canopy, burned my retinas when I opened my eyes. I glared at the perfect blue sky with its puffy clouds and resisted the urge to stick out my tongue. Rain and dark thunderclouds would better suit my mood today. Seeing Mark's parents always made me grumpy.

I stopped by for a visit every few weeks. During the trial, my lawyer had thought it would generate public good will to try and reconcile with them. Of course, Mark had popped in on the first meeting, and I'd been serving as a medium ever since. I hated doing it, but my sense of obligation wouldn't let me stop. I'd taken their son from them and the least I could do is let them talk to his spirit. It was as close as I could get to bringing him back. At the same time, it was also one of the more unpleasant events of my life at the moment.

Groaning, I rolled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. A splash of water on my face, a vigorous brushing of my teeth, and a comb through my hair made me presentable. I shuffled back to my bedroom and began the arduous process of deciding what to wear. I always dressed up for Mark's parents, the same way defendants dress to impress the jury. The comparison wasn't too far off the mark. It had been Mark's wealthy and influential parents who made sure the prosecutor charged me with manslaughter.

Yeah, that just made our visits extra special fun.

Pawing through my closet, I came up with a tailored white skirt that just reached my knees and a pale blue silk blouse. I tried it on and decided it made me look too elegant, gold digger elegant. And that had been Mark's parents' biggest concern about me, that I was a cheap floozy taking their son-with-a-trust-fund for a ride. The peach summer dress with the little spaghetti straps wasn't any better, and, with a sigh of frustration, I realized I would be wearing the black dress pants and white-on-white pinstriped blouse for the third time in a row. I really needed to make some time for shopping.

The outfit settled, I downed a couple of aspirin and a glass of slightly sour O.J. before heading out the door. I must not have been watching where I was going as, next thing I knew, I collided with someone who smelled distinctly of jasmine incense.

I back-peddled until I felt the wall behind me. "Sorry, I didn't see you there."

A large hand cupped my elbow and a deep voice with a Scottish lilt said, "That's all right. No harm done, lass. I should've been paying attention."

At the sound of his accent, I took a second look. Aside from the brown eyes, he had a round face with plump cheeks I bet his female relatives loved to pinch. He towered over me and I judged him to be six three or so, with a head full of wavy brown curls, which was a strange contrast to the complete lack of eyebrows. Instead of the usual guy unibrow I was used to seeing on men, there was bright red skin with a few ragged hairs poking through, like he'd over-waxed or maybe even burned off his brows. He also had a bit of a belly on him, but, even with the extra weight, he was good looking in a rugged foreign accent kind of way. At least, he would be once his eyebrows grew back.

Noticing my appraisal, he smiled down at me, raising his nonexistent eyebrows as if he knew what I was thinking. "I'm Malcolm, your new neighbor." The brogue in his voice came through loud and clear now. Definitely not from around Boston.

"Oh, hi. I'm Sofia." We shook hands. I tried to feel something from him, but caught nothing more than a faint tingle.

"I've heard of you. You're the..."

"Psychic," I finished for him. My shoulders stiffened, and I wondered what his interest was.

"Psychic? Really? I heard you were an antique dealer." His grip tightened on my hand and he studied me with an intense gaze.