Cold Read Read online

  Cold Read

  Renee Joiner

  Cold Read © Copyright 2020 by Renee Joiner

  ISBN: 978-1-950378-50-0

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

  Book design by Kimberley Snagg

  kdscoverconcepts.tumblr.com

  Published by Oshun Publications

  www.oshunpublications.com

  Contents

  Newsletter Sign Up

  Singles by Renee

  1. Angels of Death

  2. Lost Souls

  3. Skeletons in the Closet

  4. Family Fairy Tales

  5. Spell of Endurance

  6. Bewitched By Memory

  7. Watchdog

  8. The Thing About Rusalkas

  9. Things We Lost In The Fire

  10. Shadow Eyes

  11. Reflections on Angels

  12. The Hunter Lies in Wait

  13. Body of Proof

  14. Memory Lane

  15. Hansel and Gretel

  16. Witch Hunt

  About the Author

  Series by Renee

  Newsletter Sign Up

  Thank You

  Singles by Renee

  Singles

  Tempest

  Half Demon

  Wanted Undead or Alive

  My Soul to Reap

  Gravetide

  Vance and Vance

  One

  Angels of Death

  “Tasia.... Tasia, honey.”

  Awareness pierced through her heavy lids, allowing the glaring fluorescent light from the clinic’s foyer to sting her eyes. Tasia Jackson felt like death warmed up as she rested her head on her bent elbow.

  Through tired eyes, she looked into Viola’s chestnut complexion, one of the nurses on duty. There was vitality in her face that Tasia envied as she forced herself awake. “How long was I out this time?”

  “I don’t know, honey. I just found you swaying here behind the counter, dead on your feet. So I went to get you this.” She placed a coffee mug on the table, sliding it toward Tasia until it was right under her nose. The rich aroma set off sparks in her mind and, slowly, she started to feel more alive. “Hate to say I told you so, but night shifts and online lectures don’t sync well. Trust me, I tried.”

  “I was just—” She paused, as a yawn rose involuntarily to swallow her words. “I was just resting my eyes.”

  “Yeah. And I’m just the local barista playing dress-up,” Viola responded sarcastically. She picked up Tasia’s clipboard and gave it a look before saying, “I see you were about to pay Mr. Robertson a visit in the ward just one over. Tell you what, I’m going to check up on him, go through his vitals, and I’ll jot down the report for this. You drink that before I have to swing out a gurney from the ER.”

  Tasia yawned again. “Thanks, V, but—”

  “Mm-mm,” she chided. “Drink. Now.” With that, Viola was off, marching down the corridor.

  Tasia embraced the warm mug between her hands, bringing it to her lips. As her breath touched the surface, it caused her glasses to fog up. She sighed heavily, too tired to be irritable. Instead, she waited until her lenses cleared up.

  Whether by a slight movement of the eye, or her distorted vision through the lenses, she nearly jumped as she saw something spectral move across her line of sight. It was enough to jar her awake and, as her glasses became clear; she stared down the hospital passage where her eyes had caught the movement. A minute or two eventually passed and the tension dissipated from her shoulders. She shook it off, making it out like something from her imagination. Perhaps it was the glare from the computer screen.

  But, as she reached down for her coffee, she saw it again. This time, without the fog obscuring her vision, she was sure that her mind wasn’t conjuring the apparition floating down the hall.

  Tasia took a deep breath before mustering the energy to set off in pursuit. You’d think I’d have learned by now, she said to herself. What else could I expect from the ER? She had chased down ghosts so many times that she had almost convinced herself that it was normal. Yet, she couldn’t deny her bated breath or the tightness in her chest. The air was frigid with a spirit’s passage, raising the hair on the back of her neck.

  There was something potent and almost pervasive about the presence of the recently departed. The untethering of the soul from the body was overwhelming for the spirit in question. They made you feel it. There was great confusion in being hurled into the other side when the world of the living still seemed so tangible. It was an uncertainty that spirits couldn’t hide from those gifted to notice—those such as herself. She was no medium, but she was inextricably linked to the world hidden behind the veil—the doorway to the supernatural.

  The icy air led her to the observation hall, where newly treated casualties semi-consciously played the nail-biting game of survival. No ghostly figure stood at the edge of any beds, but instinct guided her to where she was needed. It brought her to the bedside of a car crash victim, the head of whom had been bandaged. He’d been through an operation since the impact had fractured his skull. She wasn’t sure how long he’d been flatlined as she looked at the machine, but she knew that it was recent. Taking his hand with resolve, she cupped it between her own.

  Mere seconds flitted by before she noticed a figure standing at the foot of the bed. Stationary, his features were more evident than it’d been while floating aimlessly around. It was the apparition she had seen. Incredulity, shock, uncertainty, and fear: some or all of these usually defined the expressions of spirits as they became aware of their fate. But the man, a handsome youth, showed none of these as he looked upon himself—the self that was nothing more than an empty vessel. It was hard to fathom that the same face lay hidden and possibly broken between those bandages. Even harder to determine was what was going through his mind as he stood there.

  Tasia would never know.

  The residual life force that hovered over his body pulsed before converging and then channeling through his arm until it touched her hand like cool water. She never broke eye contact with the spirit. They watched each other silently, unable to interact as she held vigil over his final moments. In that spectral face, absent of emotion, she wondered whether he was accusing her of scavenging what remained of his life, even though he would never use it again.

  She was left wondering as the pale figure started to fade, crossing over into some unknown fate that only mortal souls ever bore witness to when coming to an end. Like a tap running dry, the flow of death energies ebbed. All of it rested in the palms of her hands, leaving her feeling as though she held a beating heart.

  Her job was not done. The dying breath of another had drawn her.

  She drifted toward another bed. Standing opposite and to the side. This time joining a spirit already waiting by the side of its corpse. It was another man, looking upon his bruised face. He hadn’t been there a moment ago. Perhaps it was the other’s friend, lover, or even brother. The doctors on duty never did find out as the car-crash victims had been rushed in side by side.

  As the second spirit stared at himself, she knew the sight could not tell him the final cause of his death. The damage was internal, rattled as he’d been during the accident while in the passenger seat of the car. Tasia allowed a moment before moving to the other side of the bed, doing the same as she had done with the other patient. The look that this spirit gave her held more emotion
. In his face was understanding, but perhaps some grief as well. She couldn’t read all of it before he, too, disappeared. In her many years of witnessing the passage of the dead, she sometimes paused to wonder when exactly she became detached to the emotional complexities of that act. Twice the amount of life force now lay in her hands.

  “Now, I need to find someone who can use it...”

  She remained where she was for a moment, trying to figure out who she could save with the dual-laden energies that she had taken. She was frustrated that, as head nurse, she couldn’t recall her patients’ conditions, especially after her recent rounds. Perhaps Viola had a point. Maybe the lack of sleep was getting to her. Luckily, the frustration dissipated as one name came to mind.

  Leah Collins had been mugged while on her way home from a late shift at work. Proving to be more of a challenge than the culprit had anticipated, she was stabbed until she surrendered her entire life—all contained within a single satchel. The inflicted wounds had made her lose a lot of blood. Nonetheless, she dragged herself down countless blocks to stumble through the hospital doors. There was no Good Samaritan, no savior to come to her rescue. She had to become her own hero to survive, and for a moment, one would have believed that she could. Leah was a fighter.

  But being rushed into surgery painted a different picture. Now, she occupied a bed in the observation unit’s far corner, playing the same game like most other casualties. Post-op, whether because of the shock or some other less-identifiable variable, she was not doing too well, although it was not for lack of trying. Her vitals had fluctuated, her mind had drifted in and out of consciousness, and she had left the doctors with more questions than answers.

  It was for that reason that Tasia stood next to her.

  The life force that she took danced on her fingertips. Her hands hovered over Leah’s body as she looked into an ashen face that seemed contorted by a combination of exhaustion and perseverance. The energies rolled forth, taken in death to now restore life. It suffused Leah’s frame, seeping into her tired and damaged body. Without looking, Tasia could feel damaged flesh knit together, stitches dissolve, and the body being cleansed of malicious elements. Color returned to the young woman’s face, wiping away the strain that is made visible. There was a peace that settled there, but it was not the peace of death.

  Her eyes wouldn’t open. She would sleep. Waking without the strife that had been brought upon her, none the wiser of what had transpired this night.

  A few moments later, Tasia caught herself on the frame of the entrance. Being a conduit to tip the scales of life and death had taxed her, but she felt content. She dragged herself to the staff break room, desperately needing a bed. No sooner had she found one than her head hit the pillow, and she nodded off. At the very least, she needed a quick nap to make it through the night.

  The dreams of a rusalka have the distinct quality of wavering on the spectrum of normality. Sometimes, Tasia’s dreams were nothing more than subconscious manifestations or the executive processing of the things she had come across in a day. It comforted her in the knowledge that, in some ways, she wasn’t unlike other mortals. Yet, at other times, she found herself faced with precognitions of death. So when her eyes shut in exhaustion, she was forlorn to see her mind playing host to the latter.

  Usually, such premonitions served her well while she assumed the guise of a healthcare professional. In a place that saw its fair share of death, predictions were useful in allowing her the opportunity to invest her supernatural gifts in the effort of helping others. While some inevitably pass, others could unexpectedly continue living. In the clinic, removed from the prying eyes of a public that misunderstood her kind, she could use her talents for good—genuinely making a difference by guiding the hand of Fate.

  But Fate could not be directed in terms of the visions it imparted. She was not a harbinger of death, merely its spectator. And so, the images of strangers, acquaintances, or patients that often crossed her mind during dreams was not something she ever had control over. So when the face of a friend reared up in her dreams, she awoke with a start.

  “Daniel!” she gasped. Droplets of sweat had formed on her brow, and she realized that the nature of her vision must have been violent, even strenuous to endure. What frustrated her was that she simply couldn’t remember. Now that she was awake, the details eluded her. She knew that it had to do with the cause of his death and therefore served as a clue as to how it could have been prevented. For all the power that she possessed, she couldn’t recall the shape of the images she had seen, no matter how hard she wracked her brain. “Dammit!”

  Knowing that her efforts were in vain, she stood and made her way back to the nurse’s station. She’d dozed off for nearly 30 minutes. Viola, or one of the other nurses, would have returned from their rounds by now. Whatever discomfort her dreams had caused her, it would have to wait till the morning.

  Stepping into the hallway, she could see the nurses’ station down at the end. Viola had returned. Tasia made her way over, but getting closer, she saw her colleague talking to someone—a man standing on the other side of the counter. Strange, Tasia thought, it’s late for visitors to hang around. It wasn’t that it was prohibited; it was simply unusual to see anyone besides staff roaming the hospital at this time—apart from the occasional restless ghost, of course.

  Just as Tasia was about to reach the station, the stranger left, but not before sparing a glance her way that left her troubled. She approached Viola, who was already busy with some paperwork. “Who was that? I’ve never seen someone come in this late if they weren’t overnighting.”

  “Oh, he is one of the benefactors who frequently pops into the oncology ward. He often visits a couple of patients there. My god, he’s helped several folks that have gone through that place. I think he’s made generous donations, covered some medical bills, and brought a couple of them back from a dark place. Sometimes he works his magic unseen; other times, he just comes in to talk to some of them. It’s almost like he counsels them. People like him are rare. I think he has a lot of empathy for cancer patients. Maybe someone in his family had a terminal illness and didn’t make it.”

  If he’s so benevolent, then why does he make me uneasy? Tasia listened to Viola’s admiration, finding it hard to match the personality she was describing to the impression she had gotten by staring into the man’s eyes. He was still making his way to the exit, his dark coat making him seem more and more like a blemish in the white hallways. “What was he doing in this wing, though? Diana is on duty on that side. Surely he could have checked in with her.”

  “Well, remember Leah Collins, the woman who came in earlier tonight? The doctor found her file and picked up that she was diagnosed with stage five pancreatic cancer. She just found out a week ago. He came a long way to be here, apparently. He had business in the area when he found out. He knows Leah. So naturally, he dropped everything and came right over to check on her.”

  “Naturally,” Tasia echoed, not convinced of his altruism. She was still ill at ease, and her eyes followed the man until he reached the exit. As he passed through a shadowy corridor, whether by a trick of the light or the reckless imagination of a tired mind, she glimpsed the brief appearance of black wings spanning to either side. It disappeared in an instant as he stepped into the light of the foyer before making his way through the revolving hospital door.

  Two

  Lost Souls

  Agents rushed past her in a blur while she was standing in the middle of the Riverport District Office of the FBI. It was all that she could do to keep herself alert as people dashed madly about, clearly engaged in some significant case that had just arisen. Tasia wondered if it was a mistake coming here straight after her shift. She was practically dead on her feet. Indeed the people here had more than enough to worry about without slowing down to check on an overworked nurse. She failed to grasp why she’d believed it would be a good idea to come and warn a friend of his imminent death while half-asleep. How did one
even start such a conversation? But somehow, the restlessness of the thought had managed to keep her awake, and she was determined to get to the bottom of it.

  “Tasia? Jesus, it really is you. I couldn’t believe it when they told me in front. God, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  If only he knew. “Yeah well, if you hear of a girl with a ghostly pallor, then you can be sure it’s me coming to visit.” Daniel Cordeiro stood in front of her, his army-cut and five o’clock shadow unmistakable as it framed his square jaw, stern face, and steel-grey eyes. He looked imposing in whatever circumstance you came across him, even if it was genial. However, Tasia could not help but notice that his excitement at seeing her was overshadowed by something troubling. Knowing Daniel, it was out of his usual character. “So... I thought I’d come to haunt you. I was in the area, just coming from a shift.”

  “Um... the clinic is like on the other side of town. And don’t you live on that side of the city as well?” he asked, looking less than convinced.

  “Yeah, well, I took a ‘little’ detour,” she answered, winking at him. “Thought I’d pop in to see how you were doing for a change.”

  He blushed ever so slightly. “Damn, well... .” he started, shaking his head as if to clear his mind and returning his thoughts back to what he was preoccupied with. “Shit, Tasia. It’s an awful time, I won’t lie. My sister’s been kidnapped.”

  “What? I’d say that you’re kidding me, but you wouldn’t. Not about that!”