Free Perennial by Ryan Potter

less than forty-eight hours. I’m on my own
undercover investigation now, an otherworldly investigation you would never
understand.
    And
this is why I can’t whisper a word to you about my new world.
    The
young woman seated at the circular table for two off to my left catches my
attention. She’s sipping a large iced coffee and playing with her phone. She’s
not looking my way, but she’s the reason I’m here. Somehow I know this. She’s
incredibly beautiful too, with rich, deep mocha skin, and long, layered hair.
Her dark clothes are tight but stylish. She looks about my age, maybe a year or
two older. There’s an aura of confidence around her, a type of positive energy
she exudes that makes me want her on my side.
    A
flash of light explodes inside my head. Two blurred words in bold black print
hover within the white cloud of light. Her name.
    I
leave the line and walk over to her. She knows I’m two feet away but still
pretends not to notice.
    “Excuse
me,” I say. She looks up from her phone with big brown eyes that have surely
melted more than a few men. “I’d like you to know that you have the coolest
name I’ve ever heard.”
    “Is
that right?” she says, smiling. “And what is my name?”
    “London,”
I say. “London Steel.”
    “Get
your coffee and sit down, Alix. Vagabond says congratulations, by the way.”
    “For
knowing your name?”
    “No,”
she says, “for passing your first test back there.”
***
    She doesn’t say
anything for a few minutes, just keeps typing away on her phone. I sit there,
sipping my iced coffee, feeling the uncomfortable pressure of Aruna’s knife in
my back pocket. The place is busy and loud now, adults and teenagers dropping
in for late-afternoon drinks. I realize Dad could walk in any minute, meaning I
should get rid of this knife as soon as possible.
    “I’m
sorry,” London finally says, forcing herself to pocket her phone. “I blog a
lot. It’s kind of addictive.”
    “No
problem,” I say. “What do you blog about?”
    “Good
question,” she says, mulling it over. “I guess you can call me an Internet job
recruiter. I’m a type of headhunter, as adults in the business world call it.
Special jobs for only the most highly qualified people.”
    “People
like me.”
    “It’s
looking good so far,” she says. “What you did back there was impressive. Being
an effective psychic is rare enough, but where’d you learn to fight like that?”
    “My
dad’s a cop.”
    “Ah,”
she says. “That would explain it.” London smiles.
    I
smile back. “Was that even Aruna back there?”
    “Oh,
it was definitely Aruna. Poor thing.” London shakes her head. “We knew Face had
her. We just didn’t know if she was dead or alive.” She raises her eyebrows.
“Now we know.”
    “She’s
in danger.”
    “Aren’t
we all?”
    “That’s
not what I mean,” I say. “I had a horrible vision when I first made physical
contact with her during the fight.” I swallow hard and promise myself to hold
back the tears. “She’ll die soon. It’ll be Face, and it won’t be pretty.”
    London,
serious now, says, “I know your abilities are new to you, Alix, as in two-days
new, but is there anything you can do to save her?”
    “No,”
I say. “I saw her dead. I saw Face standing over her. That means he’ll kill
her. Just because I can see the future doesn’t mean I can change it.”
    “What
else did you see that involved her?”
    “I
knew she was behind the Dumpster. I knew when she was about to attack.” I
pause. “And I saw her in bed with William just before he died.”
    “Whoa,”
she says, raising her hands as if they’re stop signs. “You saw a past event too?”
    “Yes,”
I say. “It surprised me. Actually, everything’s surprised me lately.”
    “Wow,”
she says. “No wonder Vagabond’s interested in you. A brilliant young mind and a
two-way psychic who can kick ass when she needs to.” She laughs. “That’s hot,
girl.” She raises a