Clairvoyance

“I’m sick.”

“What?” Gabriel looked startled.

“I feel sick.” I got off him and wrapped a sheet around myself.

One of the troubles of being a vision girl was that a vision could hit you anytime, anywhere. My “gift” totally disregarded my private life, and after three years of reality checking and waking up in the middle of the night to find myself in a strange place and have it vanish minutes later, I still couldn’t get used to it.

Moving farther away from Gabriel, I pressed my fingers into my temples to still the throbbing in my head.

“Huh…” he looked genuinely puzzled. “Were you sick when you got here? ”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” I momentarily shut my eyes. “Oh, nevermind.” It was exasperating enough to be spammed with incoherent visions – explaining them to someone like Gabriel would be just painful.

Sighing, I turned my head to look at him. In his late twenties, with brown eyes and gorgeous black hair barely touching his shoulders, he reminded me of the men I used to fantasize about back when I was still reading romance novels. And didn’t know Gabriel.

Like me, he was a supe and possessed a fair share of abilities normal people didn’t have. Unlike me, his gift was all smoke and mirrors. Gabriel could make people see things that weren’t really there: a painting on an empty wall, a white rose turned red, a pig, flying through the hazy sky… That sort of things. So if I could see things happening at different times and places, and visualize things super clearly, he could pay a $300 bill by shelling out 5 bucks.

Yeah, sometimes we just outcooled each other.

“I’ve got to go.” I got up from the bed and started picking my clothes off the floor where it had been dropped in a haste. My purse still sat over by the window where I tossed it along with my cool strappy stilettos.

“Hey, what- Clair! You’re leaving now?” Gabriel got up, looking righteously displeased. “So, what? You storm in here, get me all worked up, then hop off and leave? Is that a new thing or something?”

I fished out my bra from under the bed, and, deciding it looked a little too scruffy to wear, stuffed it in my purse as I picked it up. “Nope. It’s just your luck. I had a vision.”

“About me?” he asked, hope filling his voice.

“No, about me.”

His shoulders slumped. He’s been waiting for me to have a premonition about him since day one, after he found out I had a gift of clairvoyance. A vision of hope, riches and fame was the one he dreamt me to see for too long to make fun of it openly. Needless to say, we’re still waiting for that one.

My cell started ringing, filling Gabriel’s small apartment with noise. I groped inside my purse for a while before finally getting a hold of it. The Caller ID read Daniel Hardy, and I heaved a sigh of relief. Danny was my co-worker (sort of), and one of the few people I could trust and talk about my visions with. Mainly, I was concerned about my most recent one. I didn’t like what I saw, and the feeling of shame and guilt as an aftertaste bugged the hell out of me.

Ignoring Gabriel’s further questions about the vision, I answered the call.

“Hey, when a girl says ‘you’re like a brother to me’, what are the chances she means it in a kinky way?” Danny’s voice came muffled by the music and laughter in the background.

“None. And hello to you, too, by the way. I take it you’re not home.”

“At eleven p.m.? Please... you know me better than that.”

“Yeah…” I drawled. “I do. Where are you anyway?” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Gabriel get up and put on his trunks. Huffing, he headed for the bathroom door, shutting it behind him with a thud. “Baby,” I muttered.

“Um, in the 8Ball… baby.” Danny sounded mildly bemused.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Thought so.”

“I need to see you tonight though.”

There was a pause. “Er… You don’t need me to pick you up or anything, do you?”

“Please, spare me the enthusiasm,” I said dryly. “You don’t have to sound so eager just for my benefit.”

For about a month already Danny was driving my car after he lost his in a Pocker game to some telepath. That was such a stupid thing to do that I almost felt sorry for him back then. Now I just felt annoyed at his recklessness and my lack of transport. He begged me to lend him my Honda, claiming he couldn’t survive without a car with his weekly trips from L.A. to Vegas and back, so I complied. He also promised to act as my personal driver whenever I needed one. Not that I believed him.

“And no, you don’t have to pick me up. I’ll get there myself. I need to talk to you about something.”

“Work related or am I about to get drawn into some personal drama of yours?”

“Oh, just be there when I get to the club. See you in half an hour.”

“I’ll be holding my-.”

I hung up.

Gabriel emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed and decent-looking. His black designer shirt clung to his body and I almost bit my lip. He might not be rich, he might be living in a shabby mouse-sized apartment, but he knew how to present himself like there was nothing in the world he needed.

“Good, you’re out,” I flipped my phone shut. “I’ll grab a quick shower before going. I’m meeting Danny in half an hour.”

“Ah. So you choose that badly dressed rain dancer over me? After I canceled my plans for the night and cooked for you?”

I rolled my eyes at both the reference to Danny’s shaky shamanic skills and the cooking comment.

“Oh, please," I waved my hand at him. "You cook for everyone. Even for the ones you don’t like.” And he did. I found it surprising how he always managed to fix something up whenever I was around or when he had guests. Sometimes I wondered why he even bothered wasting so much effort on becoming an actor or a model or whatever he wanted to be there, when he could be a perfectly decent chef. Although his tall, dark looks argued my logic.

Still naked and holding onto my clothes, I shimmied past Gabriel into the bathroom, gracing him with a quick peck on the cheek. “Besides, I want to see Danny not because I find your company unentertaining. We just have... work stuff to discuss.”

“Oh?” he looked at me skeptically. “Then why aren’t you meeting with Eric? Isn’t he the one you should be running to when the 'work stuff' happens?"

“Oh, Eric is… busy.” I tried to fumble for more terms describing busyness, but couldn't come up with anything coherent. “You know how he has work to do, agency to run… And–and all that other, really important stuff–”

Gabriel arched an eyebrow in a way that signaled his bullshit meter was starting to zing "false".

“-that he does.” I finished, clamping my mouth shut.

“Whatever. I don’t care why you don’t want to see him. I don’t like him anyway.”

“Yeah, well, the feeling is mutual,” I muttered.

Eric–my boss and mentor wannabe–didn’t harbor any warm feelings toward Gabriel. He considered my relationship with him unhealthy, and he very much disapproved of the “risk” I was taking by getting intimate with another supe, the one he believed couldn’t be trusted. I didn’t really blame him. Opening yourself up to another person with special abilities during sex could result in giving some of your power away. Sometimes the outcome could even be a small temporary power swap.

However, it wasn’t our case with Gabriel. He and I could be acquaintances, but we weren’t close in the deep emotional sense - not anymore, anyway. Besides, supposing he wasn't exactly a Dadley Do-right, I'd known him long enough not to worry on that account much. He never posed a threat to me, in this life or the ones before that. Not that he could remember them much, but then again not many supes could.

As for why I didn’t want to talk to Eric about my vision, even though that’s what I usually did… Well, these days we just weren’t chummy enough for me to anticipate a heart-to-heart with him. Plus, tense and tired as I was, I didn't feel like trying to make a conversation while he sat on his high horse and glared down at me.

I shrugged my gloomy thoughts away. No good in reminiscing while there were more important things to do. “I’ll be back in a jiffy," I told Gabriel. "And then, if you're not too busy, you could give me a ride to 8Ball.”

I was pretty sure I heard him groan as the bathroom door clicked shut behind me.

Ten minutes later–not before looking myself over in the mirror–I emerged from the bathroom, wearing tight black jeans and a red halter top. I brushed my long chocolate brown hair and let them fall in shiny waves around my shoulders. As for my face, the only makeup I was wearing was smoky eye shadow and some eyeliner, but since there was enough color in my cheeks and lips, I wasn’t in danger of looking pale. Without trying too hard, I looked polished enough to go clubbing, even if it wasn’t my original plan.

Convincing Gabriel to give me a ride to the club has taken all of thirteen seconds, not that he was a happy camper. I got the impression he wanted to drop me off at the nearest bus stop and drive away into the night to manifest whatever plans he initially had there. I felt like talking during our merry trip would be pushing my luck, so I wisely kept my mouth shut.

When twenty minutes later we arrived at the place, the street outside the building was filled with people. Perhaps 8Ball was not as famous as some of the clubs out there, but it certainly had its charm. Plus, it was one of the rare hot spots in L.A. that had a V.I.P. area for supes. It had pretty strict rules about who could enter, and only people who managed to convince the patrons of their “superiority” (and for superiority read supernaturality) were let into the V.I.P. zone.

Still in the car, I glanced at the line outside the club. Judging by the count of heads and the date in today’s paper, Friday it was. Gabriel pointedly didn’t turn off the engine or tried to park anywhere, his entire posture indicating he could be spending his time with much better use. I tried to lighten up the mood a little. “You want to come with me? It’s crowded tonight. Lots of impressionable youths to gawk at your chest hair,” I grinned. “Should be fun for you.”

“As if,” he cut me a dirty look. “Thank you very much, but I have plans of my own. Not to mention standards. If you don’t mind, I’d actually like to make the best of what’s left of the night. Well, try, at least. Besides,” he glanced, somewhat disdainfully, at the club’s neon logo with a trademark billiard ball, “if this becomes my regular hangout, I might as well make starring in commercials the peak of my career. No way would anyone of that crowd see somebody more famous than that anyway.”

I blinked. Sheesh.

“Yeah, you’re a classy party crasher,” I patted his arm, getting out of the car. “Have fun at your celebrity-filled whatever.”

“It’s a yacht!” I heard him yell behind me as I purposefully started toward the club’s second entrance. Mentally smacking myself for not bothering to ask where he was going before, I continued walking without chancing a glance back, lest I would get tempted to jump back into the passenger seat and beg him to take me along.

How I wished for once I could enjoy the classy Hollywoodish side of Los Angeles instead of the creepy-crawly one I had no idea I was about to face.