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P.C. CAST
“Cast once again challenges readers to look beyond outward
appearances and, simultaneously, crafts an exciting adventure that
will appeal both to romance and traditional fantasy fans.”
—RT Book Reviews on Brighid’s Quest
“The action becomes both intense and thoroughly entertaining.”
—Kirkus Reviews on Destined
“P.C. Cast is a stellar talent.”
—New York Times bestselling author Karen Marie Moning
GENA SHOWALTER
“One of the premier authors of paranormal romance.”
—#1 New York Times bestselling author Kresley Cole
“Gena Showalter knows how to keep readers glued to the pages
and smiling the whole time.”
—New York Times bestselling author Lara Adrian
on The Darkest Surrender
“The Showalter name on a book
means guaranteed entertainment.”
—RT Book Reviews on Twice as Hot
f t e r
Ater rise
Af Moon ise
r
Mo o n
P.C. CAST
GENA SHOWALTER
P.C. CAST
GENA SHOWALTER
DID YOU PURCHASE THIS BOOK WITHOUT A COVER?
If you did, you should be aware it is stolen property as it was
reported ‘unsold and destroyed’ by a retailer.
Neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment
for this book.
AFTER MOONRISE
First Australian Paperback Edition 2012
ISBN 978 1 92179643 2
POSSESSED HAUNTED
© 2012 by P.C. Cast © 2012 by Gena Showalter
Philippine Copyright 2012 Philippine Copyright 2012
Australian Copyright 2012 Australian Copyright 2012
New Zealand Copyright 2012 New Zealand Copyright 2012
Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilisation of this work in whole
or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known
or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in
any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission
of the publisher, Harlequin® Mira®, Locked Bag 7002, Chatswood D.C. N.S.W.,
Australia 2067.
This book is sold subject to the condition that shall not, by way of trade or
otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior
consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which
it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being
imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any
form. This edition is published in arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A..
;OPZPZH^VYRVMÄJ[PVU5HTLZJOHYHJ[LYZWSHJLZHUKPUJPKLU[ZHYLLP[OLY[OL
WYVK\J[VM[OLH\[OVY»ZPTHNPUH[PVUVYHYL\ZLKÄJ[P[PV\ZS`HUKHU`YLZLTISHUJL
to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is
entirely coincidental.
Published by
Harlequin® Mira®
An imprint of Harlequin Enterprises (Aust) Pty Ltd.
Level 5, 15 Help Street
CHATSWOOD NSW 2067
AUSTRALIA
7YPU[LKHUKIV\UKPU(\Z[YHSPHI`.YPMÄU7YLZZ
CONTENTS
POSSESSED 7
P.C. Cast
HAUNTED 127
Gena Showalter
Acknowledgments
I want to send hugs and kisses to Gena Showalter!
It is beyond awesome to be able to work on cool projects
with my girlfriend. Ms. Snowwater, I totally heart you!
A big thank-you to my wonderful longtime editor Mary-Theresa Hussey.
It is soooo nice to be working with you again!
Katie Rowland—THANK YOU FOR THE TU DETAILS.
Now, go get ready for finals. Seriously.
As always, I appreciate, respect and adore my agent,
Meredith Bernstein.
The bully’s dad caused Raef to discover his Gift. It happened twenty-
five years ago, but to Raef the memory was as fresh as this morning’s
coffee. You just don’t forget your first time. Not your first orgasm,
your first drunk, your first kill and, not for damn sure, your first ex-
perience of being able to Track violent emotions.
The bully’s name was Brandon. He’d been a big kid; at thirteen
he’d looked thirty-five—and a rough thirty-five at that. At least, that’s
what he’d looked like through nine-year-old Raef’s eyes. Not that
Brandon picked on Raef. He hadn’t—not especially. Brandon mostly
liked to pick on girls. He didn’t hit ’em. What he did was worse. He
found out what scared them, and then he tortured them with fear.
Raef discovered why the day Brandon went after Christina Kambic
with the dead bird. Christina wasn’t hot. Christina wasn’t ugly. She
was just a girl who had seemed like every other teenage girl to young
Raef: she had boobs and she talked a lot, two things that, even at nine,
Raef had understood were part of the pleasure and the pain of females.
Brandon didn’t target Christina because of her boobs or her mouth.
10
He targeted her because somehow he had found out she was utterly,
completely terrified of birds.
The part of the day that was burned into Raef’s memory began
after school. Brandon had been walking home on the opposite side of
the street from Raef and his best friend, Kevin. On Brandon’s side
of the street was a group of girls. They were giggling and talking at
about a zillion miles per hour. Brandon was ahead of them and, as
usual, by himself. Brandon didn’t really have any friends. Raef had
barely noticed him and only kinda remembered that he’d been kicking
around something near the curb.
Raef and Kevin had been talking about baseball tryouts. He’d
wanted to be shortstop. Kev had wanted to be the pitcher. Raef had
been saying, “Yeah, you got a better arm than Tommy. No way
would Coach pick—”
That’s when Christina’s bawling had started.
“No, please no, stop!” She was pleading while she cried. Two of
her friends had screamed and run off down the street. Two more had
stayed and were yelling at Brandon to stop.
Brandon ignored all of them. He’d backed Christina against the
fence to Mr. Fulton’s front yard, taken the smashed body of what was
obviously a road-killed crow and was holding it up, real close to Chris-
tina, and making stupid cawing noises while he laughed.
“Please!” Christina sobbed, her face in her hands, pressing herself
against the wooden fence so hard that Raef had thought she might
smash through it. “I can’t stand it! Please stop!”
Raef had thought about how big Brandon was, and how much older
Brandon was, and he’d stood there across the street, ignoring Kevin
and doing nothing. Then Brandon pushed the dead bird into Chris-
tina’s hair and the girl started screaming like she was being murdered.
“Hey, this isn’t your business,” Kevin had said when Raef sighed
heavily and started crossing the street.
11
into Raef. Suddenly Raef could feel Brandon’s anger. He could feel
his disgust.
Completely freaked out, Raef had closed his eyes and yelled, not
at Brandon, at the creepy rope, “Go away!” Then the most bizarre
thing happened. The rope-thing had gone away, but in Raef’s mind
he went with it. It was like the thing had turned into a telescope and
all of a sudden Raef saw Brandon’s home—inside it. Brandon was
there. So were his dad and mom. His dad, an older, fatter version
of Brandon, was towering over his mom, who was curled up on the
couch, holding herself while she cried and shook like Christina had
just been doing. Brandon’s dad was yelling at his mom, calling her
an ugly, stupid bitch. Brandon watched. He looked disgusted, but not
at his dad. His look was focused on his mom. And he was pissed.
Really, really pissed.
It made Raef want to puke. The instant he felt sick, actually felt his
own feelings again, it was like turning off a light switch. The rope dis-
appeared, along with the telescope and the vision of Brandon’s house,
leaving Raef back in the very painful, very embarrassing present.
Raef opened his eyes and said the first thing that popped into his
head. “How can you blame your mom for your dad being so mean?”
Brandon’s body got real still. It was like he quit breathing. Then
his face turned beet-red and he shouted down at Raef, spit raining
from his mouth. “What did you just say about my mom?”
Raef often wondered why the hell he hadn’t just shut up. Got up.
And run away. Instead, like a moron, he’d said, “Your dad picks on
your mom like you pick on girls. I know ’cause I just saw it. Inside
my head. Somehow. I don’t know how, though.” Raef had paused,
thought for a second and then added, trying to figure it out aloud,
“Your dad was calling your mom an ugly, stupid bitch last night. You
watched him.”
Then the weird got, like, weird squared because Brandon reacted as
if Raef had all of a sudden grown two feet, gained a hundred pounds
13
and punched him in the gut. The big kid looked sick, scared even,
and started backing away, but before he turned and sprinted down the
street, he yelled the words that would cling to Raef for the rest of his
life. “I know what you are! You’re worse than a nigger, worse than a
creeper. You’re a Psy—a fucking freak. Stay the hell away from me!”
Oh, shit. It was true. No way…no way…
Raef had sat there, bloody, confused and—embarrassingly enough—
bawling, while his best friend called his name over and over, trying to
get him to snap out of it. “Raef! Raef! Raef…”
“Mr. Raef? Raef? Are you there, sir?”
Coming back to the present, Raef shook himself, mentally
and physically, and picked up the phone, punching the inter-
com button off. “Yeah, Preston, what is it?”
“Mr. Raef, your zero-nine-hundred appointment is here,
thirty minutes early.”
Raef cleared his throat and said, “You know, Preston, it’s
a damn shame my Gift doesn’t include predicting the future,
or I’d have known that and been ready for her.”
“Yes, sir, but then I would probably be out of a job,” Pres-
ton retorted with his usual dry humor.
Raef chuckled. “Nah, there’d still be all that filing to do.”
“It’s what I live for, sir.”
“Glad to hear it. Okay, give me five and send her in.”
“Of course, Mr. Raef. Then I’ll get back to my filing.”
Raef blew out a breath, grabbed his half-empty coffee mug
and stalked over to the long credenza that sat against the far
wall of his spacious office. He topped off the coffee and then
stood there, unmoving, staring out the window. Not that he
was actually seeing the excellent view of Tulsa’s skyline on
this crisp fall day. Kent Raef was trying to scratch the weird
itch that had been tickling his mind all morning.
What the hell was wrong with him? Why the walk down
14
solved yet? It’s unusual that the forensic psychic wasn’t able
to close this file.”
Her blue eyes iced over and the sadness that had been shad-
owing them was frozen out. “Is solving my daughter’s murder
what you mean by closing this file?”
Damn! He’d actually said that aloud. What the hell was
wrong with him? He might not have the graveside manner of
someone like touchy-feely Stephen, but Raef usually showed
more tact than off handedly insulting an already upset client.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry that my wording seemed callous. I
assure you that I am cognizant of, and sorry for, your loss.”
She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “The reason Aubrey’s
file wasn’t closed is because the police psychic couldn’t com-
municate with my daughter about the murder. Either one of
them.”
Raef frowned. “That’s highly unusual, Mrs. Wilcox. Did
you give legal permission for your daughter’s spirit to be ques-
tioned?”
“Of course,” she snapped. “But it’s not that simple with
Aubrey and Lauren. It never has been.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t understand what—”
Her imperiously raised hand cut him off. “Perhaps it would
be easier if I showed you.” Without waiting for Raef ’s response
or permission, she stood and walked quickly to the office door.
Opening it she said, “You can come in now, Lauren.”
The woman who entered his office looked like a younger
version of her mother—a leggy, twentysomething blonde with
waves of platinum hair so light it was almost white. Her body
was lusher than her mother’s, who had the appearance of too
many carb-free years and maintenance liposuction. Lauren,
on the other hand, looked like she might enjoy a burger and
a beer once in a while. Scratch that—the expensive silk knit
20
sweater and the designer slacks and shoes said she might enjoy
a fillet, a fancied-up potato and some expensive red wine once
in a while.
His gaze traveled from her curvy body to her gray-blue
eyes, and he felt his own narrow in response to what he saw—
emptiness. Her smoky eyes were as expressionless as her face.
Lauren stopped in front of his desk and stared blankly over
his shoulder. Then there was a shimmering in the air around
her, and a transparent duplicate of her materialized.
It was as Raef got to his feet to face this new apparition that
it hit him like a punch in the gut. The ghost radiated waves
of emotion—yearning, desire, loneliness, longing—emotions
Raef had never picked up from another human being, dead
or alive, since his psychic talent first manifested that day so
many years ago.
He tried to throw up his mental barriers, the ones he used
at murder scenes to successfully block out the lingering spirits
and their terror and pain and anger, the only emotions he had,
until now, ever been able to Read. But his barriers weren’t
working. All he could do was stand there and be battered by
the desire and longing that emanated from the ghost.
“Kent Raef?” The spirit’s voice drifted through his mind.
He cleared his throat before he answered, but his voice still
sounded scratchy. “Yes. I’m Kent Raef.”
The spirit sighed with relief. “Finally!” She glanced at her
twin. Lauren blinked, as if coming awake after a long sleep,
and the ghost and the girl exchanged smiles. “Good job, sis.”
“You knew I’d figure it out eventually,” Lauren said.
“And you know it bothers me terribly when you speak to
the air like that,” said Mrs. Wilcox.
“I can tell that corncob is still firmly inserted up your butt, Mother,”
said the ghost.
21