Mind Games by Christine Amsden Read Free Book Online

sometimes. When it did, a sleep spell was the only thing I knew that could help. But I didn’t live at home anymore and I couldn’t exactly call Mom to ask her to drive twenty minutes to my house in the middle of the night.
    Work beckoned to me the next morning, rested or not, so I brewed my wakefulness potion to cast aside the residual drowsiness. Madison, who would be starting her first day of student teaching, looked like she could use some as well so I passed her a cup.
    “Thanks,” she said, taking a sip. Then her eyes widened and color flooded into her cheeks. “You’d better watch out, this stuff could be way more addictive than coffee.”
    It was way more addictive than coffee, which was why I refused to brew it more than a handful of times a month, and only when I really needed it. Usually, one sleepless night wouldn’t be enough for me to decide I needed it, but it had been nearly a month since the last time I’d brewed it and Mondays could be chaotic. Maybe it was the start of the new school year or the talk about magical unification, but something told me it would be a good day to stay alert.
    As if to confirm my feelings, the sheriff called me into his office the moment I walked into the station.
    “Hiya, Boss,” I said as I entered his office. I paused when I spotted the new deputy seated across the desk from the sheriff. I shut the door softly and took the last vacant chair in the room.
    “Cassie, this is Wesley Blake,” Sheriff Adams said.
    I took the opportunity to look at Wesley, trying to take his measure, but he was a closed book. Nothing about him stood out in any way – short brown hair, blue eyes, rounded chin, hopelessly average build and height. He didn’t smile when he saw me, nor did he frown or give me a dirty look. It was almost as if he was trying to take the measure of me as well, and in the process thwarting both of our efforts.
    He held out his hand to shake mine and I accepted the gesture, firm and sure. An odd tingle of awareness stole over me, something that at any other time I might have taken for a slight stirring of interest, but in this case it didn’t make much sense. Wesley was at least ten years older than me and while not unattractive, hardly my usual type.
    “Wesley’s replacing Rick,” Sheriff Adams said, bringing me back to reality.
    Repressing a groan, I took a fresh look at the newcomer to the office. The sheriff had this strange idea about pairing me with a non-believer, a sort of Mulder and Scully match. But, as I tried to explain to the sheriff, Scully wasn’t blind, she was analytical. Rick, on the other hand, wouldn’t believe David McClellan’s death might have had anything to do with werewolves when we found his half-eaten carcass the day after the night of a full moon. At least he’d quit soon after that, because he really would have hated my assertion that David’s death probably had something to do with the dangerous items he sold at his shop. I came to that conclusion after the medical examiner pronounced that David had not died from the animal attack, but had already been dead at the time. With the body in such bad shape, the M.E. hadn’t been able to tell us how he had died.
    “Nice to meet you, Wesley,” I said, drawing my hand back. To the sheriff, I said, “Another Scully?”
    Wesley blinked in confusion, but the sheriff just smiled. “Wesley isn’t from around here so it is possible that he’ll bring a fresh perspective.”
    “Where are you from?” I asked.
    “St. Louis. I was a cop there for five years.”
    “Why did you come here?” I asked.
    He shrugged. “I thought the city was too violent. I wanted fewer murders and a slower pace of life.”
    I almost laughed. “You might have come to the wrong place. Come on, I’ll show you around.” I paused at the door. “You giving him Rick’s old station?”
    “Yep.”
    That meant he’d be working right next to me. Not that it mattered, since I typically spent little time at