The Vanishing Stair (Truly Devious #2)(20)

Each illuminated figure pulsed with hot energy that created constantly shifting, complex patterns. Every man, woman and child was a three-ring circus with various performances taking place simultaneously. For those with the vision to see it, the truth was that humans really could walk and chew gum at the same time. It was an unnerving talent.

Each individual was capable of thinking about a problem at work while anxiously trying to ignore the new chest pains. A person could carry on a conversation on the phone that elicited a range of conflicting emotions, all of which seethed in his or her aura. Some people she passed were hovering on the verge of an anxiety attack. Some were brooding. Some were angry.

And for Catalina, the sense of a potential threat did not end once a person had moved out of range, because she was forced to wade through the hot energy of the footprints that had been left behind. Sure, in most cases the prints cooled rapidly and faded into the countless footsteps that had already been laid down on the sidewalk. But the speed with which most prints sank to the undetectable level was no help when you were trying to dodge the still-fresh energy tracks of a man who wanted to hit someone or a person who was mired in deep depression.

A few of those she passed left prints so hot and so tainted with unwholesome energy that they would burn for hours before they cooled to the point where they were no longer disturbing.

She found herself playing a game of hopscotch on the sidewalk, hastily sidestepping a hot print, skipping over one that seethed with some very unstable energy, darting around a trail of footsteps that boiled with rage.

She was all too aware that those who noticed her weaving a convoluted path down the sidewalk concluded that she was just another crazy street person, albeit one who was better dressed than the average bag lady. They avoided eye contact and adjusted their own courses to give her plenty of room.

Deep down, in spite of all the training her parents had provided and all the tricks she had learned to employ in order to pass for normal, sometimes she did wonder if maybe she really was one of the crazies.

She jumped or flinched or otherwise reacted to every odd spike in every aura around her and to each hot print on the sidewalk. She was constantly in fight-or-flight mode. How could that possibly be normal?

Two more blocks. The woman in the dark blue jacket radiated the thin, irregular energy of chronic stress. Catalina’s senses registered her as No immediate threat.

The man passing on the left had shafts of anger spiking in his aura. Potential threat. Catalina quickened her pace to move out of range. The angry man did not notice her. His rage was directed at someone or something else, but that didn’t make him any less dangerous. People with anger management issues often lashed out at anyone who got in their way.

The young man coming toward her was glued to his phone. Whatever he was viewing was creating spikes of intense excitement that Catalina’s senses interpreted as unhealthy obsession or addiction. She decided he was probably playing a game. No threat.

Cell Phone Guy was clearly unaware of the woman on the bicycle approaching him from behind. She, in turn, was focusing her attention on a car, not on Cell Phone Guy.

A vision of the bicyclist crashing into Cell Phone Guy and sending both of them into the street where they would be struck by a car ghosted across Catalina’s senses. Threat. Her intuition was alerting her, telling her to move out of the way so that she didn’t get tangled up in the imminent collision.

She overrode the warning, grabbed Cell Phone Guy by the arm and hauled him out of the path of the bicyclist. In the process he dropped the phone on the sidewalk.

“What the hell?” Cell Phone Guy yelped in startled surprise and a flash of panic.

“Sorry,” Catalina said. “I’m really sorry. I thought—”

“What’s going on?” Slater’s voice crackled in her ear.

She ignored him because Cell Phone Guy had just scooped up his phone and was glaring at her. His aura was flaring with anger now.

Potential threat.

“Are you crazy, lady?” he snarled.

The bicyclist whipped past, heedless of the near collision. “Catalina, talk to me,” Slater ordered.

“Not now,” she said. She lowered the phone to deal with Cell Phone Guy. “I’m so sorry. I thought that bicyclist was going to run into you. Is your phone okay?”

Cell Phone Guy’s anger began to fade but he was clearly annoyed. He glared and then he examined his phone. Relief spiked for an instant in his aura before it was demolished by another wave of angry alarm. He started checking his pockets. She sighed.

“I didn’t take your wallet,” she said.

When he discovered his wallet was where it was supposed to be he gave her one last disgusted glare and walked swiftly away.

“Everything okay?” Slater asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Some guy on a phone was about to get hit by a woman on a bicycle. At least I think he was about to get hit. It looked like both of them were going to wind up in the street and maybe get struck by a car. I pulled the man out of the way. He dropped his phone in the process. Let’s just say he was not particularly grateful.”

“No good deed—”

“Goes unpunished. I know.”

“How far away are you?”

“About two blocks.”

“Walk fast. You’re making me nervous.”

“How do you think I feel?”