Psy: Alien Castaways (Intergalactic Dating Agency) Read online

  PSY

  Alien Castaways 3

  Cara Bristol

  Psy (Alien Castaways 3)

  Copyright © October 2020 by Cara Bristol

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  eISBN: 978-1-947203-22-8

  Editor: Kate Richards

  Copy Editor: Nanette Sipe

  Proofreader: Celeste Jones

  Cover Artist: Croco Designs

  Formatting by Wizards in Publishing

  Published in the United States of America

  Cara Bristol

  https://carabristol.com

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Author’s Note

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  An Excerpt from Darak

  Other Titles by Cara Bristol

  Acknowledgements

  Author’s Note

  Although real places are mentioned in this story, the town of Argent, Idaho is fictitious.

  Locked in a prison of silence…

  Cassie Steward has not spoken a word. Ever. A congenital defect robbed her of the ability to speak. Craving independence from her overprotective, well-meaning mother, she gets a job at the antique store in their small town. Yet, she’ll always need to write notes to communicate.

  Then she meets Psy, an alien with telepathic abilities. From the moment his mind touches hers, the universe seems within her grasp, and she envisions fulfilling all her dreams with Psy at her side.

  Soon after encountering the beautiful, shy Cassie, Psy realizes she’s his genmate. It doesn’t matter she can’t talk—he loves her as she is. But as their telepathic connection deepens, he begins to suspect her inability to speak is more than a congenital happenstance. Something far more sinister appears to be keeping her a virtual prisoner.

  He’s certain his psychic powers can unlock the secrets in Cassie’s mind. But will revealing the truth liberate her…or destroy their bond?

  Psy: Alien Castaways 3

  By

  Cara Bristol

  Chapter One

  “Did you do anything exciting this weekend?” Verna peered over her shoulder as she flipped the window sign from CLOSED to OPEN.

  For once she had. Cassie smiled and scribbled in her notebook. Picked huckleberries. Mom and I made jam. She showed the note to her boss when she returned to the counter.

  “Huckleberry pie is the best. I always look forward to Huckleberry Days at Millie’s Diner. Huckleberry ice cream, cobbler…it’s all good. I never met a huckleberry I didn’t like.”

  You could pick your own berries. Bake a pie yourself.

  “Unfortunately, I eat ’em as fast as I pick ’em.” Her loud guffaw was open and honest, like Verna herself. Cassie had an ear for voices. She discerned a lot about a person’s character by their tonal variations. Verna’s raucous laugh had made quite an impression the day she and her mother had stopped into Timeless Treasures Antiques to window shop. A HELP WANTED sign had advertised for a clerk.

  That laugh had bolstered Cassie’s courage to defy her protective mother’s wishes and submit an application.

  “Honey, I don’t want you to be hurt,” her mother had argued. “The lady at the store can’t hire you. A clerk has to communicate with customers. You can’t speak.”

  I can write!

  “That works for you and me, but in a business setting…”

  I’m 23. Not a child. I want to try, she’d insisted.

  Her mother, her legal guardian, had veto power. Fortunately, although she disapproved, she hadn’t stopped Cassie from applying. And Verna had hired her! She had been over-the-moon thrilled, her mother less enthusiastic, still concerned she would lose the job and be crushed.

  That hadn’t happened, and as of yesterday, she had been employed at Timeless Treasures for three months. The residents of Argent learned of her disability and waited patiently for her to scribble a greeting or write out an answer to their questions. For out-of-towners, she kept a preprinted message in her notebook. Hello, I’m Cassie. I can’t speak, but I can hear, and I can write. How can I help you today?

  She loved her job and would be forever grateful to Verna for giving her a chance. On a fresh page in her notebook, she wrote, Find anything good at the estate auction?

  “Yes! I picked up several furniture pieces, which will be delivered later in the week. I brought home the small items and priced them last night. They’re on carts—if you’d put them out and arrange them. You know—work your usual magic.”

  It made Cassie feel good that her efforts were appreciated. She smiled, nodded, and headed for the storage area.

  An astute businesswoman, Verna had a good eye for appealing furniture and collectibles, but Cassie had a flair for merchandising. She didn’t randomly shelve items but arranged them in vignettes and tablescapes. Little by little, she’d reconfigured the store to resemble a home so customers could envision the items in their house.

  I’m creating what I’d like, she realized with a stab of guilt. She had a home—with her loving mother who’d devoted her life to caring for her and protecting her from anyone who might seek to take advantage of her naiveté and disability.

  She’d attended regular public school—although she’d started a year late, her mother believing the added maturity would compensate for her handicap. Academically, it seemed to have worked—she’d earned As and Bs—although she’d felt awkward being so much taller than the other kids. By high school, they’d caught up in height, so she’d blended in better, and she’d even had a boyfriend for several blissful weeks until he unexpectedly dumped her.

  She never, ever would wish to hurt her mother who had the best intentions, but the overprotectiveness smothered her sometimes. Getting the job represented one giant leap toward cutting the apron strings. She had cautioned herself to take it one step at a time—let her mother get comfortable with the idea of her working before attempting another bold move.

  She couldn’t define her yearning exactly, although she was certain she’d recognize it when she saw it—like the job at Timeless Treasures. The instant she’d entered the store and heard Verna laugh, she’d wanted the job more than she’d ever desired anything.

  Two utility carts were loaded with the weekend’s finds. Verna had taught her a lot in a few short months, the first lesson being the difference between antique and vintage. To be classified antique, an item had to
be at least one hundred years old so the wooden rolling pins, the butter churn, a brass coal bucket, a pine table top desk, an old iron—literally made of iron—lavender mason jars, and an equestrian picture fell into that category. Vintage meant the object hailed from an earlier generation, like the brass swivel-arm lamp, the art deco clock, the transistor radio, the black rotary-dial telephone, and a manual typewriter. As she examined the latter two items, an office-setting tableau took shape in her mind. She could pull from existing inventory to complete the scene.

  The other cart held an assortment of popular kitchen items—vintage casserole dishes, discontinued Fiestaware, two crystal liquor decanters, and a kitschy ceramic cookie jar in the shape of a bear.

  She picked up the jar carefully so the hat, which served as the lid, didn’t fall off. Her heart raced, and she broke out in a cold sweat as a wave of dizziness swept over her. She saw the cookie jar sitting on a white-tiled kitchen counter under an oak cabinet. Squeezing her eyelids tight, she tried to hold onto the image, but the mirage evaporated like they all did.

  She never had the same hallucination twice. A tree. A brief clip of a TV show she’d never seen. A headrest viewed from the back seat of a car. A stuffed animal with a missing ear. The mundane visions were never anything disturbing or scary—with one exception.

  Once, as a child, she and her mother had been in a grocery store when a shopper’s perfume had caused a surge of sadness so strong and sudden, she had burst into tears.

  “Honey, what’s wrong?” Her mystified mother had tried to comfort her.

  Too young to write yet, she’d been unable to explain—could only shake her head and cry. On occasion, when she passed a department store fragrance counter, she would sniff the samples in search of the scent, although she doubted she’d recognize it after all those years.

  The elusive nature of her visions drove her crazy. Why did she have them? What did they mean? Until today, she’d never had an actual physical item of something she’d seen.

  Clutching the cookie jar to her chest, she returned to the sales floor.

  A customer looked up from the vintage jewelry case. “Hello, how are you?” she shouted.

  “She’s not deaf! She can hear just fine!” Verna snapped.

  “Sorry. How are you?” the customer repeated in a lower volume.

  This wasn’t the first time she’d been treated like she was hard of hearing. People sometimes spoke too loudly, too slowly, or both. It got annoying, but what could she do? She pasted on a smile.

  The customer wandered off to browse, and Cassie set the cookie jar on the counter. She jotted, I would like to buy this.

  Verna waved at her. “You don’t need to buy it—take it. A bonus for your hard work.”

  She eyed the $59 price tag. Are you sure? It’s expensive.

  Verna glanced at the customer, now at the opposite end of the store, before whispering, “I got a good deal. I didn’t pay anything close to that. Take it.”

  She grinned. All right. Thank you.

  After stowing her treasure in her locker, she began arranging the new inventory.

  Emboldened by Verna’s earlier praise of her merchandising skills, she made an executive decision to swap out the dining scene in the window overlooking Main Street. After removing the china, crystal, silver, and candelabra, she turned the claw-footed oak table into a desk by adding the swivel-arm lap, black rotary-dial telephone, and the typewriter. She loaded a cherry sliding book rack with old hardbacks, including yellowed copies of the Gregg Shorthand Manual and the Complete Secretary’s Handbook.

  Verna rang up the customer’s purchase, a set of silver-plated flatware.

  “Bye, Cassie!” the woman shouted as she left the store.

  Verna rolled her eyes and muttered, “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”

  Cassie laughed and dragged an antique shelving unit to the front then stocked it with miscellaneous eye-catching bric-a-brac. A vintage standing globe completed the office scene.

  “Looks good!” Her boss flashed thumbs-up.

  How it looks from the outside is what matters, she wanted to say, but of course, she couldn’t. Casual moments like these frustrated her the most—to communicate, she’d have to stop working to write a note. Saying nothing was easier but left her feeling disconnected, disabled, and showed, no matter how hard she tried, she wasn’t normal. She was something other.

  She envied free-and-easy communication. People could toss a comment over their shoulder, yell from another room, call on the telephone, and whisper a comment at the movies. She couldn’t do any of those things and had no choice but to accept her condition and live with it.

  Shaking off the bout of self-pity, she returned her attention to the display and let out a squeak of alarm, surprised to see a man peering into the window. He seemed to be staring at her, although she couldn’t be sure because of his sunglasses. On the shorter side of six feet, he had a wiry physique and was dressed for summer in gray cargo shorts, a tan T-shirt, and flip-flops. Thick near-black hair swept back from a widow’s peak, making her aware of the straggles from her French braid clinging to her perspiring cheeks. She brushed at them, certain she looked a mess.

  He removed his sunglasses to reveal brown irises so large and dark, his eyes resembled two solid orbs. Her heart sped up, and her head swam with dizziness, but instead of experiencing that odd familiarity of a vision, she was pulled into his gaze, as if she’d plunged into a fathomless pool. A tornado of emotions churned. He’s…beautiful. Not just handsome, beautiful.

  He stepped away, vanishing from sight. Her knees wobbled, and she felt like crying for no good reason. And then the bell over the door jangled, and he entered.

  “What’s your name?” His voice hit about mid-range, masculine yet melodious. Smooth, so smooth. And those eyes! Piercing and gentle. Mysterious yet calm.

  “Gaaah, gaaaah.” A rusty, metal-on-metal grunt erupted from her mouth. Horror and humiliation burned from neck to hairline, and her throat felt like it would close up. How could she have forgotten she couldn’t speak?

  “Her name is Cassie,” she heard Verna say. “She’s unable to talk, but she uses a notebook. I’ll be in the rear if you need me.”

  Don’t leave! What was Verna doing? She couldn’t talk to this guy, this gorgeous man with the voice of an opera tenor.

  “Cassie, I’m Psy,” he said.

  Chapter Two

  Psy didn’t have to be a mind-reading Verital to sense Cassie’s embarrassment and humiliation. He hadn’t encountered another being with emotions as open as hers.

  She tossed out a panicked glance at the boss lady marching toward the rear of the store, before fumbling with a notebook. Frantically, she flipped the pages. When she found what she was looking for, she thrust out the pad. Hello, I’m Cassie. I can’t speak, but I can hear, and I can write. How can I help you today?

  “I spotted you dressing the window, and I wanted to meet you,” he said.

  She scribbled. Why?

  Because he couldn’t help it—he’d been pulled toward her, but that kind of honesty would be misunderstood rather than appreciated. Even he didn’t understand it.

  Strolling through Argent, as he’d neared Timeless Treasures, a wave of isolation and loneliness had surged through him so strongly, he’d almost mistaken the emotions for his own. Certainly, they had echoed his feelings.

  Other ’Topians avoided, even ostracized Veritals because of their telepathic abilities. Although his fellow castaways had become his surrogate family, some of them had distrusted him at first.

  Mind reading was no gift. People hid their vices for a reason. Uncovering the corruption, hatred, and malice buried in a person’s psyche left an indelible impression. He could wipe someone else’s memory but not his own, and the taint remained. If he inadvertently intercepted another’s thoughts, he blocked them. When called upon to assist someone, he secured the individual’s permission first. The Verital Code of Honor forbade sneaking into another pe
rson’s mind without their consent.

  Cassie was a strong emotional emitter. Her feelings had washed over him, but rather than scare him off, they’d beckoned him. Observing her work from across the street, he’d marveled at how she’d transformed a bunch of primitive tools and objects into a pleasing array. He had no idea what half the items were—yet the way she arranged them looked nice.

  However, it was less her talent, and more the woman herself who’d intrigued him. He’d watched until an elderly gentleman emerged from the bait and tackle shop to inquire if he was lost. In many ways, he was, but now he sensed the map to find his bearings might be located across the street at Timeless Treasures.

  He’d thanked the man for his concern and crossed the road. Up close, the woman took his breath away. She moved with graceful precision. Her white teeth nibbled her full lower lip as she concentrated. Her expressive green eyes lit up when she found satisfaction with the placement of an object and flashed with annoyance when something fell short of her expectations. Her braided hair hung in a long, gleaming rope over her shoulder.

  He had to meet her. Had to speak to her. He’d charged inside the store.

  That she couldn’t talk stunned him for a moment, but he quickly recovered, realizing it didn’t matter. Then she’d shown him the pre-written message, and he wrestled with disappointment, wishing the note had been written for him alone.

  The question still needed to be answered. Cassie waited, an attractive blush creeping up to her hairline.

  “I liked what you did with the display,” he said, struggling to make sense of his riotous feelings. He’d just met this woman.

  She flipped to another preprinted message. Can I help you find something? Are you shopping for something specific?

  “No.” He found himself uncharacteristically at a loss for words. His gaze scrambled across the window display before landing on a wood and glass object. “What is this? What does it do?”