Man of her Dreams. Debra Webb

      WHEN HER LAST STUDENT had gone, Darby rushed from the school without exchanging the usual pleasantries with her friends and co-workers. She had to hurry. She pedaled as fast as she dared in the afternoon traffic. She had made up her mind that she needed help for this. The kind of help only a self-professed psychic could give.

      She’d heard the other teachers talk about Madam Talia. Some even admitted to having had their futures told by the woman. Madam Talia had a reputation for being the best in New Orleans. One of those magazine talk shows had even done a special program on her. Darby wasn’t exactly sure she believed in that sort of thing, but she didn’t have anything to lose. If the woman knew anything at all about clairvoyance, she was way ahead of Darby. That was all that mattered at the moment.

      Madam Talia’s shop boasted a landmark location on the corner of Bourbon Street. Well, Darby deduced as she parked her bike on the sidewalk and locked it securely, at the very least the lady was making a living. She had to be doing something right. Surely Darby would sense if the woman was a fake.

      There was only one way to find out.

      An older woman dressed much like any typical receptionist met Darby in the small lobby. Surprisingly, the waiting room was decorated in an elegant and conservative manner. It was nothing like she’d expected.

      “My name is Darby Shepard,” she told the receptionist. “I’d like to see Madam Talia. It’s very important.”

      The lady, who was dressed in just as quietly elegant a fashion as the office was decorated, smiled patiently. “I’m very sorry, Ms. Shepard, but you’ll need to make an appointment. Madam Talia is booked weeks in advance. She doesn’t take walk-ins.”

      Darby’s hopes fell. But she had to see her today. Desperation surged. “I’ll only take a minute,” she countered. “It’s extremely important. I really need to see her today.”

      The woman looked sympathetic but said, “I sympathize with your urgency, but there’s simply nothing I can do. Madam Talia is with a client as we speak and she expects her next appointment to arrive shortly.”

      Darby heaved a sigh. Oh well. The whole idea had been foolish anyway, she supposed. She’d just have to go home and see what she could do on her own.

      “Thanks anyway,” she offered, then turned to leave. Worry gnawed at her insides. She had to help those children. She should have tried before now, shouldn’t have been such a coward. If something happened to them, it would be partly her fault for not trying to help sooner.

      “Ms. Shepard.”

      Darby wheeled around at the sound of the new voice that called her name. Though she had never met Madam Talia, she knew instinctively that the refined lady who had addressed her was, indeed, the woman she wanted to see.

      “Come this way, Ms. Shepard.”

      Unable to find her voice, Darby followed. The receptionist said nothing more as she resumed her seat behind her well-polished desk.

      Madam Talia led Darby down a long narrow corridor and then into a small room that resembled the parlor in her mother’s home. The upholstered furnishings were New Orleans red, the wood detailing a rich mahogany.

      “Please make yourself comfortable,” her hostess suggested with a wave of her arm.

      Darby sat in one of the chairs flanking a small table. Madam Talia settled in the one adjacent to her.

      “I’ve been wondering when I would meet you,” she said to Darby.

      Startled, Darby smiled. “I…I don’t understand.”

      “I’ve always known you were here, Ms. Shepard,” Madam Talia said. “I just didn’t know why, but I think that’s about to change.”

      Emotion surged into Darby’s throat. She resisted the impulse to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. “I need your help,” she said tightly.

      “You seek the children, do you not?”

      Darby nodded. Tears stung her eyes. How could she know? She started to ask but changed her mind. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she could help. Darby didn’t have to wonder, she knew the answer, felt it to the very core of her being. This woman was the real thing.

      “I’ve seen him,” Darby whispered. “I just don’t know how to focus. I don’t know where he is.” She shrugged. “The woods…water. I don’t know.”

      “I’ve searched for him myself,” Madam Talia admitted. “But he eludes me. But then you understand that, don’t you?”

      Darby shook her head. “I don’t understand any of it.”

      The older woman took her hand. A rush of energy shot up to Darby’s shoulder. She trembled at the intensity of it.

      “We see what we’re destined to see. At least most of us do. I’m not so sure about you. You’ve spent too much time blocking…suppressing your gift. You may have a much larger gift than the rest of us.”

      Darby tried hard to restrain the shaking that had started in her limbs, but she wasn’t entirely successful. “I dream sometimes. See things that don’t always make sense. That’s all.”

      Madam Talia laughed softly. “You have no idea what you’re capable of, my dear. You’ve come to me for guidance, for focus and yet you possess a gift far more powerful than my own.” She reached for Darby’s other hand. “Let us meditate a moment.”

      Madam Talia closed her eyes. Darby moistened her lips and tried to calm her racing heart, but that wasn’t happening this side of the grave. Still uncertain of herself, she closed her eyes as well and tried to relax, tried to open her mind to the sensations she knew were out there…waiting.

      Energy whirled around her…around them. She could feel its power; it was like standing too close to an electrical plant’s substation and feeling the tiny hairs stand up on your skin.

      The images came in clipped flashes, too fast to interpret. Fast and furious. Children, the woods, the water, the flowers growing in pots. Lots and lots of posies growing in pots on the porch of a dilapidated old shack. Near the water.

      Her breath stalled in her lungs when she looked directly into clear gray eyes. The scar stood out in stark relief on his cheek. The stubble of two days’ beard growth darkened his jaw. He taunted the children, laughed at their cries.

      Ring a-round the roses. Pocketful of posies.

      Sensation after sensation slammed into Darby. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

      She was there.

      The children.

      Anna…the boy…and another girl.

      But Darby had to hurry.

      The hum of energy died as abruptly as it had started. Her eyes opened and Madam Talia stared directly at her.

      “What did you see?” she asked, her voice weak, frail. She looked weary.

      Had joining hands with Darby done that to her?

      Suddenly the vision came back to her in one rapid whoosh. The cabin, the flower pots, the children.

      “I know where they are.”

      The words were scarcely a whisper, a thought spoken.

      Darby was on her feet before the command left her brain. She had to find them.

      “No,” Madam Talia said, her voice firm now, her expression hard. “You go to the police. Let them find the children. Do not go into the woods, Darby Shepard. Go home.” Her eyes widened and she looked suddenly afraid. “Better lock your door.”

      FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Darby walked into the precinct office at Jackson Square. She remembered the detective who’d questioned her last evening. Still had his card.

      Her