by Amber Foxx
Kate thought about it. Jamie returned to the coffee bar and refilled his cup. He was hardly what she’d call fat. A little overweight, but graceful enough to carry it, and reasonably good-looking in an off-beat way. He was a local celebrity of sorts. She’d assumed Dahlia might be chasing him for the reasons women chased performers in general. His revelation changed the picture. If Mae’s guess was right, Dahlia would keep getting new victims. She might not get Andrea or Jamie, but sooner or later Jill would tell her about some other student of Fiona’s, or some gifted new healer would move to Santa Fe and Dahlia would show up as a client. The only way to stop her was the way Mae had suggested—at the source, not victim by victim—but this might not be safe.
Kate asked Mae, “Can you really heal Dahlia? I thought that was how everyone lost their power.”
Bernadette spoke up before Mae could answer. “Not everyone. Ximena, Fiona, and Gaia. All Hilda did was talk with Dahlia. Mary Kay and Azure are psychics, not healers. They made a connection with her that way, like I assume you did. If we could figure out why you were immune to her, maybe Mae could use that factor—”
As other people entered the lobby, Bernadette cut her words off and rose to join Jamie at the coffee bar. To Kate’s dismay, the people coming in from the patio were the same family with the wandering child who had tried to play with Lobo the day before. The parents were engaged in conversation with each other, ignoring their daughter. The child lunged for Lobo again, running at him, arms wide, shouting, “Doggie!”
There was no point in talking to this family. Kate spoke to Lobo instead, her hand on his harness, and the dog held perfectly still.
Jamie looked alarmed, though. “Jeezus.” He dropped his coffee on the counter—upright, somehow—and ran to stop the little girl, grabbing her shoulders as she was about to seize Lobo’s muzzle. “Don’t do that.” His voice trembled. “You could get hurt.”
The parents stopped their progress down the corridor, looking back as if they had just discovered they might have a daughter. Lobo showed a similar level of detachment, but more alertness. Kate patted him and praised him. The little girl pouted at Jamie and ran off after her parents, who resumed their stroll and conversation without waiting for her to catch up.
“Fuck.” Jamie seemed unsteady or light-headed. He staggered back from Lobo and leaned against the coffee bar. “Scared the crap out of me for a second.”
Kate had to admit that with his fear of dogs he’d been brave. A less well-trained dog might have bitten the child. “Thanks for intervening,” she said. “But I knew he’d be all right.”
“He’s amazing. Doesn’t growl or anything.”
“No.” Kate rubbed Lobo’s head. “Only at Dahlia.”
“Seriously?”
“Sometimes his hair even stands up. We pulled in at Tim’s place last night at the same time she was going out to her car, and you’d think Lobo had smelled a bear or something.”
Jamie retrieved his coffee and sank onto the couch. His hands were shaking so much he failed in an attempt to drink. Mae sat beside him and patted his leg, but he didn’t respond to her. He looked at Lobo for a while. The dog lay down and grunted. “She makes me feel strange like that, too,” Jamie said. “Cold stuff coming off her like dry ice.”
Bernadette returned to her perch on the edge of her chair. “I don’t think other people pick up on what you sense. She seemed perfectly normal to me when you pointed her out the other day.”
“I didn’t like her,” Kate said. “She annoyed me. But that doesn’t mean much, if you know me. If Lobo hadn’t growled, I wouldn’t have thought she was abnormal until I did her reading. Mae?”
Mae said, “She came across as shallow and conceited, but she was sort of friendly to me. Nothing witchy about her.”
Bernadette sipped her coffee, frowning, and put the paper cup on the end table beside her. “I think I’ve figured out why Kate is immune to Dahlia.” She turned to Kate. “It’s simple. Everyone she’s attacked has opened up to her, cared about her. Lobo growled and put your guard up. You didn’t trust her.”
“So Mae has to feel that way, too, to be safe to heal her.” Kate looked at the psychic. “Can you do that?”
Mae got up and refilled her coffee. “I don’t know. Her folks had me looking for her and I learned a lot about her childhood. She’s awful now, but she wasn’t always. I’ve got this—I can’t call it friendship—but I’ve got some kind of rapport with her. I might be able to shut it off. I’ve never done that, though, made myself not care about somebody. Especially not someone I was gonna heal.”
Jamie sat up straighter. “I put a spider outside and I still didn’t like it.”
“Sugar, that’s wonderful.” Mae beamed at him and then frowned. “I don’t see how it helps me stay safe from Dahlia, though.”
“Not you. Me. I can’t like Dahlia. You paint a target on her for me, since you know her story, tell me where to aim, what to send her for healing. Be like those robo-surgeon arms, y’know? And I could tell if it worked. So could Lobo.”
Robo-surgeon. Kate started to laugh and stopped herself. Jamie wasn’t joking. But if he did as little with his training as he’d said, he was nowhere near qualified to make good on his offer. Kate tried to think who else could do the work. If he had the aversion to Dahlia that he claimed, he might be the only immune healer. No, not quite. “What about Andrea? Does she know or like Dahlia?”
“Nah,” Jamie said. “Never met her. And I warned her about her.”
“So she could aim at Mae’s target as well as you could. If she joins the drum circle, she’ll have to play spiritual with Dahlia anyway and it’ll be the perfect set-up. Does she do any healing work?”
“On her massage clients. Sort of like I do when I brush my cat.”
“That’s a lot more than what you do when you brush your cat. Give me her number.”
“I don’t want her to get hurt.”
“She’s more experienced than you are. You’re the one that would get hurt. Anyway, it’s up to her if wants to say no. Will you give me her number? I’m sure I can find it some other way if you won’t.”
Making a scrunchy-mouthed face, he went through his contacts list and then brought Kate his phone, displaying the number. “Might say it scrambled if I read it to you.”
A heavy silver bracelet with gold trim and inlaid stones like little planets glittered on his wrist above the phone. The artwork was so beautiful Kate wanted to stare at it, but she entered the number and thanked him. Jamie returned to the couch and the muffins. Kate texted Andrea. Spirit World Fair would pay for her to apply to and join Jill’s drum group, and pay her to attempt to heal Dahlia. The money would come out of Mae’s projected pay, but Kate didn’t mention that. She would have to explain it to Mae first.
Bernadette started talking with Mae about her triathlon training. The conversation sounded natural except for the abrupt shift. Kate sent the message and looked up.
Jill, her arm around the waist of a slim brown man with collar-length hair, strolled into the lobby from the corridor of bedrooms. The man was around forty, dressed with casual, stylish elegance—a Latino GQ cover model. Jill’s cheeks glowed and she walked with a flaunting, sensual sway.
“I’m glad to see you’re working on your education, Miss Martin.” Jill beamed a gap-toothed smile at Mae, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Good morning, Bernadette, Kate.” She paused. “But why do we have Jamie Ellerbee at this conference? Don’t tell me you’re seriously studying healing.”
Before Jamie could answer, Jill turned back to Kate. “Miguel is my agent.” She loosened her hold on her male companion to rest a hand on his arm. “He’s very excited about my doing a talk at the fair. He thought I could preview my new book then.”
“You? At the fair?” Jamie looked from Jill to Kate. “What in bloody hell is going on?” Kate held up both her hands and lowered them as if she were pushing him down into a box. It didn’t work the way his father’s calm-down signal h
ad at the meeting. Jamie grew angrier. “I told you I’m not in if she is, and you fucking lied. You said you’d wait before you asked her—”
The man at the front desk called out, “You’ll need to quiet down, sir. We can’t have that kind of language.”
Jamie paced to the patio door, punching his fist into his palm.
Jill’s stage whisper was exactly that—staged, and loud. “Kate, dear, I warned you. If you need back-up, Miguel knows people who represent some good musicians. I’m sure we can help you out.”
Jamie spun on her. “Is that what you want? You think you can—fuck—I’ll do the bloody show then. I’ll—”
Jill aimed her smug flat-topped smile at him. “You’ll what?”
The clerk raised a warning finger. Jamie yanked the door to the patio open and strode out.
Kate glared at Jill. “I hadn’t told him yet. I wanted to break it tactfully.”
Jill’s mouth twisted to the side. She glanced at Miguel, then back at Kate. “I haven’t seen you do tact. Can you?”
“Not really. But I need you two to get along. Or put up with each other. Something. The fair’s riding on both of you, not one or the other. He may be temperamental, but I need him. You didn’t have to make those comments about getting back-up. Be the adult. Go make peace.”
Jill regarded Kate with mock awe, as if no one told Jill Betts what to do, but then Miguel nodded and inclined his head toward the open doors. Jill lost the sarcastic look and went out, her boots clicking on the flagstones.
“I’m not so sure that was a good idea,” Mae said. “I found out why he doesn’t like Jill.”
Miguel’s eyebrows lifted. If his ears could have pricked up like a dog’s, Kate thought they would have. Mae gave Miguel a defensive stare, took her phone out and texted. Kate read the message.
Kandy Kahee was Jamie’s best friend. She was a recovering alcoholic and Jill pushed her to drink. He blames Jill for her death.
No wonder Jamie had jumped to Hilda’s rescue in that ludicrous, desperate way. Kate muttered a quick thanks to Mae, roused Lobo and headed to the patio. She felt guilty and stuck, two of her least favorite feelings. Her hands craved to light a cigarette.
Miguel came up behind her. “I want to supervise this, too. I have a lot invested in Jill, as I’m sure you do in the Spirit World Fair.”
True, but Kate resented being paired with Jill’s agent at some level. She ignored him and wheeled hurriedly across the open space, Lobo trotting ahead, Miguel pacing behind.
Jamie stood at the edge of the cactus garden, still shoeless, facing Jill. The hot dry wind blew her hair toward him while his hair blew back, giving the odd effect that Jill was controlling the wind, sending her long silver threads at him. She held out her hands, palms up. “I told Kate I’d make peace with you.”
Jamie scowled. “Don’t even try.”
“Come, come. It’s a spiritual event.”
“Would be if you weren’t in it.”
Jill folded her arms. “I’m doing you and Kate and the rest of the board a big favor by being in it.”
“Pig’s arse. You’re doing it to be a star. Or so you can stand at a lectern on the Eight Northern campus.”
“I hardly need that kind of local publicity.”
“Nah. But you’d do it to piss off my dad. You’ve been aiming at him for years.”
“I think he took aim at me.” Jill stepped closer. Kate stopped a few yards from the arguing pair. She felt Miguel close on her back, and picked up a scent of mixed colognes and sweat. Jill probably had that same reek of infidelity on her, too. Jamie backed off from her at the same time Kate eased away from Miguel. Jill closed in again. “But my issues with your father aren’t about you and me, Jamie. I always thought we should be friends.”
He turned away from her, fists clenching and unclenching, and then massaged his forearms. Her hair blew onto him. He brushed it off with a cringing panic, as if he’d walked into a spider web. Kate wanted to yell at him to get it together. She wished she’d never sent Jill out to talk to him.
Jill said, “It would honor Rainbow’s memory if we made peace.”
Jamie faced her again. “Jesus. You, honor her? You wore her like your fucking jewelry, like some Indian accessory. Got rid of her when she didn’t flatter you anymore.”
Miguel murmured over Kate’s head. “This is not going well.”
“No shit. Are you going to butt in?”
“No.” He sounded amazed that she would ask. So much for supervising. “Are you?”
Jamie had been too angry to listen to reason even before things got his far, and Jill, Kate suspected, was too proud to quit a fight. If Kate intervened, she could have the fair’s key people pissed off at her as well as each other. Reluctantly, she said, “No.”
Jill pulled herself up tall. “What makes you say that?”
“You know bloody well. You made her give up—”
“You made her choose between us. That’s why she drank. I’m sure you feel terrible about it, but you can’t blame me. I was there. I know what happened.”
“Yeah—you gave her another drink when she could hardly walk. You fucking killed her.”
Kate and Miguel exchanged looks.
Jill took a long pause and adjusted her heavy necklace on her chest. “That’s cruel. And it’s perfectly absurd. You weren’t there. You left her. You have no idea what happened.” She stepped closer to Jamie and grabbed his arm, squeezing hard. “I cared very much about Rainbow. You let her down. She drank. She died. I lost her, too, and I haven’t held it against you.” Her jaw clenched and her eyes hardened as she seized him in a forced handshake. “Let everyone see we made peace.”
“Not a bloody chance.”
Jamie yanked both arms out of Jill’s grasp with a dramatic backward sweep, straight into a man-sized cactus. Kate gasped. She’d gotten an armful once and it had hurt for days. Jamie held up his hands, his palms a thicket of cactus spines, and stared at them, as silent as if he’d stopped breathing. Jill laughed. “Well, I guess we can’t shake on it.”
Miguel hissed Jill’s name in the tone of a parent with a misbehaving child.
“Oh, stop,” she snapped. “You saw I made an effort.”
Jamie turned from her and tried to wrap his arms around himself, only to recoil as his thorny hands took the pressure. His legs buckled the way they had after he’d stopped the child from touching Lobo, making him stagger into the same cactus. Lobo whimpered. Alarmed, Kate called to Jamie and hastened toward him, offering to help, but he bolted as if she’d come at him with a weapon. He stumbled frantically through the garden, crashing into several more cacti, and came to a stop between the two water-trickle stones, leaning one shoulder against the taller rock and breathing with hoarse vocalized gasps. What in the world had made him act like this?
Cactus blossoms had somehow gotten snagged on the thorns that stuck into his arms and chest, so he looked both deranged and weirdly festive. He had to be in agony, emotionally and physically. Kate wished she could get her chair into the rocky garden. It didn’t matter anymore that he’d annoyed her for weeks. Something was seriously wrong. She had a strange, painful urge to take care of him, and not in the condescending way Miguel was whispering to Jill, patting her shoulder and sending her off. Kate called out to Jamie again, but he didn’t seem to hear her.
Mae dashed past her and into the garden, dodging cacti and rocks to rush up to Jamie. A short, rotund security guard hastened across the patio from the furthest side of the hotel. At the same time, from the conference center, a long, lean Native man with graying hair in a double- folded bun ran to join them, his Western boots clattering. Kate recognized Carl Gorman. She’d interpreted his session on alternative therapies for mental illness that morning. He reached the cactus garden a few seconds after Mae and a few seconds before the guard.
“Please, let me help.” He spoke to the guard. “I’m a psychologist.”
“How do I know that?” the guard asked.
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br /> “I’m one of the presenters at this conference.” Dr. Gorman tapped a name badge on his shirt. “You can check the program.”
“I can vouch for that,” Kate said. “I sign interpreted his talk.”
Kneeling between the stones, Mae was pulling cactus spines out of one of Jamie’s legs. “It’s okay, sugar. Breathe slow. Hang in there. I don’t want you falling down with all these stickers in your knees.”
“Thank you.” Dr. Gorman acknowledged Kate with a respectful nod, and turned to the security guard again. “Could you ask your manager if there’s a room where I can—”
“I’ve already talked to the manager.” Bernadette’s voice surprised Kate, though it shouldn’t have. Of course she’d come out. She’d probably called Dr. Gorman. Or maybe he’d noticed on his own. Several people from the conference were out on the steps watching, some shooting pictures or video with their phones. “Mae can get Jamie to come in. Carl, thank you for coming out. Officer, he’s in good hands. Let us take care of him.”
Jamie looked like a frightened porcupine, quivering, staring, seemingly fixated on a short, fat barrel cactus that had sprouted a yellow flower at the bottom like a foot in a frilly sock. Mae kept reminding him to breathe. His gasps grew softer but shakier.
The guard frowned at him, glanced back at Dr. Gorman, and took his radio off his belt and spoke into it. “They got a psychologist here. He wants a place to check the guy out. Lady in a suit says she talked to you already.” A crackly voice answered, unclear to Kate, but the security officer said, “Gotcha. Over.” He turned to the doctor. “Follow me.” And then to Mae, implying Jamie was too incapacitated to communicate. “Ma’am, is this your friend? Will he come with you?”
“I think so.” She stood, placing herself between Jamie and the barrel cactus. The wind blew the water off the rocks in little rainbow sprays, moistening him. “Come on, sugar.”