“I'm sorry to interrupt,” Lucy said. “It's time for photographs. Miranda is waiting in the foyer.” Miranda was the eldest of the three Gorgon sisters and a professional photographer. It didn't surprise me that she’d been hired to photograph the event.
“Come along, honey,” Elsa said, dragging Daniel by the hand.
Daniel resisted slightly and I noticed Elsa frown. “You know what? I think we should grab a quick drink before we have our photos taken.”
“I can grab you both drinks,” Lucy offered. Elsa waved her off.
“I know what Daniel likes,” she said. “I like to be the one to take care of my man.”
Lucy shrugged. “I'd hurry if I were you. It's never a good idea to keep a Gorgon waiting.”
Amen to that. Nobody wanted to piss off Althea. Her stare might not turn you to stone anymore, but it might make you pee your pants.
Markos waited until they were out of earshot to speak. “Well, I guess it's nice to see her doting on him. She's normally so self-centered.”
Lucy's laugh tinkled. “It's funny, isn't it? Most of the time, she’s the same old Elsa. Making demands. Bossing him around. With certain things, though, she’s adamant about doing it for him. Sometimes I expect her to cut his meat for him. It's bizarre.”
“He still seems smitten,” I said. It was hard to keep the disappointment out of my voice.
Markos cast a sidelong glance at me. “He's a fool, Emma. Plain and simple. I must admit, though, that I hope his loss might eventually be my gain.” He gave me a look that left me in no doubt as to what his true intentions were.
“I'm flattered, Markos,” I said. “But I meant what I said before. I'm not in a place in my life where a relationship makes any sense. There's too much on my plate right now. I mean it about wanting to be friends, though. I can never have too many friends in Spellbound.”
He extended a hand. “Can friends dance together in your world?”
I accepted his hand. “Absolutely.”
Together we made our way to the dance floor. He moved just as well as the night I’d seen him dance at his own party. He was a natural, unlike me. I managed to bumble my way through the next few songs, praying that I didn't knock anyone over. At least Markos was tall and solidly built. There was little chance of me injuring him.
A slow song began and he pulled me gently into his arms. He was so tall that I had to crane my neck to see his face.
“I’m sure it isn’t easy for you,” Markos said, gazing into my eyes. “But I’m glad you came.”
“Me too,” I said, and I hoped by the end of the evening that I actually meant it.
Chapter 8
I was relieved the next day when Gareth reminded me that I had another appointment with Dr. Catherine Hall. As strange as she was, I needed someone to vent to after the engagement party, even if I only ended up complaining about the weather.
I sat down on the red velvet wingback chair and Catherine handed me a glass of her other favorite drink, Arrogant Bitch.
“Are you sure we shouldn’t be having herbal tea or something?” I asked. Tea seemed much more appropriate in a therapist’s office.
“Tea is for weaklings who can’t handle their liquor,” Catherine said dismissively. She narrowed her eyes. “You're not one of those, are you? If you are, we might need to rethink our relationship.”
“We need to rethink our therapist-client relationship because I don't want to drink hard alcohol in the middle of the day?” Someone's priorities were out of order and it wasn't me.
“Listen, I've been around for a lot longer than you. Trust me when I tell you that people are always more interesting when they've had a little alcohol in their system.”
“But I'm not trying to be interesting,” I countered. “I'm trying to get therapy.”
Catherine rolled her eyes. “Then what's in it for me if you’re not interesting? I don’t do this job for the money.”
She certainly had an interesting attitude toward her role as a therapist. I decided to roll with it.
“Is Thalia of a similar mindset?” I asked.
Catherine sucked down more of her drink. “That precious flower? Are you kidding me? She's about as entertaining as a fly on a unicorn’s butt. It boggles the brain that people want to confess anything to her.”
“Well, I'm not really confessing anything,” I said. “We're just talking. I'm supposed to tell you how I feel.” I hesitated. “That’s how therapy is supposed to work, right?”
Catherine rolled her hand in an effort to say ‘yes, yes, get on with it.’ “What is it that you'd like to talk about today?”
“Althea thinks it will be helpful if I talk about my mother's death,” I said, fidgeting. It wasn’t an easy topic for me. “She thinks I keep a lot of things bottled up and that it prevents me from expressing my feelings.”
Catherine nibbled on a piece of ice. “Who doesn’t? We’re all powder kegs on the verge of explosion. Okay then, tell me the story. How did she die?”
“She drowned when I was three,” I said. I felt the knots forming in my body as I spoke. “It was hard for a few years after that. My father didn't cope very well at first. It forced me to grow up fast. To take care of both of us.” Catherine choked back laughter and I stiffened in my chair. “I'm sorry. Did I say something funny?”
“Yes, your mother drowned when you were little. That's very sad.” She pretended to wipe a fictitious tear from her eye. “I can do you one better. Try coping when both of your parents drown at the same time.”
My eyes widened. “Both your parents drowned?” I immediately felt terrible for raising the subject.
“We were traveling by ship to America from Liverpool, back when crossing the ocean was the only way to get anywhere. The ship was attacked by a Kraken. We lost half the crew and a third of the passengers, including my parents.”
“A Kraken? I thought those were make-believe.”
“Says the young witch in therapy with a vampire.”
Good point. “How old were you?”
“Ten,” she said, showing no emotion whatsoever. “I left Liverpool with a family and arrived in New York as an orphan.”
I sucked in a breath. “Wow. Makes my experience sound so tame.”
“I know. Right?” She wiggled her fingers. “What else have you got for me?”
I wanted to talk more about her experience. What happened to her after that? She obviously became a vampire later in life. How did she cope all of those years? Who raised her? I could tell by her stony expression that my inquiries would get me nowhere.
“Do you ever talk about your experience?” I prodded.
“All the time,” she said. “It's part of my approach to therapy. You tell me what happened to you and I tell you how it could’ve been worse.”
So her style was competitive vampire therapist. At least I knew early on what to expect.
“Did you like your mother?” Catherine asked.
“I loved her with all of my heart,” I said, bringing my knees to my chest. “She gave the best hugs in the world. And she gave me my stuffed owl, Huey. I treasured him.” Until the day I arrived in Spellbound and left him behind forever.
“Why did you love her? How did she make you feel special?” She tapped her nails impatiently on the side of her glass, making a hollow, clicking sound.
“I don't have a lot of specific memories,” I said. “More like bits and pieces of a puzzle. Images will flash in my mind. Or I’ll smell something that reminds me of her.”
“My mother told me every day that I was the most beautiful girl in the world,” Catherine said. “She told me there wasn't a person of the world who wouldn’t love me because I was so wonderful. She smelled like rainbows and unicorns.”
I nearly laughed, except I got the distinct impression that she was serious. “I don't know what unicorns and rainbows smell like.”
She shook her head sadly. “That's a shame. You should go to the pasture one of these days and find yoursel
f a unicorn. You haven't really experienced life until you see one up close.”
“Is there a special pasture where they hang out?” I would definitely put that at the top of my list.
“I would try near Curse Cliff. Whenever I need to be reminded of my mother, I drive over there and find one to rub its horn.” She shrugged. “It’s good luck.”
I made a mental note. It was hard to believe I hadn’t seen one yet.
“You said your father fell apart after your mother's death,” Catherine said. “What sorts of things did he do?”
“At the time, I thought he was very sad. Now that I’m older, I see that he was severely depressed. He couldn't get out of bed. He couldn't do daily tasks without great effort, if at all. I learned how to take care of him and the house.”
“That's nothing,” Catherine said. “After my parents died, I stopped talking for two years. I was a selective mute. People in America didn't know I could talk until one day I opened my mouth and sound came out again.”
“That's incredible,” I said. “What made you start talking again?”
“I don't remember. I just did.” She inclined her head. “You're not crying.”
I touched my face self-consciously. “Do you want me to cry? Is that a requirement?”
“No, I have no tolerance for crybabies. Quite the opposite in fact. Crying gets in the way of good conversation.”
I’d have to bear that in mind.
“You seem to have managed rather well in life,” she said. “Are you sure you've been impacted by your parents’ death?”
What kind of question was that? “I don't think there’s an orphan on earth who could possibly say that they weren’t negatively impacted by the death of their parents.”
Catherine shrugged. “I guess so. Still, you did well in school. You went to law school. You obviously found a way to do more than survive.”
“Maybe. I'm not very good with relationships, though. Or at least I haven't been until I came here.”
Catherine polished off the rest of her drink and set the glass on the coffee table. “What do you think is different about here? Other than the obvious addition of horns and wings.”
I examined my nails, thinking. “I don't know. Maybe because Spellbound is so different that I’ve been focused on things other than my emotional baggage.”
“So you've made friends, but you still didn't manage to confess your feelings to Daniel before he chose someone else. That's gotta sting, right?”
For a therapist, she wasn't very sensitive. “This again?”
“This again. I mean, the party was last night. You went. How was it?”
“Hard,” I admitted.
“Why didn’t you tell him last night? It would’ve been quite the story around town.”
I gasped. “I couldn’t do that last night.”
“Apparently you couldn’t do it any night.”
I sighed. “You're right. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't manage it. I was afraid that he wouldn't return my feelings and I’d lose him forever, the way I lost my parents.”
“But you didn't lose your parents because you loved them,” Catherine pointed out. It was the most sensible thing she’d said yet.
“We’ve become such good friends,” I explained. “I rely on him for support and enjoy his company so much that I couldn't risk making things awkward between us.”
“Well, mission not accomplished. He's engaged to someone else. Things will certainly be awkward now.” She leaned forward and patted me on the shoulder. “Good job, Emma.”
I shook her off. “Okay, no need to be mean about it.”
“You think you've got it bad,” she said. “Let me tell you my horrific love story. His name was Liam.”
“Human or vampire?” I asked.
“I was a vampire. He was a vampire slayer. You can see the problem already, can’t you?”
“I'm sorry, Catherine. That's so tragic.” It was like a vampire Romeo and Juliet, except Romeo wasn’t trained to hunt and kill Juliet.
“He used a special sword to send me to a hell dimension. Later a witch’s spell resurrected me. And here I am.”
Her story sounded oddly familiar. Then it hit me. “Catherine, you’re making this up. That's the plot of season two of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.” Only the genders were reversed.
Catherine bit back a smile. “Damnation. I forget you came from the human world. I may have ways of tapping into your entertainment.”
It didn't surprise me. If the remedial witches had access to movies and television, I had to imagine that other supernaturals in town did as well.
“So have you ever been in love?” I asked.
Catherine nodded toward the glass in my hand. “You haven’t finished your drink.”
It didn't escape my notice that she changed the subject. There was a story there. I knew it. The sound of screeching bats interrupted us and I nearly jumped out of my seat. “What's that?”
“The timer, obviously. It's letting me know our session is over. It was broken during your first session, but I managed to get it fixed.”
“Oh.” I looked around the room in a daze. It seemed like I'd only been here for a few minutes.
“You can't leave until you finish your drink. I'll not have alcohol wasted on my watch.”
I dutifully swallowed the last of the Arrogant Bitch.
“See you next week?” she asked.
I hesitated. “Sure.” To be honest, I was afraid to say no. Maybe this was how she kept her clientele. Therapy by fear.
“Namaste,” she said with a friendly wave.
After therapy, I went to pay a visit to Janis Goodfellow. I’d visited her not too long ago, when I spoke with her about the youth spell on the town council. She’d been upset that they denied her request to grow nightshade and hemlock in her garden. She was an herbalist and considered it an important part of her vocation. Even if she wasn't the person who provided the nightshade to Will, she might know of other sources where he might have obtained it. Whether she would talk to me was another matter.
I didn't bother to knock on the front door. I walked around the house to the back garden where I knew I’d find her. Sure enough, she was tending to a group of plants along one of the many paths. In truth, it was a lovely garden. I just tried to make sure I didn't brush up against anything that might irritate my skin. Or kill me. Either one.
“If it isn't the most famous witch in Spellbound,” Janis greeted me. She tilted back her sun hat to get a better view of me. “What brings you back here? Have I been accused of casting another spell?”
“Not quite,” I said. I decided to get right to the point. “I’m defending a young werelion named Will.” I paused to see if the name evoked a response, but her expression remained neutral. “He was found in possession of nightshade.”
“Is that so? Well, that's interesting.”
“Astrid would like to know if he obtained the nightshade from you,” I said.
Janis barked a short laugh. “You mean Sheriff Astrid? Yes, I bet she would.”
“You have to admit, if someone is selling nightshade and other poisonous plants on the black market, Spellbound might have a problem.”
Janis returned her attention to the plants in front of her. “I'll admit no such thing. That's what happens when rules get in the way. People feel forced to do foolish things.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “So are you saying that you helped this werelion?”
Janis smirked. “I've said nothing of the kind.”
“Janis, I’m trying to help this person. It's my job to defend him. I'm not out to get you, despite what you think.” I tried very hard to keep the irritation out of my voice, but I didn't think I was doing a very credible job.
She glanced skyward. “No familiar today? Was your owl unimpressed with the feeding grounds behind my house last time?”
“Never mind Sedgwick,” I said. “I’m trying to do my job.”
She met my gaze and I s
aw the flash of anger in her eyes. “And so am I. My job is herbalist. That means providing plants of all varieties, including deadly ones. They are an important part of herbology in a coven. The sooner Spellbound recognizes this, the better.”
Janis had a whiff of a domestic terrorist about her. Was it possible she was spreading the possession of nightshade to make a point? If that was the case, then poor Will was going to pay the price for her zeal.
“Listen, if you change your mind, you know where to find me,” I said. “I really do have his best intentions at heart. I don't want him to go to prison for five years for this.”
“Just out of curiosity,” she said, “where does he say he obtained the nightshade?”
“He claims that he found it grazing as a werelion in the countryside,” I said. “But I can tell he's lying.”
She nodded briefly. “Did he say what he intended to do with it?”
“Not yet,” I said. “I hope to get that out of him during our next meeting. The more I know about the situation, the easier it is for me to defend him. I’d prefer that he only serves community service. He seems like a nice guy and I can tell he's hiding something.”
“If I hear anything, I'll let you know,” Janis said, and resumed tending to her plants.
I couldn't tell whether she was being polite to get rid of me or she actually meant it. Either way, that was my cue to leave.
“Thanks, Janis. I really do appreciate it.”
Will Heath entered my office, looking as surly and shaggy as the last time I’d seen him. He walked straight to the chair and dropped into it like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“Nice to see you again, Will,” I said. “Have you had a chance to think about our last meeting?”
He shrugged. “Was I supposed to think about something in particular?”
“You were going to consider telling me where you acquired the nightshade,” I said. “I went to see Janis Goodfellow. She wouldn't give me any concrete information, but my gut tells me that she wasn’t the one who gave it to you.”
Better Than Hex (Spellbound Paranormal Cozy Mystery Book 5) Page 7