Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The triad of a perfect day: tea, trauma, and therapy.
The living room of Summer Grove House looked like a séance gone wrong.
I sat on the sofa, clutching a mug of tea while six ghosts argued over the television remote.
I think one of them was the previously naked dude going to town on his lady, but I couldn’t be sure now that he had jeans and a checkered shirt on.
Judging by their clothing, the six of them had been dead for varying lengths of time, but all of them had opinions about channel selection and none of them had a volume control.
Harry hovered in front of the screen like a self-appointed moderator. “We are not watching The Sixth Sense again. It’s inaccurate and deeply offensive.”
A woman in a floral dress from the 1950s crossed her arms. “It’s a classic, Harold.”
Who?
Rebecca tutted from her place beside me, and Harry sighed. “For the last time, it’s Harry.”
“That’s what I said.”
The remote shot through two ghosts and hit the wall. “I want Scream,” a teenage girl dressed in a cheerleading uniform snapped. She flicked her bouncy blonde ponytail over her shoulder. I had enough drama without adding supernatural mean girls to the list.
“That movie was shit,” the guy in jeans groaned. “It was a joke.”
The girl fanned her face. “Give me a man in a mask any day, and I’ll show him a good time.”
Everyone stared at her. “Is she sexualizing a guy who murders for fun?” Rebecca muttered.
I squinted at the movie and willed myself away from this. It didn’t work. What did a girl need to do to get an hour of alone time to enjoy her tea?
The TV cycled through Poltergeist, Ghostbusters, and Casper. I needed something stronger in my cup for this.
Bella, perched on the arm of the couch next to me, flicked her tail like a metronome of judgment. When one ghost drifted too close, she swatted at the air and hissed.
“Can we not antagonize the spirits? It’s too early.”
Harry ignored me, turning to a pair of newly deceased lovers in the corner I’d somehow missed. “And please, for the love of decency, keep your clothes on. No one wants to see spectral anatomy before breakfast.”
Wait, was that the guy? I tilted my head to glance at his bare ass. No, those buns were definitely meatier. What did it say about my home that I could identify a ghost by his bottom rather than his face?
The man clutched his transparent trousers, scandalized. “We’re spirits, not exhibitionists!”
“Tell that to my eyes,” I grumbled.
The kitchen floorboards creaked, and Maggie skipped in, clutching a tray piled with something steaming and orange. “I made snacks.” The ghosts paused in their arguments to stare.
“Are you going to tell her?” Rebecca asked.
The smell hit a beat later. Something between over-boiled cabbage and burned sugar.
“Absolutely not. They can take one for the team. It’s the least they can do.”
“What is that?” Rebecca asked, leaning forward but keeping a safe distance.
“Pumpkin and anchovy muffins,” she said proudly. “High in protein and vegetarian-friendly.”
Bella hissed once, then thudded to the floor away from the steaming fish and vegetable dessert. Smart cat.
“Anchovies are fish,” the woman from the 1950s pointed out.
Maggie blinked. “And?”
Rebecca sighed and rubbed her belly. “I’ve just eaten, but I’ll try one later if my stomach allows.”
Nice deflection from informing our lovely teenager that fish were not vegetarian.
One of the older ghosts, a Victorian gentleman with a mustache and eternal optimism, reached for a muffin. His translucent hand actually closed around it before it fell and splattered on the rug.
He looked down in wonder. “Delightful. Best muffin I never ate.”
Bella batted the fallen muffin under the sofa, the feline version of cleanup duty.
Maggie beamed. “See? He likes it!”
I fought not to breathe too deeply as my stomach lurched with the thought of her latest concoction. Was it too late to miss the mushroom lasagne?
The television flickered again, landing on a live broadcast. “Breaking news: Mass murder in New Orleans. Fifteen dead.” The ghosts fell silent.
Harry floated backward, his usual humor draining away.
The female reporter’s voice was grim. “Investigators are baffled by the ritualistic markings found on the victims. Joining me is supernatural expert John Jacobs.”
She nodded as the camera panned out to take both of them into view. John was the epitome of a stuffy college professor in a tweed blazer with unruly dark wavy hair and piercing blue eyes.
“Professors have leveled up,” Rebecca pointed out.
“You mean they are now relevant because their crackpot theories suddenly carry weight as the world grapples with the existence of the supernatural?”
“No, I mean he’s hot.”
Oh. I refocused on his words.
“Symbols carved into the walls appear to be centuries old. We can’t dismiss this as a meaningless joke or devil worship. This is very real and only the beginning if we don’t join forces with the greater powers and learn how to fight this together.”
My spine stiffened. Surely, my grandmother hadn’t influenced this professor? Who was I kidding? She was always two steps ahead. Positioning someone in authority on the occult to align with her was not only smart, it was necessary.
The picture cut to a live video of the markings, and my stomach tightened. Those markings, those runes, were far too familiar. I set my mug down, eyes glued to the screen.
The camera zoomed in on the sigils burned into concrete, with their sharp, perfect lines. Eloise’s craftsmanship. “Those are Roberts runes,” I murmured. “She’s experimenting again.”
Harry frowned. “Experimenting with what?”
“Soul binding.” The words tasted like ash.
Soul binding was forbidden. You had to bargain with the soul at the point of death, guiding it into yourself instead of the light.
It was viewed as a crime against Heaven and Hell.
She was desperate. I didn’t know whether to be happy or panicked that she was running out of options.
The ghosts whispered among themselves, voices rippling through the air like static. Even the naked couple stopped bickering.
A knock broke the silence. A polite, firm, three-tap rhythm. Had the wards warned me? Maybe. Perhaps I’d become blind to it with all the comings and goings lately.
Maggie jumped, nearly dropping her muffins of mass destruction. Pity for shifter reflexes.
“I’ll get it,” I muttered, pushing up from the couch. Bella followed, tail high, ready to protect—or mock me—depending on her mood. She was oddly clingy.
I opened the door to find a woman standing on the porch, framed by sunlight. Mid-forties, sharp gray suit, calm smile, and shrewd hazel eyes. “Dr. Elara Thorne,” she said, offering a business card embossed with faintly pulsing sigils. “Your family thought it might be healthy to talk.”
I growled low as I read her title. “My family hired a therapist for me? I’m sorry, it’s not a good time on account of the world going to shit. I’ll get back to you when everyone stops trying to kill or rule each other.”
“On the contrary,” she said with a small, sure smile. “This is the perfect time.”
Dave jogged up the stairs behind her and assessed her in two seconds. “Who are you?”
“A shrink. Apparently, everyone thinks I need one.”
Dave shook his head. “I vetoed this idea. Bottling up that fury and letting it loose against your enemies is better than seeing a shrink. It would be such a waste.”
I squeezed my eyes closed. He had just pointed out why this was a good idea. Excellent reverse psychology from the pack’s chief of security.
“Therapist,” Elara corrected.
Harry poked his head around me. “Oh, you’re here already? We haven’t spoken to Cora about it yet.”
“We decided against warning her,” Rebecca said from behind me. They were all in on it.
Bella twined around Elara’s ankles. Traitor.
“How about this? You give me sixty minutes of your time, and if I can’t convince you that therapy is beneficial for you right now, we can put a pin in it until you’re ready.”
I sighed and stepped back. It would take less time to hear her out than to fight everyone who had made this decision. “You'd best come in.”
“Muffin?” Maggie said as she bounced toward Elara.
Elara’s nose twitched. “It’s against policy to take food and drink offered at a client’s home.”
True.
Maggie’s shoulders deflated. Elara, proving she had a heart, pinched one between her fingers and winked at Maggie. “But I can’t resist a homemade muffin.”
Well, if all else failed, the home baking would be her demise.
She glanced at the TV and scowled. So she knew about this latest disaster, but was she aware my grandmother was responsible?
We moved to my office, the smell of burned pumpkin following us down the hall. Elara took the seat opposite me, legs crossed neatly.
I offered her a bottle of water, which she accepted. She was going to need it if she consumed the muffin. I was undecided if I was going to warn her yet.
“So what do you want to discuss? The way my mate can turn off his light, roll over in bed, and start snoring thirty seconds later?”
“If you like.”
“He’s also a pillow hog.”
Her lips twitched. “Ditch him now.”
“I gave up my side of the bed for him.”
“Was it the one closest to the door?”
“Yes, how did you know?”
“He wants to put himself between you and any threats that come stalking into the bedroom.”
“I can handle myself.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
My lips twisted to the side, and I folded my arms. Well, that conversation didn’t help one bit. Glad to be proven right. Now I just needed to survive the next fifty-seven minutes.
“You’re handling it well,” Elara said.
“What?”
“The murders. Your grandmother.”
She was very much in the know. I tilted my head, trying to get a read on her. She wasn’t a shifter or a vampire. Was she an elemental?
“Mass murder on a Wednesday? No better way to wake up.”
She smiled faintly as I took a sip of my water. “Humor as deflection. Noted.”
“It’s that or scream therapy. It’s survival.”
“Survival isn’t the same as living.”
I leaned back, studying her. “Do you talk like this with all your clients, or just the ones with evil relatives?”
“I adapt to whatever people need.” Her gaze was steady, kind but unyielding. “You carry guilt for things you couldn’t stop.”
“Story of my life,” I muttered.
“What if you reframed it? You didn’t cause the chaos; you endured it. That’s strength, not failure.”
I chuckled under my breath. “You sound like a motivational poster.”
“Maybe. But you don’t trust peace, do you? You think it’s a trap.”
“Peace doesn’t last. It’s just the intermission before the next battle.”
“Then maybe,” she said, retrieving a notebook and pen from her designer purse, “your work is learning to let the world hold still long enough for you to believe otherwise.”
I folded my arms and leaned back. “I’m sorry, I’m not about to spill my secrets to a woman I just met.”
She blinked. “I’m under a gag spell, Cora. Check for yourself. Your aunt made sure of it, but I offer it to all my clients.”
My magic poked at her aura. There, sunk beneath her skin, was a powerful Roberts spell, one only I could break. My lips twisted to the side. “Why can’t I sense your elemental magic?”
“Because I’m not an elemental.”
I tilted my head. “You aren’t a vampire or shifter either.”
“I’m human. One very much on the inside of the community with a few quirks and perks of the supernatural variety, but still human. It means I have no affiliations, making trust a little easier to find.”
Clever. “I bet you are in high demand.”
“I can’t complain.”
A stretch of silence followed her words.
I’d never been inclined to fill a quiet space.
In fact, I valued those moments above all else, but something about the doctor made my mouth open, and I began to talk.
I left out my lineage, since that wasn’t the biggest thing making my heart ache, but I described the torture and the subsequent invasion of my privacy to alter my memories.
Elara listened intently, making notes and nodding in encouragement.
If I got it all out now, then she wouldn’t need to come back, and she could report to my family that I was sane and in no need of further psychological help.
“The removal of your memories appears to be a bigger pain than the one your grandmother inflicted,” she said.
My chest became heavy, and a dull ache started in my temples. “It wasn’t totally unexpected coming from her. From them, it was.”
“Do you understand why they did it?”
I nodded. “Sure, but that doesn’t negate the betrayal. So before you start preaching to me about them saving me, I’m not interested. I’ve heard it all before.”
“Don’t try to guess my thoughts, Cora. I was going to say you have every right to feel betrayed. They chose wrong.”
I blinked as I felt the small validation penetrate my soul. “Okay.”
“They took a path that made you feel weak and incapable. It wasn’t their place to rip away your memories. They should have found someplace in the universe safe enough to allow you to break, to work through the trauma.”
“They thought I was a threat to myself and everyone around me.”
Her lips quirked. “You’re telling me with two archangels on your emergency contact list, they couldn’t have carved out a piece of the world to control the damage?”
“There were other options,” I breathed.
She nodded. “There are always other options, and that brings us back to yours and the choice you’re going to have to make.”
“Which is?”
“Are you ready to break apart? Are you prepared for the possibility of losing yourself? And could you forgive yourself if you hurt someone you love in the process?”
I opened my mouth, but she held her hand up, rose, and collected her muffin. I debated warning her but decided she was capable of making her own cuisine decisions. “Our time’s up.”
My eyes darted to the clock. How had it been an hour already? “You’re leaving?”
“For now.”
Before I could answer, a crash echoed from upstairs. Harry shouted something about pineapples while Maggie squealed and Bella yowled. I heaved a heavy sigh and hauled myself to my feet.
“Same time next week, if your house is still standing.”
“It rarely is,” I said.
Elara smiled before stepping through the office wall and vanishing.
Harry poked his head through the ceiling a moment later, eyes wide. “She just ghosted you.”
“Perfect.” I sighed, sinking back into my chair. “Even my therapist can walk through walls.” Wait, I had a therapist? I tipped my head back and squeezed my eyes closed. The painful memories waited for me with bated breath, ready to consume, to dominate, to destroy me.
Yep, I had a therapist.