4. Cheribelle #3
“Once you feel able, and once you are ready, look within yourself and concentrate on what it is you truly wish to know. Open yourself to the fates, and they will open themselves to you.”
Bottling all that up couldn’t feel good.
Actually, I knew down to my core that it didn’t.
When I was a kid, I’d spent a lot of time trying to act like everyone else, trying to be normal.
It wasn’t until my mother gathered me into her arms and explained that just because my mind worked a little differently, it didn’t mean I was any lesser.
It didn’t mean anything was wrong with me.
From then, I’d learned to love a lot of my quirks, to embrace them instead of fighting them, but it hadn’t been an easy journey.
Especially since the large part of it happened during puberty, which everyone knew was a very peaceful and completely rational time in folks’ life. Ha!
“There you are. I’m beginning to see...”
“See what?” he asked, eyes cracking open. I gave him the Look?, and he quickly shut them again, allowing me to finish parsing through the manic smears of color going this way and that.
Deep blue shame rained down like a miserable, chilled drizzle on a dreary, cold day.
The electric yellow of his worry floated through randomly, like bubbles with rainbow rings of crackling energy spinning within them.
Fear. Fear stood like thick walls at the top and bottom of my vision that were trying to slam together, shaking and trembling with their efforts, with only a single pillar at his center to stop them.
And what was that pillar?
What a question that was. Because it wasn’t just one thing. Sure, the majority of it was the same brick that comprised his wall, the same brick I hadn’t been able to break through without physical contact, but not all of it was.
Because in the mortar between those metaphorical stone pieces, I saw love.
I saw affection. I saw the desire to protect.
Honestly, from the way the man acted, I never would have guessed that he had such an intensely beautiful depth of caring, compassion, and fondness within him.
It was one of the reasons I loved being an empath.
But still... emotions didn’t tell a full story. So, I pulled my vision back from the virulent mishmash of everything he was feeling and took a proper look at the physical person.
“Let’s see if your fear for your family is real,” I started, and he stiffened in my grip. “The fates have not commented one way or another, other than to say that you come here true of heart and with genuine intentions.”
“Of course,” he said, although this time he kept his eyes closed. “Why would I come here with false ones?”
“You would be amazed at the things people delude themselves about and refuse to admit to themselves. Or even, those who are outright duplicitous and have ulterior motives for being in my chair.”
“Seems like poor odds to try to lie to a psychic.”
“Yeah,” I answered. “But people sure do love to gamble.”
While we volleyed back and forth, I let my mind drift and notice all those crazy things it tended to notice when I finally let it do what it wanted to do.
Clothes exceptionally nice.
All designer but not ostentatious, so comes from old money.
He had zero contempt in him when coming in here, a barely upper-middle class place and modest at that. Humble? Or too full of other emotions?
Shoes clean.
Hair impeccable.
No dark circles under eyes.
But he’s a shifter, so they can get by on little sleep and heal from the effects of a bad night with just a good meal . At least that’s what I read.
Nails are neat, orderly , doesn’t work with his hands . Slightest bit of smoker’s tar, though, so he’s smoked since his last transformation. I’m pretty sure taking his animal form, then returning to his human form would have his nails looking good as new.
Cologne has been freshly sprayed too, to cover any lingering scent .
He’s ashamed of the habit. Something he dropped before?
Likely picked it up again because of the stress.
Understandable.
If he chews his nails, his wolf healing would take care of that too, disregard input.
He’s not the alpha or the alpha-heir, but the heir is his sibling. Eldest?
Most likely.
Dress is business-business, not business casual.
Always trying to prove himself. Is that where the shame comes from?
Said he was worried about someone killing the rest of his family. Does that mean siblings?
Or extended relatives? Wolves generally have large families, right?
Probably siblings, then.
He could be the youngest? Unlikely, doesn’t seem like the vibe.
Not eldest, not youngest.
Scared, angry, guilty, ashamed, mourning, affectionate.
Put together on the outside, falling apart on the inside.
Also, rich AF. Used to being able to throw money at most things. Has connections , but doesn’t trust any of them to ask them for help .
Powerful, feels powerless.
He also didn’t mention anything about becoming the alpha. So likely he’s not the second oldest either. He’s not here for gain.
He’s here for justice.
And to protect what he has left.
I get this guy.
And if I solve this for him, it could change everything.
“The fates are clouded,” I droned, trying not to lick my lips.
Speaking of gambling, I was about to make a big leap.
But I needed to if I wanted to get any sort of traction with my mother’s legacy.
“There is so much pain and confusion swirling, it is hard to get a read. I…” Here it was, the big wind-up.
The make-or-break moment where I was really going to lean into the con.
But I was doing it to help someone, right? Or help myself?
“I need it to be clearer, I need… I need…”
“You need what?” my client asked, his eyes opening as he leaned forward. But this time I didn’t give him my patented look to get him to close them again. Instead, I locked eyes with him and spoke as levelly as I could.
“I need to see the crime scene.”