23. Paul #2
“ There you are,” she said, grinning as broadly as her injured mouth would allow.
I had the temptation to run toward her, arms open, and sweep her up in a hug so I could spin her around, but I resisted.
Although the empath was an incredibly strong woman with a streak of luck a mile wide, she could use a little delicate handling right now.
Not that I would ever say that to her face, of course.
If I did, she might hop on a skateboard and do some sort of triple 5000 ollie lux or whatever it was called just to prove me wrong.
“Here I am,” I said instead, opening my arms and slowly walking toward her. When we met, instead of a collision, it was a soft connection of our bodies, her head resting against my chest. “Thank you,” I murmured, gently stroking her head, mindful of any cuts that she might have in her scalp.
I felt her jaw move against my front a couple of times, as if she was about to say something but couldn’t decide what to verbalize, but she didn’t get the time to figure it out before those damn flashing lights were back in our face again.
“For fuck’s sake,” I growled. Not only had more journalists showed up, but they were now congregated at the front entrance.
They weren’t the worst that I’d seen in my life—they were keeping their distance, lined up against the barrier like fans at a concert—but they certainly weren’t the greatest because they were shouting questions and taking enough pictures with flash to make it feel like there was a giant strobe light in front of me.
“Can you tell us what exactly happened here tonight?”
“Are the events that took place here connected in any way to the death of your father and brother?”
“Chris! Now that you are the alpha-heir of your pack, what do you have to say to those who find the sudden passing of those before you in succession highly suspicious?”
“His name is Paul!” Cherry snapped so loudly and virulently. I was surprised she had that much energy left in her after everything that we’ve been through. “And you’d do well to remember that!”
The journalists all shared uncertain looks, which I was frustratingly familiar with by now.
“Who the hell is Paul? ”
And then another journalist chimed in. “Also, who the hell are you?”
Cherry looked like she was about to lose it, so I decided to step in. Normally, I ignored journalists outside of official press conferences, but this required immediate attention.
“Actually, my brother, Luther VanMarche, is very much alive.” I could practically feel the jolt of hunger in the journalists, so I hurried to continue before they went absolutely feral.
“Thankfully, the circumstances of his death were greatly exaggerated. However, he and the rest of my siblings would not still be here on this earth if not for the brilliant detective work of Miss Cheribelle Donmoue, daughter of the incredible late Ophelia Donmoue, who is standing right here next to me.”
Cherry beamed at me, her swollen eyes crinkling at the corners. Goodness, I’d love to make her grin like that when she was fully healed. It was a beautiful expression, made even more so by the surge of flashes.
I valued my privacy and didn’t want any of the paparazzi-like journalists in my face, but I hadn’t forgotten the original reason why Cherry had lied about her actual abilities.
She wanted nothing more than to continue her mother’s legacy and make people more aware that not all magic folks could cast spells or turn into giant wolves.
Sometimes, they were just regular people with a singular gift that changed everything.
And sometimes they even had ADHD.
So, even though we’d first met under false circumstances, she’d abandoned all of that and put her life at risk to help me and my family. The least I could do was give her the notoriety so she could help others like she had helped me.
And maybe to remember me by.
Because now that my family was safe, I recognized it was the end of our professional relationship. She would no longer be glued to my side; our heads wouldn’t be together late at night as we set up the next stage of our plan, nor would we be going off on adventures we weren’t qualified for.
“Ophelia Donmoue?”
“Are you a psychic like your mother?”
“Miss, are you part of the supernatural department of our local PD?”
“Mr. VanMarche, are you saying that psychics are actually real?”
“Wait, Ophelia died?”
“Miss Donmoue, are you saying that you used your psychic powers to help solve a murder case?”
Cherry nodded, and I let go of her so she could walk toward them if she wanted, although I did keep my arm lightly around her waist just in case.
But then, I sensed a slight hesitation in her, and that nod changed to her shaking her head.
Lifting her chin, she turned back to me, locking those beautiful, mismatched eyes on mine.
“I am an oracle like my mother, but I am no psychic. I was blessed with empathic powers instead of precognition. But yes, I did help uncover the plot against the VanMarches, and in fact, all of the great families. I have no doubt you will be hearing about that very soon!”
More questions erupted from the peanut gallery, but I could only stare in wonder at the incredible woman below me.
In the end, I understood why she lied to me.
Why it was far more complicated to explain empathic powers to a layperson and just let people assume she was a psychic.
But in just a couple of sentences, she had dispelled all of that and made sure everyone who read the newspapers or watched the news channels would know the truth.
“I am an empath, and I will be continuing to use my gift to help all of those in need.”
There was another hail of questions, with a few asking what the hell an empath was, but neither Cherry nor I answered. I was so proud, so incredibly proud, that my tongue was too heavy in my mouth to even speak.
After all the complications of carrying on a parent’s legacy, Cherry had finally accepted herself for the truly incredible woman she was. Even if I never saw her again, I would have the solace of knowing she finally understood how amazing she was.
But what if I could see her again? Just because we’re not working together doesn’t mean that this has to be the end... does it?
Maybe it was time I followed her lead and was honest with myself about what I wanted. Even if it made me vulnerable.
“Cherry,” I murmured as the detectives started to herd away the journalists.
“Yeah?”
“Now that this is all over, I’m no longer your client, and you are no longer providing a professional service.”
It was hard to tell with the rapid changes of light as well as how swollen her face was, but I swore she looked a bit disappointed. “I suppose so, yeah.”
“In that case, since we’re no longer in business, would you like to go on a date? And by that, I mean a proper one, with flowers and everything.”
Her responding smile was so bright, and her lip split again. “Do you mean it?”
“More than anything,” I answered, and I was comforted by the fact that even though I wasn’t being suave or eloquent, she could see my emotions and whatever picture they painted for her.
“I thought you’d never ask!”