The journalists all shared uncertain looks, which I was frustratingly familiar with by now.
“Who the hell isPaul?”
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 aswe 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 Icouldsee 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.”