Especially since she was trying to help me get closure.
Because that’s all I hoped it was. I really, really wanted to be wrong I?—
“Shit! My phone!”
The woman’s cry jolted me out of the spiral I kept falling into as of late, and I came back to reality just in time to see her run back up the stairs. Although I was surprised by the very sudden and loud exclamation, I honestly didn’t mind witnessing her exit.
Peach, s—I mean,Peace. Serenity. Control.
Nowhere in that mantra was looking at a psychic’s backside.
Even if it was a very nice backside.
Get a grip!
I’d never felt so scattered in my adult life, and I was grateful for the sounds of more crashes and bangs to distract me from the pit that kept trying to lure me back into its repeating circles of worry. There were only so many times I could think the same thought before I drove myself mad.
“Sorry about that,” the psychic said, appearing at the top of the stairs once more, albeit a little more breathless and her hair mussed. Naturally, it looked almost effortless on her rather than messy, something I’ve never been able to pull off without feeling like I looked like a bum. “Got my phone!”
She held it up and gave it a little shake before sliding it right into her shirt and what I assumed was her bra. It was a bit disconcerting to watch a stranger do that so casually right in front of me, but she didn’t even seem to notice. Well, if it wasn’t a big deal to her, it shouldn’t be a big deal to me.
“Let’s head out!”
And then she flashed me a smile that was so dazzling, I had to blink. I had been so caught up with the shock of her not being Ophelia, as well as everything else that had happened, that I’d never truly looked at her. Her features were delicate, in a way, but undoubtedly?—
“My wallet!”
This time I jolted less as she patted her pocket. Sure enough, she ran right back up the stairs, and I began to wonder if the woman even needed a cardio routine. Her T-shirt had revealed fairly muscular arms, but if the stair shenanigans were a regular occurrence every time she exited her house, maybe they hadn’t been earned in the gym.
More crashes. More bangs. And then what sounded like actual wood cracking.
Seriously, what is going on up there?
I didn’t get my answer before she appeared again, this time even more breathless, and her shirt had changed from an eighties band to one with a giant lizard on it. She looked good, but I wasn’t sure why the outfit had changed. However, I didn’t have a chance to ask, because she made it down perhaps two steps before glancing down at her feet. I followed her gaze. She was wearing purple fuzzy unicorn slippers with iridescent horns sticking up from their foreheads.
Had she been wearing that under that garish robe?
This time there was no exclamation, no sudden shout, just a long, heady sigh before her gaze met mine. “I’ll go put some shoes on.”
“I do believe that would be prudent.”
Her ascent up those single two steps was quite a bit slower this time, and there was no interpretive percussive performance. A few minutes later, she appeared at the top of the stairs in sensible sneakers.
She began to descend, and I waited for another interruption, although I wasn’t certain of what she could have possibly forgotten. But this time she made it all the way down to the base of the stairs and gave me another one of those truly dazzling grins.
“By the way, I figured I should introduce myself. The name’s Cheribelle Donmoue, daughter of Ophelia Donmoue, daughter of Tabitha Donmoue ofHaus de Donmoue. But you can call me Cherry.”
“Cherry?” It was somewhat difficult to imagine calling a grown adult that. But in a way, it fit her. From the flushed pink of her cheeks, to the petal color of her lips, to the warmth and cheer she radiated.
“That’s the long and short of it. Well, the short of it, really.”
She was speaking quite differently now, and I couldn’t help but wonder if her previous way of speaking had been a character or if this was. Or maybe it was an aftereffect of the fates’ control.
“Paul,” I said, extending my hand. We’d skipped the introductions to talk about a double homicide. Not exactly the normal track most conversations followed. “Paul VanMarche the Third.”
She gave me a wan smile as she walked past me to open her front door. “I know.”
Right.