“Can I get you an energy drink?”Cherry asked, pacing back and forth in her kitchen. I had to admit, when I walked behind the curtain of her reading room, I was surprised to see half of a completely normal residence and half of an art studio, divided by a very cluttered hallway that went all the way to her back door.
“No, thank you.” The last thing I needed was more caffeine. Not that it really worked on me, but sometimes the placebo effect was more than enough.
“Juice? I’ve got orange-mango, orange-passionfruit-guava, and, uh, orange. No pulp, of course. I’m not a heathen.”
“No, thank you.”
“Tea? There’s some ginger-green tea, Sleepy Time, mint tea, dandelion tea, Tummy Trouble tea, Earl Grey, French Breakfast, chamomile, black tea, chai, Darjeerling?—”
“I’m good.”
“Coffee? I got dark roast, cold brew, and some instant café latte mix.”
“I’m fine, Cherry.”
“Bottle of water? Room temp or col?—”
“Cheribelle.”
She paused in her fluttering, and her mismatched eyes finally landed on me. “Right. I suppose you have questions.”
“That is the only reason we’re still talking, yes.”
There was no logical reason for me to feel guilty when she looked like a kicked puppy.Shewas the one who’d lied tome.
“I… okay, yeah. That makes sense. Let’s sit down.” She was twisting her hands nervously, but her smile was as fresh as ever. My wolf grew irritated at the idea she was wearing a mask in front of us, and I would have to give him a reality check later thatof courseshe was. Our entire professional relationship was based on a lie. A really insidious lie.
She led me over to what might have once been a nice, modest dining table for two people, but was now splattered with paint and dye. An unfinished cardstock model spaceship sat in the center, and half of the table was covered in paintbrushes.
“So…” she said slowly, and I was relieved that she was taking point in the conversation. This wasn’t a staffing issue, or even a diplomatic one between my family and another well-to-do shifter pack. It was…
Personal.
“First off, I owe you an apology. I’m sorry, I really am. What I did was wrong. I knew it and I did it anyway.”
Huh.
She was confirming that it was all a lie. The part of me that had been hoping otherwise withered and died, leaving me to wonder why.
I supposed I was about to find out.
“I hope you know I didn’tmeanto cause any harm, and I really thought I was helping. When I saw how the office in your home looked…”
“What do you mean?”
She gave me a curious look. “What do you mean, ‘what do I mean’?”
“You’re not psychic, right? What do you mean by what you saw in the office if it wasn’t precognitive visions?”
“I…” She shook her head, and I could practically see her thoughts rattle around and rearrange themselves like an Etch-A-Sketch. “I swore I mentioned I was an empath.”
It doesn’t matter that she’s a dryad, because I’m a fucking empath, not a psychic!
I rubbed the bridge of my nose, trying not to get distracted by how enchanting I found the woman, especially when she was being earnest. That was just a part of her con, no doubt.
“Doesn’t everyone and their mom claim to be an empath?” I asked. “And what does being sensitive to others’ emotions matter in this?”
Cherry huffed. “No, not likethat.Ugh, I hate how pop psychology terms have been ruined by people using them for what they don’t mean.” She let out a heavy sigh. “When I say I’m an empath, I mean in the literal way. The old, mythological way. I see other peoples’ emotions like physical things that exist in this world, and with touch, sometimes I can share those same emotions.