She had a point. Normally, I would find comfort in numbers and data points. Because that was what I brought to the family.
Things had certainly changed a lot.
“Once was. Doesn’t really do it as much for me now.”
Cherry put her hand on my arm. “Do you want to talk about the real masterpiece you’re painting in here?”
I smiled—barely, but it was there. It was hard to believe it had been a touch over a week and a half since I’d walked into that gruesome crime scene, then met the not-quite-a-psychic. Ever since her idea to use the funeral as a trap, our day-to-day had been a blur of preparation.
Istillwasn’t too jazzed about the idea of Penelope leaving her safe location to risk her life with us in America, but thankfully she’d made it home with a full security entourage after taking a private flight rather than flying commercial. While I was so happy to see her and hug her for the first time in two years, I was still quite uneasy with her being so directly in danger.
“Not this time. I’m acutely aware of everything I’m feeling.” And it was quite the cocktail. But still, under the burden and confusion of it all, it was nice to know Cherry saw me for exactly what I was, what my emotions were doing inside, and didn’t judge me for it.
She really was something.
“I understand.” She was quiet for a couple of beats, which I’d learned meant she was having about approximately a dozen different thoughts all concurrently going at about fifty miles per hour. I couldn’t imagine what it was like living in her head, and while I admired what she was able to do, ithadto be exhausting. “Do you want to tell me about them?”
“My father and brother?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sure you did your research.”
Cherry was quite adept at learning everything she possibly could need to on any subject with a deep internet dive. I didn’t know if that was an ADHD thing, or if something about her abilities made her devour information like a double-decker sandwich with extra pickles, but I didn’t ask. No need to ruin the mystique.
“I mean, I did, yeah. But that’s not them. Sure, I know your father’s name was Caspian and your brother was Luther. I know your father remained unmarried after he was widowed, and your brother never entered into a single mating contract—at least, not one that got as far as a legally filed agreement.
“I know their birthdays. I know which colleges they went to. But that’s notthem.It’s not what matters.” Once again, even without having psychic powers, Cherry knew exactly what was going on in my mind. It was uncanny, really. “When I tell you about my mother, I would say that she was powerful, yes, and captivating. But the first story I’d probably tell would be when I went through that phase every kid goes through, when I was sure there was a monster under my bed.”
I closed my eyes, picturing this story she was weaving. Strangely enough, it was easy to mentally see Cherry as a young child, platinum blonde hair almost see-through and cheeks chubby with baby fat.
“Just checking didn’t work. I’d still have awful nightmares, and I swore I could feel it lifting the bed. So, when I started to get pediatric migraines because of sleep deprivation, my mom set up a divination circle and staged a banishment ritual for me. I’m talking the whole shebang: candles, music, banging, and a gong. She went all out. And just to make sure I really felt safe, she got a folding cot and slept next to my bed every night for a week.
“That was her. That is what matters. And so was the way she would always forget her glasses were on top of her head when she was looking for them. And how right before a client came over, she’d ask me if she had lipstick on her teeth, then she’d give me the goofiest grin.
“She was the smell of black coffee in the morning, after lunch, and after dinner. She was soft hugs and even softer words. She was all the books and that special scent of paper. She was more than I could ever tell you, so much more.”
She finally turned and looked at me. Even in my peripheral vision, I could tell that those mismatched eyes of hers were staring at me beseechingly.
“So yeah, if you want to, why don’t you tell me about the realthem?”
Given the fact that I had seen her many art supplies tumbling during our... escapades in her craft room, I didn’t know why I was so surprised at the artful way she said things. Cherry was as complex as the feelings twisted up within me, which seemed impossible in juxtaposition with how easy it was interacting with her.
“I...” Swallowing hard, I searched for something that showed the real them, because surely it had to be there. “My father wasn’t a very warm man. And I think he always resented Jackson even though he tried very hard not to. But even after Mom passed, he would instantly go into nurse mode if any of us got sick.”
“I thought you guys didn’t really get sick? At least, not outside of a few very specific shifter diseases.”
Of course she’d know about that.
“That doesn’t really kick in until after we hit puberty and shift for the first time. Before that, we get the flu, colds, pretty much anything you’d expect a human child to get. The bonus is that we’re not allergic to silver or wolfsbane like we are once we get our animal forms.”
“Well, that seems like kind of a mindfuck.”
“It is, but with so many other things going on for a new shifter, it falls to the wayside.”
“I see. So, your father took care of you when you guys got sick?”
“Not just took care of us. He turned into Florence Nightingale with an unlimited budget to spoil us.”