CHAPTER 12
My first supernatural client turned out to be human. Mostly.
I’d read Doug Holloway’s folder through three times by the time he arrived. It was a hefty case, both because Agatha took notes that rivaled the details in a violent epic fantasy and because Doug had been a patient for a long time.
Twenty years long.
Talk therapy was the oldest and most reliable method. It was also ineffective. Agatha had been a huge fan of letting a patient lie down and tell her about their mother. And sure, it had its place, I knew enough about Doug to get a visual of him before he entered.
But it didn’t give the patient, even a supernatural one, any power.
Despite the magical element to my practice, I had to believe that the same fundamentals I would use on a human patient applied. The problem was, I wasn’t sure how Agatha’s patients were going to react to my methods.
Doug wasn’t her longest-term client, but he was up there. After twenty years, Doug still had no agency in his recovery. He simply showed up and chatted. Our first session would be a good opportunity, for him and me, to decide if my new massive life change was permanent or not.
I was determined to make headway with Doug today. Maybe it was selfish, thinking of my own needs before the patient’s, but I neededthe win. After reading Doug’s history, I had to believe he needed the win, too.
On a whim, I angled the couch and added the even-less-inviting chair Agatha had stashed in the corner. Too much change could increase a patient’s anxiety, but I wanted to offer some options. Even if having options for myself made me nervous.
A small chime alerted me he was in the waiting room. I took a deep breath, both to release my own tension and to clear my personal space so I could be there for my patient, then opened the door.
“Doug Holloway? I’m Simone. Would you like to come in?”
I’d never applied the term resting bitch face to a man before. Deep wrinkles and bushy gray eyebrows only accented the appearance of a surly old guy. He wasn’t that old, early sixties according to his file, but hefeltolder. He paused on his way into my office and surveyed the room.
“I decided the waiting room needed a spruce up.” I gave Doug my best formal smile and gestured to the office. “Don’t worry, not much has changed there.”
His only response was a grunt. Not a good start. When he reached the doorway, he halted again, so quickly I almost bumped into him. I edged around his tall frame and followed his eyeline to the new position of the couch.
“Like I said, notmuchhas changed.” I smiled again, hoping I looked encouraging and not terrified. “You’re welcome to choose the chair today or return to the couch if that’s where you’re most comfortable.”
I was only half-surprised when Doug, after a moment of glaring at both, chose the chair. His slacks were almost chest high and starched to perfection. His shirt buttoned near to his throat with nary a wrinkle. Everything in the way he moved and the efficiency of his actions told me this was an ex-military man, even if I hadn’t already read his file.
I took my seat, closing his folder in favor of my reliable yellow notepad and a comfy pen, and clasped my hands on the desk.
“So, Doug, I’ve had time to review the extensive notes that Agatha left. And I see you’ve been a patient of hers for a good long while. Since we’ve never met, and this is a lovely opportunity for us both to start fresh, why don’t we take a moment to get to know each other?”
Doug’s bushy eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch, my only indication he’d heard me. My notes told me he’d transitioned from military todetective in Chicago until his forced early retirement due to an altercation with his partner.
My notes also told me he had a unique ability. And, given that I had the distinct impression I was being analyzed right down to my roots, I believed it.
“I’m going to confess to you that I’m nervous, Doug. Did you know you’re my first patient in a very long time?” His eyebrows lifted a little higher. “Well, I had one other brief session. But this is the first scheduled one in quite a while.”
Doug’s lips thinned, but he didn’t speak. He must have been an amazing cop.
“Doug, would you like to start by telling me about your gift?”
According to Agatha’s file, Doug could read people’s intentions at a glance. He’d know if I was lying, he would sense if I was nervous or unsteady, and he’d “see” any efforts to misdirect him. I needed to be completely honest or he’d never trust me.
He let out an annoyed grunt, prompting me to check his notes again. Dammit. I’d already misspoke. Even after a lifetime, Doug still struggled to embrace his magic. I wondered if I would feel the same way in fifty years then shoved the feeling aside to focus on my patient.
“Sorry, Doug. I shouldn’t have referred to it as a gift.”
“Worse gift than socks at Christmas.” Doug’s voice was sandpaper and gravel shaking in tupperware.
I chuckled at his statement, but his face remained deadpan. Okay, Simone, he hadn’t been joking. Noted. I was going to have to take a different tactic here to open him up. Find common ground. Since I’d grown up here and he hadn’t, it wouldn’t be the town. Plus, I didn’t remember half of it.
What did we have in common? Only one thing. Or one person. And just like that, the perfect memory sprang to mind.
