“Come on, Davis. It’s time to go to bed.”
“I’ll just sleep here,” he muttered into the pillow.
“No. You need a good night’s sleep. You won’t get that here on the sofa. It’s too small for you.”
“What about you? Where will you sleep?”
Most of the languid satisfaction she had been savoring faded. I prefer to sleep alone. Don’t take it personally.
“I’ll use the sofa again tonight,” she said. “It works fine for me.”
Grumbling, he rolled off the cushions and allowed her to steer him down the hall to the darkened bedroom. She pulled back the covers. He fell into bed, closed his eyes, and was instantly asleep.
She pulled the sheet and quilt up over him and went back into the living room to the open balcony door. She spoke softly to Max and Araminta.
“Are you two coming in tonight?” she asked.
They hopped down off the balcony and tumbled into the apartment. She closed the door and locked it very carefully. She checked the cookie jar one last time to make certain the relic was still safely stashed inside, and then she went to the hall closet, took out a pillow and a blanket, and arranged them on the sofa.
For a long time she lay there looking up at the ceiling, Araminta a heavy little bundle of lint beside her.
“The thing is, I do take it personally,” she said to Araminta.
Araminta opened her baby-blue eyes and blinked a couple of times.
Celinda gave it ten more minutes before she pushed aside the blanket, got up from the sofa, and went down the hall to the bedroom. Davis was sleeping so soundly when she got into bed beside him that he never even stirred
HE CAME AWAKE TO THE SENSATION OF A HAND ON HIS shoulder.
“Wake up,” Celinda said. “You’re dreaming.”
He opened his eyes and saw that a pale dawn light was replacing the green glow of night outside the window.
He looked at Celinda. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s my bed, remember?”
“You slept on the sofa.”
“Changed my mind. By the way, you will notice that I’m not screaming.”
“What the hell?” Still dazed with sleep, he levered himself up on his elbows.
She glanced down. He followed her gaze. His forearm from elbow to wrist was invisible. The fingers of his seemingly unattached hand gripped the rumpled sheet.
She held out her own hand, palm up. “You owe me ten bucks.”
Chapter 34
“SOUNDS LIKE YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT TITUS KENNINGton.” Martin Skidmore lounged deeper into his padded leather chair, folded his hands across the broad expanse of his belly, and regarded Davis with an expression that contained a mix of disgruntled competitiveness and reluctant admiration. “What can I say? The man’s good. He managed to snag a couple of high-end clients right after he opened up for business. Overnight he went straight to the top. Referral only.”
Skidmore’s office was located in a shiny tower not far from the headquarters of the Cadence Guild. The discreet sign outside the door announced that he was a psychic lifestyle counselor. He was the third therapist on the list that Davis had put together. He had limited the names of those he wanted to interview to counselors who clearly catered to a high-end clientele on the assumption that Hollings would have gone after the same market. Anyone who could afford a lifestyle counselor had to be pretty well-heeled. If they actually stumbled into Hollings working under an assumed name, Celinda would recognize his psi energy.
“What kind of counseling does Kennington do?” Davis asked.
Skidmore’s expression twisted in disdain. “I’ve heard he calls it dream therapy. Bunch of guru-babble, if you ask me. But there’s no denying he hit an amber mine. I hear he’s even got Senator Padbury’s wife as a client.”
“Do you know where his office is located?”
“Over on Burwell Street in the Old Quarter. Don’t know why he set up shop there. It’s not the most fashionable address in town, that’s for sure. Maybe he likes the atmosphere.”
“Maybe.” Davis got to his feet. “You’ve been very helpful. The Guild appreciates your cooperation.”
“Any time. Always happy to do a favor for the Guild.”
“I’ll mention that at headquarters.” Davis turned to leave. He stopped briefly at the door. “What does a psychic lifestyle counselor do?”
“I can help you explore your unique para-rez potential and guide you toward a truly fulfilling and satisfying life on both the normal and paranormal planes.”
“Cost a lot to get all that?”
Skidmore smiled benignly. “Of course.”
Davis let himself out into the reception area of the office. Celinda was waiting for him.
“Well?” she asked, rising quickly.
Davis savored the hit of anticipation that he always got at times like this. “Nailed him. I’m going to his office now. With luck, I’ll surprise him and maybe get some answers or evidence.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“Damn it, Celinda—”
“I’m the only one who will be able tell you for sure whether he’s the man whose psi waves I read that night in the lane.”
She was right. Time was short, and he needed a positive ID as fast as possible. His biggest worry at the moment was that Kennington had already gotten nervous and skipped.
“All right,” he said. “One thing I think I should mention.”
“What’s that?”
“If you’re ever short on ideas when it comes to buying me a birthday present?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t get me any psychic lifestyle counseling sessions.”
“Okay, I’ll stick with cuff links.”
They went down to the garage and got into the Phantom. He rezzed the engine and then called Trig.
“We’re on our way to the office of a Dr. Titus G. Kennington,” Davis said. “I think he’s our man. Address in the Quarter. Burwell Street.”
“Want me to meet you there?”
“Yes. Parking is mostly on the street in that part of town, but there will be an alley entrance. Keep an eye on it. If you see someone leave Kennington’s building by the back door, follow him.”
“Got it.”
Davis ended the call and drove out of the garage. The distance between the downtown office corridor and the Old Quarter wasn’t far in terms of miles, but there was a couple of hundred years’ difference when it came to atmosphere.
Within a very short span of time they were back in the narrow, twisted streets and lanes of the city’s oldest neighborhoods. He parked a block away from the address he had been given and got out of the Phantom. Celinda joined him on the sidewalk. She stood quietly for a moment, looking at the dark street. He did not like the uneasiness of her expression.
“What?” he asked.
“If Kennington is the man we’re looking for, you need to be prepared for the fact that he’s a lot like me,” she said quietly.
“Bullshit. He’s nothing like you.”
She looked at him, her eyes as shadowed and somber as the neighborhood around them. “I told you, I sensed his psi energy the other night. He’s strong, Davis. And he appears to possess the same kind of talent I’ve got.”
“So?”
“So, there’s something I haven’t told you about my type of parapsych profile. I don’t just read other people’s patterns; under certain conditions, I can…influence them a little.”
That stopped him. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“It requires physical contact,” she said, still disturbingly serious. “At least it does for me. I’ve never told anyone about this, because by the time I realized what I could do, I was old enough to understand that people would be afraid to get close to me if they thought I could manipulate their psi waves.”
“Maybe we could talk about this later,” he suggested.
“No, you need to know what you’re up against. Listen to me, Davis. You once asked me if Landry had raped me after he drugged me. I told you he didn’t.”
He touched the side of her face very gently. “It’s all right. You don’t have to talk about it.”