by S. E. Harmon
Danny murmured something in approval, using his hand at the small of my back to push me down farther—to slam me down on the mattress, really. Guess slow-fucking time was over. I spread my legs as far as the pants bunched up around my knees would allow. I didn’t open my eyes. If someone was watching, I didn’t want or need to know.
It was a bit of a mixed bag. Danny was going to fuck me to my freaky heart’s desire, but I had to go to a guru and do something that was probably going to be annoyingly holistic. Danny tunneled inside me again, thick and long enough to make it burn in the best of ways, and I let out another long groan.
Honestly, I’d done more for less.
Chapter 11
Alas, if I’d learned one thing about pipers, it was that they demanded to be paid.
On the way to my appointment, all wishes for traffic, trains, and drawbridges went unanswered. Figured. When I desperately needed to pee, Amtrak usually decided to lumber on by, the extra-long train that made me put my car in park. When I wanted an obstacle, it was almost like we had the highway to ourselves and hit only one red light. Add that to Danny’s driving style—Wyle E. Coyote with a driver’s license taped to his rocket pack—and I had no chance of missing my appointment. We pulled into the strip mall parking lot a full twenty minutes early.
I glanced up at the building doubtfully and then at Danny’s calm but determined face. I hated that look. It was his come hell or highwater look and it meant exactly that. The large letters on the sign declared the building the Temple of the Red Lotus.
Sounds legit.
Reading my expression like a well-worn book, Danny sighed. “It’s a respected place that came highly recommended.”
“By whom?” I asked suspiciously.
“Your mother.”
“Wow. You really don’t want me to go in, do you?” I looked at a cheery sticker in the window and read it aloud. “Walk-ins welcome.”
“Lot of legitimate places have walk-ins.”
“We’re in a strip mall.”
“Lots of legitimate businesses are in strip malls.”
“They’re next to a Dunkin’ Donuts.”
“Spiritual enlightenment plus crullers? That’s just good business planning.” He scowled as I knuckled the lock button and they snapped in place. “You can get out of the car or be dragged out of the car. Your choice.”
“Forced spiritual enlightenment? That’s not very Zen of you.”
“It is what it is.”
I read another sign in the window. “Visa and Mastercard accepted?”
“What do you expect them to get paid with? Spiritual vouchers?” His tone was exasperated. “Rain, we had an agreement.”
“I remember no such agreement.” My tone was as snooty as my upturned nose.
“You agreed to try and get some control over your gift, and I agreed to be your sex slave every time you have an appointment. My dick says I complied last night. And this morning.”
Hard to disagree with that, especially when my well-fucked ass piped up in agreement.
“Fine.” I got out of the car.
At the mutinous look on my face, he narrowed his eyes. “And don’t slam my—”
I slammed his car door, which really made me feel a little better. I headed up the walkway to the Red Lotus Temple, my stomach a bundle of knots. At the entrance, I turned back around one more time at the door to see if he’d relent. Arms folded, jean-clad butt resting against his car, he met my gaze unwaveringly. Then he made a “go on” motion with his fingers.
He was right. My own abilities were getting a little above my paygrade. Even so, I still felt like a kid on his first day of school after a long summer vacation. I huffed and went inside.
The lobby was a study of green plants and feng shui. Clearly, they’d embraced the Buddhist temple look with both hands. A man emerged from behind a curtained doorway a few seconds after I entered. He was dressed all in white, with long pants and a long-sleeved shirt that belled out at the wrists. His frizzy, long curls were almost equal parts brown and gray, and he’d secured them with a white headband. Even though he was dressed like an escaped mental patient, his brown eyes were kind and soft.
He smiled beatifically as he clasped his hands together. “Namaste. I’m your spiritual guru, Tree.”
“Tree?”
“And you would be?”
I guess I had no room to talk. If ever there was a person who would appreciate my full name, it would be a man named Tree. “Rainstorm,” I said with a sigh.
“Wonderful.” As expected, he didn’t bat an eyelash. “Shall we get started? I’d like to begin with a couple energy cleansing exercises, and then we can try to reinvigorate your chi.”
My what’s that now? “Okay,” I said slowly, with no idea what the hell I was agreeing to.
He clapped his hands. “Follow me.”
I lagged behind as he led me past a wispy curtain and through some sort of meditation room. Six people sat on yoga mats, cross-legged, their eyes closed. My slightly damp shoes squeaked on the floor no matter how lightly I stepped.
Squeak. Squeak. Squeeeeak.
One of the meditating people made an irritated noise and opened his eyes to watch our progress. I hurriedly turned off the ringer on my phone. If squeaky shoes could ruffle feathers, a ringing phone might get me strangled with a yoga mat.
When we finally reached a small curtained area, Tree went to a large closet and opened it to reveal a sea of white. He sorted through some items of clothing, every now and again holding one piece up to gauge the size. Finally he held out a stack of garments for me to take.
I looked at the clothes and then him. Then I glanced back toward the way we’d come and pictured how much noise my shoes would make if I ran out of here at full speed. “Is this really necessary?”
As I took the clothing, he smiled and shut the closet door. “Clothing can carry a lot of negative and positive feelings. They can also get us in a certain state of mind. When you wear this outfit, it helps let you know what you’re here to do.” He nodded towards the badge clipped to my belt. “When you’re here, you’re not a police officer anymore. You’re not even a man.”
I suddenly regretted locking up my weapon in Danny’s glove box. “What am I then?”
“An empty vessel for the spirits to enter.”
“That’s not exactly what I want them to do—”
He clapped his hands again, which I was learning meant “shut up and do as I say.” He pointed at another curtained off area near the back. “Time to change.”
I glanced longingly in the direction of the exit one last time before I trudged off. I chucked my trousers and crisp button-down shirt and traded them for long white pants that were a tad too loose and a long-sleeved white shirt that was a bit too tight. I left the headband on the chair on top of my folded clothes because, well, that just wasn’t happening. Now an official member of the world’s worst pajama party, I headed back out to find Tree.
He smiled at my appearance and beckoned. “Wonderful. Follow me.”
He led me outside to a peaceful looking garden with a small reflective pond, and my spirits lifted a bit. If getting in the right frame of mind was key, this little oasis was certainly better than the mirrored studio. Through the glass, I could even see a glimpse of the front waiting room and Danny, who sent me an encouraging wave that I didn’t return.
Tree sat on the grass, legs folded like a pretzel. He was flexible—I’d give him that. He patted the ground in front of him, and I dropped into position… or tried to, at least. My legs resisted folding that way. Or any way, really. I finally used my hands to tuck my resisting limbs in an assimilation of his position and my knees popped like firecrackers.
Tree didn’t seem to care that I was slowly losing feeling in my upper thighs. “First we need to open your mind. We’re going to chant a little and try to access open channels across the spiritual plane.” He pursed his lips and closed his eyes and then began to murmur the word om.
Man, my mother would love this guy.
After a second of my nonparticipation, one of those brown eyes cracked open. “Spiritual enlightenment is not given. It is earned. Say it with me. Om.”
“Om.”
His other eye opened. “Don’t just say it. Feel it. Open your throat while you’re saying it, so you can unblock your throat chakra. Now again. Om.”
“I’m really not comfortable with—”
“Om.”
“You know, this isn’t really my—”
“Do it,” he snapped.
Apparently, I could push even a mild-mannered spiritual guru to the brink of madness. “Om,” I said quickly.
He cleared his throat as he regathered himself. “Now. Feel the energy coursing through your body, opening you up like a flower,” he said. “Focus on opening. You’re a flower. A beautifully open flower.”
I’m a flower. I closed my eyes in concentration as I thought about that. My stomach rumbled in warning as I caught a hint of sugar and butter in the air. No, you’re not hungry, you’re a flower. Although I suppose flowers do get hungry. Isn’t that what the whole photosynthesis thing is all about?
I struggled to focus. I was a flower who wasn’t hungry, and that was energy coursing through my fingertips. I was receptive and open and… my stomach rumbled again. Fuck. I was receptive and open to some damned donuts.
I opened one of my eyes a slit just to see what Danny was doing and saw him bring something to his mouth. Is that bastard eating a cruller in the middle of my session?
“You are not channeling,” Tree said sternly. “I’m going to try and draw the energy out with you.” He leaned forward quickly and before I knew what he was about, his hand landed on my forehead—a little harder than necessary.
“Ouch.” My eyes flew open. I was now ninety-nine percent sure that “drawing the energy out of you” meant “I’m going to smack the shit out of you.”
He repeated the motion on my forehead with even more force. “Ohhhm.”
“Will you stop that?” He smacked me again, and I grabbed his wrist. “Look here, Tree. I’m about to make you into a fucking shrub if you don’t—”
I heard a knock on the glass and looked over to find Danny standing there, cup of coffee in hand, one eyebrow raised imperiously. Then I looked back at Tree, who gave me an unflappable look of his own. I sighed heavily and let his wrist slither from my grasp. I settled back into my cross-legged position. Danny sent me a little wave and a smirk and headed back to his chair.
“Om,” I gritted out.
“You’re not channeling,” Tree informed me. “Say it like you mean it.”
“Oh, for the love of Pete,” I half shouted. “Om!”
He narrowed his eyes, as if he could zap the bad juju with the power of his stare alone. “I can only do so much without your help.”
“I’m sorry,” I blurted. “There’s a reason I’m bad at yoga. Just ask my mother.”
I glanced at Danny through the windows, sipping at his coffee, typing something on his phone, one booted foot tapping rhythmically. I doubted he even realized he was doing it. I knew it didn’t matter if this session was an hour or even two; he was willing to be here for me when there were a million other things he could be doing.
I knew he was worried. He wanted me to sleep better. There were countless nights when I woke up covered in sweat with him wiping my face with a cool washcloth. He wanted me to have a life, and not be at the whim of the ghosts. He wanted us to have a life. Together. That was worth a little discomfort with a man named Tree.
I sighed. “Let’s try this again.”
The guru was a bust. No other way to put it. Turns out you can’t really force inner fucking peace. What the hell, right?
After our session, Tree offered to pencil me in his appointment book, but I hesitated. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but this new age shit wasn’t exactly free. In the end, I didn’t have to say a word. He nodded kindly and patted my shoulder.
“It’s not for everyone,” he said. “You have to find the method that speaks to your spirit.”
My spirit is a whiny bitch that wants to quit. I sipped at my complimentary cup of wheatgrass. The only complimentary thing I had to say about it was that it was free. Quite frankly, I wanted a word with whoever decided it was acceptable to make a drink out of lawn clippings.
“Thank you for understanding,” I managed.
He cocked his head to the side. “I have an idea. Maybe you should see Dakota Daydream. He doesn’t usually take on clients, but—”
“I don’t really think—”
“I think he’s more of the spiritual guru you need. More like you. Scholarly.” He used the word like a curse. “He’s a doctor, you know.”
“A doctor of what?”
“Spookology?” He shrugged. “I don’t keep up with the false trappings of traditional schooling.”
I sighed. “What kind of name is Dakota Daydream?”
“I don’t know.” His expression was placid, but his eyes danced. “Rainstorm.”
Touché, motherfucker. Touché.
Tree glanced over at the door as the bell tinkled. He clapped his hands delightedly. “Oh, isn’t that just perfect timing?”
I looked over to find a young, hipster-looking ginger coming through the door, his arms full of books, a coffee cup stacked on top. He looked young. Really young.
He headed over, a welcoming smile on his face. “Is this the medium I’ve been hearing about?”
“Dakota Daydream?” I shook my head. “Your parents hated you too, huh?”
He laughed. His hair was so neatly groomed that I could see the tracks of the comb. His rounded glasses made him look even younger, as did his widely spaced, long-lashed eyes. He was fresh-faced and young and… entirely unprepared to handle my situation.
“How old are you?” I blurted out.
“I skipped ahead a few grades and graduated early.” Hazel eyes flashed with annoyance. “I would think someone of your advanced years would’ve learned not to judge a book by its cover.”
This book might not even be legal. Then the rest of his sentence filtered in. Advanced years? “I’m sure Dora the Explorer seems of ‘advanced years’ to someone like you.”
“How old do I look?” he demanded.
“Six,” I estimated generously.
He didn’t seem to agree. “At least I don’t look like I haven’t slept in a week.”
I glared. I was well-aware keeping up with the ghosts was running me into the ground. The cracks in my foundation were starting to show. I didn’t need Doogie Howser to tell me that.
He wasn’t quite finished. “You look tired and your skin is a little sallow. You’re still a good-looking man, of course, but your bags have bags, if you get my drift.”
“This is how you're going to get my business?”
“I don’t need your business. I just find you fascinating and the scholar in me would like to explore.” I lifted an eyebrow, and he went pink. He clarified quickly, “Your mind.”
That was for the best. I knew a certain six-foot-two detective who would have no qualms about breaking a cute, twinky little doctor over his knee. “I don’t even know how you would help me,” I finally said.
He smiled brightly. “I have a unique set of skills.”
It was a moment before I placed those words and when I finally did, I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Dear God. Are there any legitimate paranormal therapists in this city at all?”
“You’re looking at one,” he said.
“One that doesn’t quote Liam Neeson in casual conversation?”
“I do love that franchise. Although how many times can you get taken, am I right?”
I stared at him for a moment. Nope. Just all kinds of nope. “Have a nice day.”
He smiled. “I’ll be seeing you, Rainstorm.”
I really didn’t like how certain he seemed about that.
When I came out, Danny took one look at my fa
ce and sighed. He put an arm around my shoulder and squeezed briefly. I appreciated the sympathy and the bag of assorted muffins he handed me. We stopped by a local park instead of going straight to HQ and ate in the car with the windows halfway down.
“You got enough muffins for five people,” I informed him.
“I like options,” he said. “We’ll take the rest to work for the guys.”
I nodded as I broke off a piece of chocolate chip muffin, as if it was normal for a person to voluntarily share baked goods. “I don’t think meditation is for me.”
He reached over and broke off a piece of my muffin. I narrowed my eyes at the amount he came away with; his fingers were a hell of a lot bigger than mine.
“Didn’t seem to be going all that well through the window.” He popped the piece in his mouth. “Especially when he started smacking you around.”
“Thank you,” I exclaimed. “I knew that ‘touch’ was harder than it should be.”
He let out a soft huff of amusement. “And I knew you were annoying enough to send a peace-loving guru to the dark side. I still give you mad points for trying.”
I’d try anything for you. Anything at all.
Two squirrels in the tree next to the car chattered as they argued over something in one of their paws. Maybe some type of acorn? One of them dropped it and the other proceeded to chase him around the tree like they were Tom and Jerry. I chuckled at their antics and looked out across the wide expanse of green field. I loved the park when it was all quiet and deserted. The sun was out full-strength and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. It was the kind of picture-perfect day that would look great on a postcard.
Leaves swayed from the breeze and so did one of the swings, almost as though there was a phantom rider. I squinted at the swing again. No, that wasn’t just the wind. There was a phantom rider. A little girl with blonde pigtails sent me a cheerful wave and kept on swinging. She didn’t seem to be in any rush to talk to me. I wondered who could’ve killed someone so little, and why.
That sent my mood back down to pre-muffin levels. I sighed as I watched her swing, singing happily to herself. Danny didn’t ask, he just put a hand on my knee and squeezed gently before breaking off another piece of my muffin.
