Page 62 of Power of the Mind

“Hang on, Tallus,” Winifred called. “Let me give you my phone number in case you change your mind about those coupons. If you don’t have a girlfriend, I’d happily accompany you. Might learn a thing or two from this old broad.” She winked suggestively. “Never had a complaint from any man who shared my bed, and with us both in our sexual prime, it could be fun.”

“I… um…” Didn’t know what to say to that, and for once, I was grateful beyond belief when Diem grabbed my arm and physically dragged me along the driveway to the Jeep.

“He’s gay,” he shouted over his shoulder, “and he’s not interested or available.”

It wasn’t until we were both seated in the vehicle and Winifred had returned upstairs that I spoke, doing all I could to contain a laugh. “As much as I appreciate your having saved me because that was creepy as hell, you shouldn’t out a person.”

The bear rumbled behind Diem’s rib cage as he started the Jeep. “She’s a fucking succubus.”

“Oh, so you believe in succubuses… succubi? Succubuses? I don’t know which it is. Either way, you believe in them but not mind-controlling psychics? How odd.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Don’t succubuses… succubi—Man, I have to look that up—Don’t they have sex with men in their sleep? I was wide awake back there and fully capable of standing up for myself.”

“I’ll leave you to the cougar next time.”

“Thank you.” I considered, then shuddered. “Gross, I just got a visual, and it was nasty. Now, moving along, let’s get to the real issue.”

“What fucking issue? There is no issue.”

“I disagree. You acted exceptionally possessive for a nonboyfriend, and how exactly am I not available? I’m about as single as they come. In fact, I’m on the market. I’m sampling the merchandise regularly. I’m—” Diem growled under his breath again. “—done talking before you explode and take out everything in a three-block radius. Possessive much?” I whispered, not quietly.

Diem choked the life out of the steering wheel, his knuckles blanching and his jaw iron.

“Sweetie, you seem stressed. You’ve been having a lot of thinky thoughts since last night, and that’s normal. I get it. It’s a lot to take in, but it’s not healthy to repress your feelings. Are you sure you don’t want to discuss the kiss?”

Diem gunned the engine and burned rubber out of the driveway. He took the first corner so fast that the boxy Jeep threatened to go over on its side.

I chuckled. “I’ll take that as a no, but for future reference, we aren’t dating.” I paused long enough for Diem’s breathing to normalize, for our speed to come down, and for some color to return to his face, then I added, “Yet.”

I was lucky he didn’t drive off the road.

“Stop fucking talking.”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “This is way too much fun.”

“Stop. Fucking. Talking.”

I made a motion of zipping my lips and let him drive in silence for a while.

Twilight had settled over the city as Diem took us toward the office. Rush hour traffic had thinned. The August sunset had left a hazy yellow impression on the horizon.

It took several blocks before Diem found his voice. “Your case is dead in the water. You have no proof Allan saw the psychic witch or Hilty. I know I said one week, but there isn’t anything to investigate. This whole thing is a waste of fucking time and energy. We should pack it in.”

He flashed his attention across the middle console when I didn't respond.

“Oh, am I allowed to talk now?”

He grunted in the affirmative, then subtly added, “Yes.”

“Thank you. Actually.” I pointed at the Google map I’d pulled up on my phone. “I might have something. Can you take us to the 145-150-ish block of Beecroft Road?”

“Why?”

“I want to check something out.”

“What?”

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