Page 2 of The Wolves At My Sides

“I’d figure you and Irwin would ask more questions than them. You’re the therapist and he wants to write books about --- tragedy? Anyway, but you two haven’t. Why haven’t you asked me what happened that night?”

“Because it’s your story to tell or not tell. It’s not my job to make you talk about anything, Cord. You choose what we discuss here. If you want to tell me, I’m here, but I’m not going to ask about it. I imagine it’s a very hard thing to recall and that you’re just now dealing with it. You’re safe now. It’s impossible to heal while you’re still in danger. I think that’s the real reason Ginger Barrel is in your dreams. You’re safe and now your brain wants to process it.”

“But how do I make it stop if I’m not ready?” He asked.

“That is a question for greater minds than mine, I’m afraid. In my experience they’ll slow and stop as you do process things, but how you process them is up to you.”

“Can I ask about the guy coming here today?” He switched the topic again.

“Which one? As I told you during our first session I can’t discuss other clients with you,” I grinned.

“The one coming because he wants Irwin to write his book,” he said.

“Are you concerned about him?” I asked.

“Are you?” He shot the question back to me.

“Cord, are you asking me as your friend or your therapist.”

“Are the answers different?” He asked.

“Only slightly. As your therapist, I’d say that you’re deflecting from talking in-depth about something that is bothering you. As your friend, I’d say, I’m not worried about him. I don’t think he’s coming here to start trouble, but at the same time, Bobby will pick him up from the airport and bring him here to me. I’ll speak with him before Irwin ever does.”

“Does Irwin think you’re a cave-fox?” He asked.

“You’d have to ask him, but my expertise is in reading people. When it comes to trauma you never know what might happen. Good people do things they wouldn’t do without the trauma,” I said.

“Are you talking about Ginger?” He groaned.

“No, I can’t excuse wanting a magical genocide based on trauma,” I said. “I was speaking in general, but it’s okay to be sad for her, if you are.”

“I think the hard part is not having the answers. What made her change? She used to hook up with witches. At least one witch. I’m proof of that and then--- she’s leading a hate group?”

“The not knowing will always be the hardest part of bad situations,” I nodded.

I glanced at the clock. We had about ten minutes left before it was time for me to listen to Cade spiral into all the horrible things that could happen to his triplets for an hour. I adored Cade and how he refused to acknowledge what he felt was normal, if not always rational. He also wasn’t dealing too well with Sunny’s absence from his life.

“Do you want to know my suggestion about your dreams?” I asked.

“Not really, but tell me anyway,” he sighed at my change of the subject.

“Keep a dream journal. Sometimes writing things out gets them out of your head.”

“I used to keep one,” he said, looking away from me. “Dad made me as part of my magical training. I just haven’t started it back up since ---. I didn’t even get to get my stuff back. After she locked me up in her house---”

“Ginger Barrell destroyed your home,” I finished the sentence for him.

“Yeah.”

I got up and walked to the standup oak cabinet in the back of my office. I kept random supplies there that my patients might need. Included in those supplies were a stack of handcrafted journals from The Sanctuary on Hemlock Mountain where I grew up. I chose one that was as dark blue as a clear midnight sky.

“Here,” I said, handing it off to Cord. “You’ve got to start somewhere with your magical daily practices again. Start here. Journal. Dream journal. Whatever you need it to be.”

His fingers trembled as they wrapped around the edge of the book. He swallowed hard and pulled it to his chest.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. That’s the good thing about working in a group setting. It allows medical professionals to go beyond what most hospitals would allow.”

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