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“I’m an empath. There wasn’t much of a choice.”
His eyebrow quirked at that, and he took a sip of his coffee. “You’re also single.”
I scowled at him. “What has that got to do with it?”
“Most marital counselors have firsthand experience with marriage. It helps their clients feel comfortable knowing you have near the same struggles they do.”
“I know relationships, Constable. And I can sense what each of them are feeling. This makes me quite good at what I do.”
Well, it made me passable at what I do, but Maker help me, he was being rude. I didn’t need one more person telling me I should quit and join Uncle Martin at the pawn shop.
The shadowy, cavernous warehouse storing all of Uncle Martin’s goods rose in my mind and I shivered. My life would be an endless stream of other people’s valuables trapped inside that warehouse, listening to the ghost of memories long abandoned. Depression reached for me, dark, inescapable tendrils opening wide, threatening to take me and I hadn’t even chosen that life.
Shaking my head, I thrust Uncle Martin’s shop from my mind and frowned at the constable. “You did not bring me here to ask about my life choices, so how can I help you Derrick King?”
He took a deep breath and stared at his cup. Uncertainty slid through him, but after a moment he spoke. “I need you to come with me for the week and act as my cousin’s counselor.”
I choked on my coffee. “Did you just say a week?”
“My cousin Delilah is getting married but there are some concerns,” Derrick said. “As the token constable of my family, they assumed I could get this done.”
Perplexed by the blasé attitude he was presenting, I set my cup on the table and stared at him. “I’m sorry, exactly what would I be doing?”
“Premarital counseling,” he said and took a swig of his drink.
Blasphemer, I thought, coffee should be savored, not inhaled.
Out loud I said, “Premarital counseling is supposed to happen much sooner than this. It isn’t something you rush through. I have to get to know the couple and they have to learn to trust me before we can make any real headway. There’s no circumstance where this actually works to their benefit, Mr. King.”
“Constable King,” he corrected.
My face heated and I straightened in the chair. “Constable King,” I said and glared at him. “I suggest you go to your cousin and strongly encourage her to postpone the wedding if she wants counseling to work.”
“I can offer you thirty-thousand dollars, plus room, board, and food for the week.”
I froze and gawked at him. And then I realized I was gawking and stammered the first question I could think of; “Who’s your cousin again?”
“Delilah Leslie,” he said and if I wasn’t mistaken, held his breath.
Which made sense because now I knew exactly who he was talking about. “Of the New York Leslies?” My voice had gotten a little high, so I lowered it to a harsh whisper. “The most prominent lycanthrope family in all the Eastern Seaboard?”
Derrick kept his eyes on his cup and hissed what might have been a sigh, but I was still reeling so I couldn’t quite care. The Leslies owned a tower in New York City, as well as several acres upstate, and had their fingers in so many different pies it was difficult to keep track. They were the closest thing to royalty the lycanthropes had in America.
Saying no to Derrick would have consequences, and not merely the fact that I would miss a thirty-thousand dollar payout. But saying yes to such a prominent family would have more of an impact. Bright creatures had long memories and should the CEB fail and the clans go to war again, I would be assumed a lycanthrope sympathizer and roped into the mess.
To be fair, there hadn’t been a clan war in three centuries, but of the Bright creatures, lycanthropes were the most prone to violence. They had short tempers, territory issues, and a distinct lack of sympathy for any bystanders caught in the fray. They were also known as immaculate groomers, always clean-shaven, which led to the speculation that they hated their fur when in their wolf-state.
Not that I would ever ask such a thing out loud.
Derrick seemed an anomaly in this matter, given the scruff around his jaw, and I began to sense that there was something more here.
He cleared his throat, holding his cup in two hands before meeting my eyes again. “Yes, Delilah of the New York Leslies.”
“Not to be rude but, doesn’t the family have their own counselors?”
“They do, but Delilah wants someone from outside the family,” Derrick said. “Someone not compromised by family politics.”
“Whoa, big red flag,” I said.
