Words That Bind Page 7

  The flame grew, bigger and brighter, until it became an eye-squinting light. Burns placed it safely inside the lantern again.

  She watched him, a bemused look upon her face. Yet another side of him she’d never seen, somewhere between Boy Scout and Doting Son. He was a kaleidoscope of moods, wasn’t he? Playful and brooding and sweet and furious—everything she wished she could be, and so much more. He burned with an intensity that made even her most volatile clients appear dim by comparison. “You take care of her, don’t you?”

  “I do.” He paused long enough to glace backward at the room to which Elder Mother had retreated. “I will as long as I can.”

  “Come.” He stooped and picked up her pelts. “We must go.”

  He set the poncho on over her head, minding her nose and ears. Gently, he tugged it down around her shoulders. “Tell me. What exactly did you see that had upset you so?”

  She shuddered, remembering the intensity of meeting her nightmare face to face. “Didn’t you see it?”

  He smoothed back her hair, holding it in place against the back of her head when he drew the hood forward. “The mirror looked dark.”

  She sighed and lifted her arms so he could bind her waist with the cord. “I saw the candlewick man. I mean lady. Who knew?”

  “Candlewick. Such an odd word.”

  She shrugged, although he wouldn’t be able to see it beneath her pelts. “I’ve seen it since my childhood. It reminded me of a candle, bobbing and flickering and dancing. Not scary. Just beautiful.

  He drew himself up, as if he took a compliment. “What else? You said a body. Whose?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t want to know. We need to go. I have group today.” She held out her hands toward him, expectantly.

  “Plenty of time,” he said. He shoved her mittens on, one by one. “So, Tamarinda. You have a riddle inside you. I will have a great deal of enjoyment stealing it from you.”

  Opening the door, he guided her out of the hut. At least this time he didn’t push her.

  He didn’t toss her the guide rope, either. He led her by the hand.

  They headed back up the mountain along the rocky path, rounding the sharp corner, the wind giving them a slight reprieve. Snow sheeted against the rocky face of the cliff, shushing against the cold stone.

  She peered through the furry hood, and tugged on his arm. “Here already? That didn’t take long.”

  “What do you mean?” Turning, he raised his hand to block the wind from his eyes. He sounded irritated again. “We’re only halfway there.”

  She stepped off the path, into the hollow formed by a massive stone outcrop. Puzzled, she pointed to the door. “But isn’t that the door where we came in?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Oh, God. Are you blind?” She marched over to it and pulled on the handle, struggling to open it. “This one. Help, it’s stuck.”

  “Woman.” Over the lump of furry collar, his eyes were wide, a ring of white around huge dark pupils, the irises all but swallowed up. “What have you found?”

  “What? Isn’t this your door?”

  “No.” His voice tight, he pulled her away from the door, shielding her from it. “Put your arms around me and hold on.”

  A hum flooded her ears and he lifted her, squeezing her and spinning. Spinning with ferocious speed—it felt like falling. She shut her eyes, the wind streaming tears out of the corners. Breath was stolen. Gravity was lost. Nothing else existed except the swing and the motion and the circle of his arms around her, the crush of his chest against hers.

  In a moment their spinning stopped. Her head kept going for several moments, the vertigo tilting her stomach.

  Dazed, she kept her grip on him and tried to focus. Their tracks were gone. He’d erased them.

  “We go. Now.” He pried her off him and yanked her up the trail to his door. A savage swipe of his fist and the door sprang open, revealing the familiar coral walls of Burns’ hallway.

  He ushered her through in front of him, pulling the door shut with a slam that made the floor tremble.

  Yanking off a glove with his teeth, he traced his finger in a sweeping pattern on the surface of the door, a glowing line trailing like a path. When he lifted his finger, the pattern glowed, white-hot, before disappearing altogether.

  Burns tore off his cloak and dropped it, taking more time and patience to help her disrobe.

  His eyes, still big and dark, looked extremely suspicious. Leaning into her, almost nose to nose. “I’ve never seen that door before. How did you see it?”

  Not big on personal space, was he? She backed away, coming up against the wall.

  “I told you.” She resisted the urge to sniff her hair, wondering how she’d explain her newly-acquired odor to her staff. “I notice things.”

  He stared at her, mouth open, for several long moments before shutting in in an audible snap. “You did tell me. That door was magically hidden, yet you saw it. How?”

  “I’m observant.”

  “You’re more than observant. Here I thought the mirror would have been the extent of my surprises.” He backed off, stooping to pick up the fur garments.

  She breathed a huff. “Look. I hate to interrupt your mystery but I have to get back to work. I need to reschedule my entire afternoon and explain why I didn’t come back from lunch.”

  “Why?” He tapped on the wall, opening the cubby once more and stowing away the winter gear.

  “I was in Peru for at least an hour, then before that there was the tour and we had coffee…”

  “You are not late. You still have ten minutes. Remember? It would only take a minute, you thought, to help cure me of my delusion.” He pressed the door closed and gestured to her wrist. “Go on, look at your watch.”

  She did, and almost choked. Ten to one. Her mouth opened and closed and opened again, without a squeak of a sound emerging.

  “I despise fish,” he said. “Stop impersonating one.”

  “Burnsie.” The diminutive slipped from her lips before she could stop it.

  He didn’t miss it. His mouth took up a wry slant.

  “Try to understand. I’m a magic man.” He winked at her and pressed his hand to the small of her back, guiding her down the hall. “Come on, you’ll be late.”

  She twisted and jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Isn’t the front door that way?”

  “Sometimes.” He led her into a small corridor to the right and paused in front of a curved green door, the outline of which was painted in a myriad of colors, vines and scrolling scripts. He reached for the lamp-shaped latch and twisted it. “Elevator is around the corner to your left.”

  “Elevator?”

  “See you Thursday. Nine o’clock. I’ll be there with bells on.” He swung the door wide and propelled her through into a familiar corridor. Around the corner to her left was the elevator that took her to her offices.

  She spun around to look at him, wanting to laugh and yell at the same time, but saw nothing, just the plain old lobby wall. The door was gone.

  No doubt he stood on the other side of that now-vanished door, laughing at her.

  Oh, that genie.

  Chapter 9

  On Thursday morning, Burns arrived resplendent, wearing an ornate costume. White knee-length tunic, wrapped across his chest; the golden trimmed edge shining like a ceremonial sash. It was held in place with a wide matching belt, its free end hanging straight down from the center clasp.

  Over it he wore a sleeveless jacket, also knee-length, thick with gold embellishment, beads and embroidery creating a pattern of stars across the white linen. Long white sleeves, their lengths hugging in gathers at his wrists; tapered trousers in the same snug folds at his ankles. Beaded slippers, gold and white.

  Only upon the tops of his feet was his flesh visible, and his hands, his face and throat, a small triangle of chest.

  He looked like an emperor.

  Why did he dress so? He’d only worn a suit until n
ow, slacks and shirts and shoes like a businessman. He always tried to blend in before.

  Then he put on that llama skin. She could no longer pretend he was an ordinary element in this contemporary world. Not when he looked like this—not after he’d caused her to react as he had. As he continued to do.

  As he sat down, she opened a drawer and took the translation earring out of her desk. Its cool weight was another reminder of their impossible trip. Setting it in front of her, she cleared her throat. “How does this thing work?”

  His eyes lingered on the glinting cuff, a tiny curl playing up the corner of his mouth. He smoothed the edges of his mustache and glanced up at her. “Magic.”

  “Is it real? I mean…will it disappear? Can I keep it?”

  “Why? Planning on going back to Peru?” His crooked grin accentuated the chiseled look of his chin.

  She was hopeless when it came to picking up languages. Despite all the Spanish classes—four years in high school and three years in college, to be precise—she remained on a level slightly below Dora the Explorer, a disheartening fact she found out during one of her family sessions.

  Dolly’s joining her practice was more than a partnership. It was a necessity. Otherwise, so many people would have been turned away because of a frustrating language barrier. If she kept this, it would make group sessions so much easier.

  “It would help me here,” she admitted. “I don’t speak anything other than English, and I’ve really tried to learn. It’s like the language just gets whisked away to a vault in my head where I can’t reach it.”

  He nodded. “You’d have to get a second one to match, so you don’t look unfinished.”

  “I’m more than willing.”

  “What would you look like, I wonder? With gold in your ears, I mean.” He let his gaze travel across her, lingering and caressing. “You don’t wear much jewelry.”

  She stowed the earring away in her top drawer. “I’m not really interested in jewelry.”

  “Odd.” He scanned her from head to fingertips. “Not even a ring.”

  She snorted. “Too much symbolism in rings.”

  “Anti-marriage?”

  “Not really.” She slid her thumb over her bare ring finger. It had taken a while for the tan line to fade, slightly longer for the skin indent to smooth. She rubbed it out of habit, nothing more. “Marriage is one thing. But a ring doesn’t mean that the bearer honors those vows. People see a ring and think; oh, she’s married. But plenty of people wear rings and get married and it means little more than a convenience or a roommate.”

  “You’ve been burned.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “A favorite phrase of yours?”

  He smiled, the corners of his mouth spreading, his eye teeth gleaming. “Scorned, then.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Yes. I once wore a ring. In the end, it meant little to him. Now, jewelry is something to put on when you dress up, but most of the time it’s a shiny piece in a velvet box. Just a thing.” She shrugged. “I don’t wear jewelry, although goodness knows I have enough. My grandmother—now she loved jewelry. She left me her entire collection when she died. Most of it was given to her by her grandmother.”

  “Must be a lot of history in that collection.” His expression was one of constrained interest, and he played with his heavy watch, twisting it around his wrist.

  She read eagerness in his fidgeting. He really needed to work on controlling his body language. “And you’d like to see it, wouldn’t you?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t impose...”

  “Of course you would. Honestly, you’re acting like a kid.” She stopped herself. What was she doing, bantering with him like this?

  She already had a full list of conflicts when it came to this man. She’d done little to discourage him from coming in—technically, he’d appeared as a client, but it was hard to define him as such. He wasn’t human, for one thing. He wasn’t honestly seeking therapy, either. By now, she’d have outlined a plan, discussed his goals, considered him for group. But she’d done none of those things. In fact, she had yet to write a single thing in his file.

  She wasn’t treating him. She wasn’t even trying to. So the question of the day: was he a client, or not?

  She rubbed her eyes, knowing she was unable to determine that today.

  “Fine,” she said. “Maybe sometime you can see the collection. I’m not sure how I would get it all here...”

  He sat forward. “It’s that great a collection?”

  “Yeah. Truthfully, I’ve never gone through it all the way. Too busy with work. Besides, I’m not very sentimental. It’s in an old steamer trunk. Trunk is nice, actually. Fits the décor. I just don’t have much reason to open it.”

  “I can come over,” he said, his words tumbling out in a rush. “I would, of course, behave myself.”

  She bit her lips, debating her next words. Burns coming over would be a really bad idea.

  She’d already gotten too involved with this man. Every nuance of every conversation felt less and less like therapy and more like a personal pursuit. Allowing him into her home would be unabashedly unethical.

  And, yet…she tugged on her earlobe. It didn’t feel unethical, did it? Everything about him, so fantastical and yet so familiar. Perhaps his status as an immortal djinn meant she had to expand her idea of what was proper and acceptable. The Code of Ethics never allowed for that kind of perspective.

  Besides. It would provide another opportunity to observe him under new stimuli. And observing him might get her a step closer to unlocking her own emotional inhibitions, perhaps for good.

  That settled it.

  “Yes. Fine.” She nodded, firmly telling herself she did this for science. “You can come over tomorrow night and look through the trunk. If you behave.”

  “On my word. Perhaps we will discuss what you saw in the mirror, as well.”

  “I don’t know, Burns. I haven’t been able to figure it out. And I still don’t like what that creature said.”

  “Want to talk about it?” He mimicked her tone, eyes twinkling as he playfully turned the tables on her. Rising from his seat, he paced slowly in front of her desk, studying her.

  Normally, she’d have asked him to sit down, reinforcing their roles in a therapist-client relationship. Watching him posture, his eyes dancing with mirth, she realized she didn’t mind.

  In fact, she appreciated it. That vision was something she’d never be able to figure on her own. “You are two. You are half. You are one. You struggle to break. And you will. How does that make sense? And whose body was that? I think she killed someone. With a knife.”

  He appeared nonplussed. “Maybe it was symbolic. Death images often are, no? Those words sound like prophesy, besides. You say you dreamed of her your whole life?”

  He tilted his head, stroking the line of his jaw with a forefinger. “I will tell you myself, there is something strange about you. It is what drew me to you in the first place.”

  “That’s disturbing.”

  He shrugged, pursing his lips. “You are a little unsettling, to be honest. You give off a vibe.”

  He circled behind her chair, his nose close to her personal space, scenting the air. He analyzed her, took inventory of her. A thousand thoughts flitted through her mind. What does he know? What could he sense? Could he read her mind?

  Could he detect things within her that she herself was unable?

  She watched him, only turning her gaze, tracking him. What did he think about her? What did he hope to gain? She was just a person, a counselor, an observer. There was nothing beyond that of any worth. And all his sniffing and glaring was only a show. It would not yield anything interesting.

  She remained still and allowed him to strut, enduring the scrutiny with a calmness that never wavered. A truthful person strapped to the polygraph. Let him know the truth. Then maybe we can move on.

  “What are you?” He stepped back, slitting his eyes.

  This sudden question caught her o
ff guard. “What do you mean?”

  “What. Are. You?” He punctuated each word with a nod, a downward jab of his chin.

  Her answer was immediate. “I am a therapist.”

  “What else? What’s under that?”

  She reflected on the question a moment. “I suppose…I’m a woman. Someone who cares about people. Someone who tries to help them understand themselves better so they could better understand others.”

  “Deeper.” He circled back to face her straight on and leaned in, his breath on her nose. “Go deeper than your motives. Tell me, what are your core values?”

  She took a certain comfort from his questions. So familiar. She had asked many people those same questions, but this was the first time she answered them herself.

  “Trust.” Her conviction was rock-solid. “Above all things, trust. I need to trust a person completely before I entrust myself to them. And I want people to know they can trust me in return.”

  “That is the something I felt in there.” He relaxed somewhat and clasped his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels. “This trust thing. What makes you so trustworthy?”

  “I…don’t know.” She shrugged. “It’s just me. How I am, I guess. What makes you who you are? What is inside you that gives you your values?”

  “Ah.” He smiled wide enough to show his eye teeth. “Very nice maneuvering. You try to make this about me. You are clever, woman.”

  “Stop calling me woman. And it is about you. That is the whole reason I bill by the hour.” A tiny misdirection. She had yet to bill him, period.

  “Why don’t you like what I call you?” He blinked, fanning his lashes. The lightness in his tone was a hair away from tease. “I thought you didn’t get personally vested in your clients.”

  “I don’t.” She pushed her chair back against the wall and crossed her arms. “I just don’t like being subjugated by that sort of label.”

  “You do not like me to think of you as…a woman?” He smoldered at her.

  Definitely smoldered. She frowned at the smoke wafting from his shoulders. “Stop that,” she said. “You’ll catch the carpet.”

  He patted the back of his neck, dispelling the smoke. “Answer me. What makes you trustworthy? Everyone breaks their word. It’s only human, amongst other things.”