Page 5 of Power of the Mind

“Oh, I will, and when she directs me to Mr. Right and he’s a multi-billionaire, you’ll eat your words. Are you sure you don’t want to come for entertainment purposes?”

“No. Waste of ninety-five bucks, if you ask me.”

“She cured Amber’s migraines.”

“Yeah, by throwing her off a balcony. No thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” Memphis headed to the door, tapping away at his phone, likely arranging an Uber.

“When’s your appointment?”

“Not until after lunch.”

“Call me and let me know how it goes.”

Memphis tucked his phone away and gave me theFriendsfist tap fuck you before slipping on the leather loafers he’d bought from Antoine, but he dampened the insult with air-kisses as he headed into the hallway. “Later, babes.”

“Later.”

“Love you.”

“Love you back.”

When I was sure he was gone, I headed to the window overlooking the street and shifted the sheer curtains aside. As I’d suspected, Diem was gone. Part of me was disappointed. The more reasonable part of me, the one who questioned what the fuck was happening between the surly PI and me, was not.

2

Tallus

It was late. I tidied the wine glasses and shut off the TV before heading down the hall to get ready for bed. More awake than expected, I curled under the covers with my phone and pulled up Madame Rowena’s Google reviews. The whole thing was ridiculous. I was not a believer in psychics, nor was I convinced spirits could attach themselves to people and cause them health problems, but Mac’s review about his sister piqued my interest in a different way.

His sister, like me, had been a longtime migraine sufferer. By the sound of it, she’d had a harder time dealing with them. I knew that pain. I knew how desperate a person could get when dealing with a bad episode.

But how bad did a person need to be to seek help from a psychic? It sounded like a last-ditch effort. I couldn’t fathom Amber had expected results, but she’d been willing to try anything. She’d paid the big bucks for severalcleansingsessions—or whatever they were called.

Because I shared a bond with poor dead Amber and didn’t believe she had been lured over the balcony through mind control, I ended up venturing down a rabbit hole. It started with a Google search of natural remedies to cure migraines—the results were eye-rolling. Acupuncture, piercings, herbal concoctions, hypnosis, changes in diet. SomecuresI’d read about in the past. Others were new to me and laughable.

Hitting too many dead ends, and because my morbid brain was drawn to stories about unexplained or unexpected deaths, I wound up searching for information about Amber’s suicide instead.

Mac’s review claimed his sister had killed herselflast week. His review had been posted six weeks ago, on July eleventh, which meant Amber had died in the first week of July. I typed a search into Google using Amber’s first name, the month, year, and city of her death, and added the keywordssuicideandbalconybefore hitting Enter. They were oddly specific search terms, and despite living among a population of millions, I got a hit right away.

Eighteen-year-old Amber Wells jumped from the fifteenth floor of her family’s apartment building.

I cringed reading the articles.

True enough, the reports about her death claimed Amber’s family and friends had seen a drastic change in her behavior in the weeks leading up to her death. Her mother said she’d become reclusive and moody. Withdrawn. Her best friend claimed she was distant and edgy. Her brother, Mackie, was ridiculed by the press for claiming his sister had been mind-controlled and that she would never kill herself.

Apart from her questionable mental health, there was nothing about her migraines. The story sounded like a tragic end to a suffering teenager’s life. Amber likely couldn’t deal with her chronic pain and ended things.

Not much mystery there.

Disappointed, I returned to Madame Rowena’s Google reviews and changed the filter to display three-star ratings. I figured it would eliminate the quacks on either end of the spectrum and give me something honest to work with. If my best friend was trusting this woman with his mind, I had to do my due diligence and be sure she wasn’t suckering him into some fraudulent scheme—which I already knew was the case. It was what these people did.

If I could find more proof that Memphis was wasting his time and money, maybe I could convince him to save his ninety-five bucks for our next shopping spree. Plus, I didn’t want this woman sweet-talking him into an unnecessarycleansing. It would drain his bank account even more, and I’d never hear the end of it. Memphis was gullible, and this woman seemed to pray on the weak and naïve.

I found more claims to back up Mac’s voodoo theory. In fact, a surprising amount of people stated that Madame Rowena was able to get inside their heads.

I have to be honest. I was a nonbeliever when I made my appointment with Madame Rowena, but since seeing her a few times, I can honestly say I might be a newly devoted fan of her work. I had a lot of anxiety and negative thoughts after my marriage ended. I was spiraling into a deep depression and considered ending my life. Madame Rowena said it was due to a negative spirit that had latched onto my soul. It was sucking the positive energy from my body and leaving me depleted. In a few sessions, she successfully removed it, and I feel like a new man. I had no idea spirits could control you like that. But it worked. No more thoughts of suicide. No more toxic antidepressants. I was looking everywhere for answers, and I finally found them. Three stars because two hundred bucks for a cleansing session was steep.