Page 78 of Power of the Mind
“I’m not manipulating him, and believe me, we tried the conversation thing. Look where it got me. Wearing my stinky shame shirt.”
“You put him in an overwhelming situation.”
I blinked at the ceiling, praying for strength while processing my savant coworker’s words. How did the woman walk into the office and somehow know everything within five seconds? Was there a cosmic interference I was unaware of? Were their aliens sending out signals on the airwaves and Kitty was receiving them in exchange for eternal life?
“I know what I’m talking about, Tallus. Diem needs gentle handling. He likes you. I can tell. Baby steps. Don’t smother him.”
I removed my glasses and pinched the bridge of my nose, fighting exhaustion. “Kitty. My dear, sweet, immortal, propheticKitty. I had a late, late night, and I’m super-duper tired. Can we please play witch doctor later? I don’t want to discuss whatever you think you know—which is creepy accurate and disturbing on so many levels. Besides, Diem’s not ready for more conversation. He talked his fill last night. My guess is he met his word quota for this lifetime, and I won’t hear from him again. Ever. Trust me, listening to him finally speak was amazing and utterly painful at the same time. I tried to help. I didn’t want to hurt him more. If I failed, it was not on purpose.”
“He’s ready to talk again.”
I huffed a humorless laugh. “No. He’s not. You’re wrong. I’ve texted and called him a thousand times this morning because I’m the world’s most annoying asshole and hate being ignored, and guess what? He won’t answer.”
“He’s ready.”
Again, I spun to face my far too smug coworker. “And how do you know this? How, witch? How? In fact, how do you know any of this? I have told younothing. Zip. Zilch. Nothing. You waltz in here and somehow have the gist of my entire night all figured out. Right down to the letter. I’m afraid to ask for details because you might give them to me.”
Kitty smirked, and I broke out in a panicked sweat.
“You scare me. Seriously. What am I thinking right now?” I narrowed my eyes and tried to block all thoughts from my mind, except a yawn hit me unexpectedly, and I couldn’t stifle it.
“You want a latte.”
“That’s not fair.” Growling again, I pointed a finger in her face. “But you’re spot on.”
Her face softened. “Sweetheart, Diem’s been sitting outside the building on the hood of his Jeep since this morning. He’s chain-smoking cigarettes even though he quit months ago.That’show I know he’s been taken to his limits. And there’s onlyone reason he’d be camped out at headquarters.” She hitched her chin. “Because of you.”
Her words took a minute to sink in. I was on my feet in a flash, aiming for the door. “I’m taking an early lunch.”
“Don’t rush. I’ve got a handle on this place. Been here since the 1800s.”
“It was a joke,” I yelled as I flew out the door. “But I’m buying you a pointy hat for Christmas.”
***
I found Diem exactly as my nefarious coworker had described, sitting on the hood of his Jeep, smoking, a faraway look in his eyes. It was easily thirty-four degrees, and a wall of heat hit me in the face the second I exited the building. A haze of sunlight filtered through the thick city smog and reflected blindingly off every metal surface, making me squint.
Diem wore rugged jeans and a snug, plain black tee. Heels of his boots hooked on the front bumper, legs splayed, elbows on his knees, and with his head bowed, Diem stared at the ground with a cigarette, burned to nearly the filter, dangling between his fingers. He was misery personified.
Stupid clairvoyant Kitty was right. I had upset the boy. I may have trodden carefully, but not carefully enough. I’d pushed Diem beyond his limits, and he was paying the price for my selfish ignorance.
Approaching the troubled man, I stuffed my hands in the pockets of my cotton pants, aiming to appear less threatening. I stopped a few feet away, but he didn’t notice, so I cleared my throat to grab his attention.
Diem glanced up, face pale, eyes rimmed red, and the sclera threaded with tiny bloodshot veins. I got the sense Diem was not a man who ever cried. Heavy emotions would render anger,not tears. His eyelids were not puffy, but they were the eyes of someone who hadn’t slept all night.
The man was a wreck.
I motioned to the cigarette. “I guess I’m bad for your health, huh.”
He flashed his attention to the burning stick and flicked the butt away before brushing his hand over his pants like he’d gotten something unpleasant on his fingers. Diem sat straighter. He opened his mouth a few times, but no words came out.
I closed the distance and patted the spot beside him. “Mind if I join you?”
He grunted and shuffled overseveralinches. I took the hint and gave him plenty of space. No touching. We sat for a long time in silence. The late August sun baked us. Traffic zipped by in both directions. Exhaust filled the air. Horns honked. Pedestrians raced along the sidewalk with their food-truck hot dogs and takeout coffees, and men and women, young and old, ventured in and out of the headquarters building, ready to file one complaint or another.
Tension rolled off Diem in waves. His fists were balled so tight his knuckles were white. Twice, he reached for the pack of cigarettes he’d placed on the hood beside him, but he didn’t take one out.
From what I knew of the man, he would harbor plenty of self-loathing for caving to his cravings when under stress. At the moment, he seemed to be doing all he could to simply exist and stay in control.