Unhoppy: The Case Files of Dr. Matilda Schmidt, Paranormal Psychologist #3 Read online

  “I have some,” I said.

  “The correct answer to that question would be no, Doctor. You don’t have the first fucking clue.” His fingers tangled into the hair at the nape of my neck as he pulled my face down to his, rising to capture my mouth with a devouring kiss.

  Pleasure bloomed in the blood flooding to my lips as a familiar heaviness began to rise at the center of my being. One muffled moan escaped me before my body dissolved away like sand, the world falling away under Crixus’s power.

  *****

  When I arrived back at my apartment later that evening with a vase containing Sigmund under one arm and the Easter Bunny in my laptop bag, my and Crixus’s agreement to divide and conquer felt like a monumentally bad idea.

  Though earlier this afternoon, having both Crixus and Adonis under my roof had seemed like an orgy waiting to happen, this eventuality was vastly preferable to the sight greeting me now: Barrett the Ferret raiding my fridge.

  His mustache looked more like soot smudged under his nose in the refrigerator’s pale blue light. “Kimchi?” he asked, his pointy nose wrinkling. “You really eat this shit?”

  I swallowed the acid swell of fear and set the vase on the counter. “I’m a vegan,” I reported. “Mostly.” Marvin hopped out of the laptop bag and scampered across the living room.

  The Ferret watched him until he disappeared down the hallway toward my bedroom. “Dressing up your pet rabbit? That doesn’t look too good on the old crazy meter, I got to tell you.’

  “Neither does breaking into people’s apartments to extract financial resources via emotional manipulation. What do you want?” I asked him.

  “Besides a beer and something that isn’t organic?” he said. “Just a little chat with my new friend.”

  “We are not friends, Barrett.” I wandered over to small dining room table and took a seat, not wanting to share a couch with him. “Let’s get this over with.”

  The Ferret pulled out the chair across from mine and folded himself into it. “You’re not looking so good,” he commented.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Am I failing to be as bright and effervescent as the rest of the people you’re extorting money from?”

  “A little haggard, but still clever,” he added, wagging a finger at me.

  “I would tell you about my day, but I’m afraid it would only give you more to work with. Can we just get to the point?”

  “You betcha,” he said. “We own you. You understand that, right?”

  “Maybe. Is this we an indication of some delusion on your part, or are you working with someone? You never can be too careful in my field.”

  His expression congealed into something more threatening. “We’re certainly feeling full of it tonight, aren’t we?” he said.

  I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms across my chest, too tired and pissed off to trouble with niceties. “See, now you’re confusing me. Are you using the royal we? Because that’s a pretty big red flag where your childhood development is concerned.”

  “You didn’t seem too interested in my childhood development this morning. I could get more out of talking to a potted plant.”

  His accusation, however snide, stung. “You’re right,” I agreed. “I was distracted, and that’s not an accurate representation of my usual methods. Even though your sole purpose for being in my office was to extort money from me, as a professional, I would recommend you explore your obvious issues with your mother. You might find it useful in terms of your career options.”

  “My mother’s got nothing to do with this.” Color bloomed in his sallow cheeks. “Aside from she told me to do something I was good at.”

  “It just seems like your choice of profession is a symbolic effort at rebelling against the career she had in mind for you. Something to think about.”

  This wiped the slimy smirk from his face. “Don’t get smart, Doctor. It won’t end well for you.”

  “It’s already not ending well for me. Just tell me what you want.”

  “Your help,” he said. “There’s something we need from someone you know, and you’re going to help us get it.”

  “Who?”

  He reached into his coat, withdrew an envelope, and slid it across the table.

  I looked at it for a full thirty seconds before I summoned the courage to pick it up and lift the flap. The face that stared up at me drained the blood from my head in one world-dimming rush. “Rolly?”

  “Roland Boggs,” the Ferret corrected. “Yes.”

  A snort escaped me. “What could he possibly have that you want?” Feeling a sudden wave of remorse, I added, “He’s just a nice, ordinary guy.”

  “Nice, yes. Ordinary, no,” the Ferret agreed. “Let’s just say he’s had the attention of certain people since he finished his master’s degree in political science at Williams.”

  “Rolly went to Williams? The Williams College in Massachusetts?”

  “The same,” he said.

  “And you’re positive we’re talking about the same Rolly Boggs?”

  Light from the overhead pendant reflected against the Ferret’s scalp through his thinning hair. “Positive.”

  “Wouldn’t have called that one.”

  “I would wager there’s plenty about him you don’t know,” the Ferret said, leafing through an accordion file folder at least three inches thick. “But there’s one very important thing you do.”

  “And that would be?”

  That strange little smile returned to the Ferret’s face. “Why, that Rolly is completely smitten with you.”

  “Smitten is a strong word,” I replied. “I think infatuated would be more appropriate.”

  “Nevertheless, anything you ask for, he’ll give you. Down to his last dime, I suspect. And he has more of those than you’d think. Seems that awful mother of his left him quite the inheritance. Millions, in fact.”

  “Rolly’s a millionaire?” I asked incredulously.

  “Many times over.”

  “But he drives a Dodge Dart,” I pointed out. He’s worn the same pair of shoes every day for two years.”

  “Not everyone is as concerned with demonstrating their wealth through outward symbols, Doctor.” He glanced pointedly at the matching Burberry purse and tote bag I had set down by the door.

  The comment irritated me too much to be groundless.

  “So why do you suppose he sits behind that dreadful security desk all day?” the Ferret continued.

  “Hobby?” I suggested, aware of the pleading note in my voice. I knew where this was headed, and I didn’t like it.

  The Ferret’s forearms were pale and sprinkled with long, wiry black hair that stuck up like so many antennae when he shot his cuffs. “I suppose that’s accurate enough. You’re the closest thing to a hobby that Rolly has. Which is why we are confident you’ll be able to help us obtain a key to his apartment.”

  “I’m not going to help you hurt him,” I insisted.

  “Help us?” The Ferret’s laugh was ugly and shallow. “Doctor, when it comes to hurting poor Mr. Boggs, we should all be taking lessons from you.”

  My heart shrank into a small, cold stone in my chest, recalling the hurt expression in Rolly’s eyes when, during an ill-advised therapy session right after he had been let go, I informed him point-blank that I wasn’t attracted to him.

  “So you see, this won’t be too much of a leap for you. All you have to do is get us his key, and all this ends for you. No more being framed. No more debts. No more blackmailing. You’re free.”

  Something inside me leapt at the prospect of being unencumbered, my record cleared, my practice safe from harm. But could I really sell Rolly to save myself?

  “Yes,” the Ferret answered. “That’s the answer to the question you’re turning over like a shiny stone in your palm. It’s easier than you think. Believe me. I’ve seen bigger and better than you tumble. It’s just a matter of time and the appropriate pressure. You may rest assured that we are more than committed to
applying it.”

  “No,” I answered. “I can’t do that. Whatever Rolly has, he deserves to keep.”

  “I thought you might rally some thin sort of moral objection,” the Ferret said, producing another envelope. “So I brought a little…incentive.”

  A tremor had crept into the cold fingers I used to pry open the paper. Shock narrowed my vision to include only the photograph itself. My chest rose and fell in shallow gulps.

  Me, attacking Adonis on the very couch where I proclaimed to help my clients heal. My face was a shocking mask of frenzy, Adonis’s—a twisted portrait of fear. Worse, a similar onslaught of lust stormed through my veins anew, only incrementally dimmed by the medium.

  “I’m awfully glad your assistant was able to squeeze me in this morning,” the Ferret gloated. “Gave me ample time to plant a little camera in your office. Of course, I hadn’t expected for it to pay out so quickly. I would think a little gem like this could be enough to relieve you of your license to practice. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  It would be enough to do that, and far more. Criminal charges could be brought against me. Jail time, a definite possibility. The sound of bars slamming home heralded a spiral of panic that drained all possibilities save for two: refuse and go to jail, or give them Rolly.

  “What do you want from him?”

  “That’s none of your concern.” The Ferret pushed himself up from the chair and paced around the table, stopping to tap the vase where Sigmund swam circles around the plastic kelp I transplanted to make him feel at home. “You have plenty of troubles of your own at present. And there could be many, many more with the evidence we caught on tape this afternoon.”

  Glancing at the photo, I felt a brief flash of relief. Based on the angle, it would have been impossible for this camera to pick up Marvin’s miraculous goldfish healing behind the couch.

  “So what do you say, Doctor?” the Ferret urged.

  I took a deep breath and avoided my reflection in the dining room table’s glossy surface. “Okay.”

  *****

  By the fourth tumbler of scotch, I could almost forget that my life had become a total shit show. Warmth suffused my entire being, my joints feeling like someone had finally oiled them.

  Marvin had passed out on my bed before the Ferret even took his leave. Multiple suicide attempts could take it out of somebunny, or so it seemed.

  Now, aside from the glass vase holding Sigmund cradled in my lap, I was alone.

  Sitting on the sofa, watching the glass sweat onto yet another leather couch in my life, I kept tossing one word away, only to have it come winging back into my head like boomerang.

  Liam.

  Liam who had still not returned my call.

  Liam who abducted me at gunpoint and dragged me to Vegas.

  Liam who had gotten into a tussle with Cupid after handcuffing me to the bed.

  Liam who had practically composed the picture-perfect opportunity for a blackmailer.

  Actually, this was pretty much all Liam’s fault, best I could figure.

  I set Sigmund’s vase on the coffee table, picked up my glass, and shot the rest of the contents on the way to retrieve my phone.

  A knock on the door yanked me in the opposite direction. I squinted through the peephole to find the pinched, parsimonious face of my neighbor, Mary Ellen Mayes of the Women’s Rotary Club, peering back at me.

  Given her past propensity for returning every five minutes until I could be conjured to my door, I elected to go ahead and get it over with.

  I smoothed my hair and pulled my yoga shorts down a few inches so they would show below my oversized T-shirt before opening the door.

  “Good evening, Doctor—” Her eyes widened behind their golden rims, reminding me to push my own spectacles back up my nose. “Oh dear,” she said, after an extended full-body scan, during which she sniffed the air in my direction. “Did you know you were missing a sock?” She glanced down toward my feet, but I refused to follow.

  “Good evening, Mary Ellen. Is there something I can help you with?”

  Her head bobbed on a bird-like neck to peek into the apartment behind me. “I can see you’re not expecting company, so I won’t take up too much of your time. I’m not sure if you received any of my calls, but I just wanted to see if you had a chance to think about that donation we discussed the other day.”

  “I’m afraid I haven’t,” I said. Leaving out the part about a demigod, a blackmailer, a suicidal Easter bunny, and an irresistible immortal seemed like a good idea.

  “I see. Well, I know you’re still a busy young woman, even though you don’t have a husband or children, but as you know, our annual Women in the Workforce spring carnival is tomorrow, and—”

  “Yes, I remember,” I cut in. “And I promise to swing by if I have time.”

  Her mouth puckered up like someone had just tugged the drawstring. “I’m certainly glad to hear you’ll make an effort. Enjoy the rest of your drink—er, evening, Doctor.”

  “Thank you, Mary Ellen. I will.”

  Door closed and locked behind me, I stood in the center of my living room until I could remember what I had been doing when Mary Ellen came peddling disapproval door-to-door.

  Liam.

  Righteous anger fueled my irritation as I retrieved my phone and swiped his number onto the screen, sandwiching the device between my ear and shoulder so I could pour myself another drink—most of which made it into the glass.

  When I heard the connection click open halfway through the third ring, surprise tossed a wave of amber liquid out of my glass. I paused to bend and slurp the smoky puddle from the granite countertop while I waited for Liam’s voice to come over the line.

  The tirade I had been working up took off and scattered to the wind as I was rewarded with a child’s giggle. Ice water poured through my veins.

  “Hello?” I ventured.

  Another giggle.

  I held the phone away from my face to check the number. Liam’s name was displayed across the screen just as I expected. Either someone had changed his contact information, or someone else had Liam’s phone. “Who is this?”

  “Hayley,” the little voice replied. “I know who you are.” Somehow this sentence sounded far more ominous when spoken in a little girl’s voice.

  “You do?”

  “Uh-huh. Your name is Sex Kit-ten.” The T’s were sounded out with a kindergartner’s dedication to pronouncing a word’s every letter.

  “My name is Matilda,” I corrected. “Doctor Matilda Schmidt.”

  “That’s not what the phone says. The phone says Sex Kit-ten.”

  “How old are you, Hayley?” I asked.

  “Six and a half,” she said. “How come your voice sounds funny?”

  “My voice sounds perfectly normal,” I replied. “How did you get this phone?”

  “Your words are all sticky.”

  “Don’t judge, Hayley,” I heard myself say. “Can you tell me how you got this phone?”

  “Found it.” The hesitation in her voice brought to mind the seminars on developmental psychology I had taken before deciding once and forever that my practice would not include children. She wasn’t lying, but she didn’t want to tell me the whole truth.

  “Where did you find it?”

  “In the man’s coat.”

  The man. Warning bells sounded deep within my mind. If Liam was there, she didn’t know him. Or at least, didn’t know him well enough to assign him a name or title.

  “Can you tell me what the man looks like?” I asked.

  “He’s big. He wears black clothes. And he says swear words a lot.”

  Liam, without question. “Where is he now?”

  “He’s in the bedroom. He’s putting them to sleep.”

  “Putting them to—” The words froze on my tongue. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Would he?

  A high-pitched scream sounded in the background. The sound of a door slamming.

  “Uh oh.” Hayley gasped into
the phone. “He’s coming!”

  “So help me God,” Liam growled. “Who are you talking…oh fuck—er fudge. For the last time, get in bed!”

  Tinkling giggles erupted in the distance. The sound went muffled.

  “Liam!” I shouted into the phone.

  “Matilda?”

  “You bastard!” I hissed. “There are children there! What the hell is wrong with—”

  “Of course there are children here. I’m at my sister’s cabin in Tahoe. I’ve got her four kids and plus the two friends my niece invited to sleep over.”

  “You—what?”

  “It’s my sister’s anniversary, so I took the kids for a few days. We’re out in the middle of buttfuck—”

  “Uncle Liam!” a chorus of voices squealed.

  “The middle of nowhere,” Liam restated. “And the cell reception is shit.”

  “You’re at a cabin in Lake Tahoe with six children? That’s why you haven’t answered my calls?”

  “You called me?”

  “Like, a bajillion times.” Ice clinked as I brought the glass’s cool rim to my lips.

  “Did you just say a bajillion?

  “Fuckin’ A, I did.”

  “Are you drunk?”

  I considered this for a moment. “I don’t think so. Lemme check.” The glass clunked as I set it down on the coffee table after draining the contents. My hand flapped upward, but found only a strange putty-like disk where my face should be. “I feel something weth,” I announced.

  “Sounds like your fingers are in your mouth,” he observed.

  “No they’re noth—ow!”

  “What?” he asked.

  “Bit my fingers.”

  “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “How much have you had?”

  “Your voice is sexy,” I said. “Do you want to go out sometime?”

  “Matilda—”

  “Pfft. My name is Sex Kitten. Wait, I know yours. Don’t tell me. It’s—”

  “Liam,” he finished for me.

  “Hey! You weren’t supposed to tell me, Liam.” I gasped. “You’re Liam? I hate you! You ruined my life!”

  “Does that mean we won’t be going out, then?”

  “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have been in a stupid motel handcuffed to a stupid bed with stupid cupid where some stupid pervert was taking pictures for a stupid blackmailer!”