“Hello, Maeve.” The female demon—Tashia—held out her hand, her elegant smile enhancing the beauty of her light brown face. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Maeve shook the other woman’s hand, her mind and heart spinning trying to catch up. Of all the perplexing, poignant things Arawn had done, this ranked among the most astounding. He found an otherworldly therapist for her, so she’d have someone to tell her story to. All of it.

Arawn seemed to absorb her tiniest tells, his evergreen eyes piercing in their perceptiveness. “Ms. Morgan will be around for you, should you choose to talk to her. It is entirely up to you. You do not need to see her if you prefer not to.” He nodded at Tashia. “One of my enforcers will be waiting for you at the fork in the path when you are ready to return to your quarters.”

Facing Maeve, he gave her a look that could very well have singed the clothes off her and burned deeper, to the bottom of her heart. Shadows swirled in the depths of his eyes, like dark mist spreading in the woods. “I will see you tomorrow.”

She didn’t reply, simply watched him turn and walk down the path, the fireflies’ soft light caressing the taut muscles in his broad back…the way she had just minutes earlier. Before the flame he kindled chilled at the reminder of the sort of callousness she should not have forgotten to expect from the Demon Lord.

Tashia cleared her throat. “I’d like to reiterate that there’s no obligation to see me. I want you to know that you shouldn’t feel pressured to talk to me. I’m here if you want to try a session, or we could always have a casual chat over coffee first, so you can get to know me. Or”—a shrug of her graceful shoulders under her black blazer—“we needn’t meet at all. It’s entirely your choice, and if you decline the offer, I won’t take it any way other than you choosing what’s right for you, and what you feel comfortable with.”

Maeve’s hand itched to pull her hair in front of her face. She crossed her arms instead. “What do you know about me?”

“Just that you had a traumatic experience you’re struggling with. Nothing more than that. Whether or not you want me to know more, and how much, is totally up to you.”

Maeve nodded absent-mindedly, pressing her lips together.

“You can sleep on it,” Tashia said, her voice gentle. “If you want to see me, simply send word. I’ll be ar—”

“Would you like coffee?”

The female demon didn’t miss a beat, simply gave her a graceful smile. “Yes, thank you.”

* * *

In the cabin, Maeve prepared the coffee in the small machine stocked in her kitchenette, set sugar and cream—from her mini-fridge—on the table in the corner, where Tashia had taken a seat. While the aroma of the brew wafted through the room, Maeve turned to study the female demon.

“Where are you from?”

“Los Angeles,” Tashia replied. “Although I lived in Atlanta for a while. Originally from Boston, though.”

“And you came here…just like that?”

“Well.” A small smile played around Tashia’s mouth. “Lord Arawn made me a very generous offer for relocating here. To be honest, I wouldn’t even have to work anymore thanks to his generosity.” She shrugged. “But I want to. And I like the area. I used to come up to the Pacific Northwest to hike.”

When the coffee was ready, Maeve poured two cups and carried them over to the table. “What about your clients back in LA?”

Tashia nodded. “Perceptive question. It’s always a bit tricky to move when you’re a therapist and have clients who trust you—sometimes even depend on you for their mental health. None of my cases are truly critical in that sense, which made the move easier, but I made sure to recommend my human clients to trusted colleagues who match the client’s individual profile. As for my otherworldly clients, I’ll still be seeing them until their therapy needs are fulfilled, because finding another non-human therapist for them is so difficult. We are few and far between.”

Maeve frowned. “So you’ll fly down there regularly to see those clients?”

“Yes. I don’t mind traveling.” Another elegant smile, the female’s brown eyes glowing warmly.

Taking a sip from her mug, Maeve pondered for a moment. She didn’t know what to make of the feeling spreading in her chest at the sheer thoughtfulness and effort Arawn had put into making this possible for her.

We are few and far between. She didn’t know hard numbers, but chances were good that otherworldly therapists were indeed a rare breed, probably only a handful of them in the entire United States. And Arawn managed not just to find any one of them, but a female who specialized in dealing with trauma, plus he had succeeded in recruiting her for permanent relocation—so there’d be no deadline for Maeve to decide if she wanted to see her. If the therapist lived and worked in this area from now on, Maeve would be free to go to her at any time, even if it was months down the line.

Shaking off that train of thought and the unsettling—for it was far too warm—feeling that went along with it, she returned her attention to Tashia. “What kind of demon are you?”

“A reflector.” The other woman sipped from her mug. “My power is mirroring. I can sense people’s feelings and reflect them back to them, which enhances that particular emotion at the expense of others.”

Maeve gasped softly as a full understanding of that kind of power sank in. “You could drive someone mad.”

“I choose to do the opposite.” A small smile. “A lot of my kind deliberately mirror negative emotions to feed on them. There is a certain rush when absorbing feelings on the darker side of the emotional spectrum, but feeding on positive emotions is just as nourishing for us. Many reflectors simply go for the high of negative feelings. I refuse to do it.”

“So you…use your powers during therapy sessions? How does that work?”

Tashia shook her head. “I only mirror with my otherworldly clients, because I can ask their permission beforehand. With humans that’s not possible, for obvious reasons, and I’d never just reflect without the client’s consent. That would be inappropriate. There has to be a foundation of trust between the client and me, so they’ll feel safe allowing me to decide which emotions to reflect.”

The petite woman took another sip of her coffee. “With those who give me permission, I mostly mirror the feelings they need to nurture in themselves with regard to whatever issues they have. Someone who is struggling with a negative self-image from years of verbal abuse, for example, would need to feel good about themselves and nurture self-love. So I’ll mirror those feelings when they arise while we talk.”

Maeve stared at the demon, her coffee nearly forgotten on the table. “That is incredibly fascinating. I’ve never heard of reflectors, much less how their powers work.”

A sparkle in Tashia’s smile. “Would you like a demonstration?”

Maeve considered it for a second, nodded, her heart aflutter in her chest.

Tashia’s eyes shifted from warm brown to quicksilver. The air hummed with power, a gentle buzz, and then… Excitement pounded through Maeve’s veins in prickling, sparkling waves chased by the astounded awe of fascination on steroids. Her heart jumped into her throat, her pulse a drumbeat in her ears. Skin flushing hot, she nearly wanted to leap to her feet and dance for the sheer force of her overjoyed agitation.

Tashia regarded her out of eyes that were back to their usual brown, then winked at her. “I overdid it a bit for the sake of example. It can be much subtler.”

Maeve cleared her throat. “I’m ashamed to admit that if I had that power, I might use it for baser motives. Making the guy who looks at you all creepy on the way to school suddenly cry for no apparent reason sounds way too tempting.”

Tashia smirked, rubbed her nose. “Well, I never said I’ve always been a saint.”

Maeve grinned. “I think we’ll get along well.”

They drank coffee in companionable silence for a moment, before Maeve ventured, “How…how would it go, if I did want to talk about…”

Tashia set down her mug. “First of all, you need to know that you can tell me as little or as much as you want. Actually, I don’t even need to know details of what happened—unless you want to share them. Sometimes, it’s important to unload, to get it out there, especially with someone neutral, someone you don’t have to worry about hurting with your pain.”

Maeve lowered her eyes. Damn, Tashia was good.

“Second,” the other female continued, “apart from talking about it if you need to, therapy is mainly about helping you deal with whatever PTSD symptoms may be impairing your life and comfort. That’s really the big deal for most of my clients. They have open wounds impacting how they go about their daily lives, and sometimes those wounds make it difficult to have any sort of normal life at all. So my questions would really be about what negative effects your trauma has had on your life, and then we’ll figure out how to deal with that.”

She didn’t realize she was crying until a tear plopped onto her hand. Sniffing, she wiped at her cheeks, her face heating. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Tashia pulled out a tissue, handed it over. “I want you to know that this—talking to me—is a safe place for you, okay? There’ll be no judgment from me, and my oath as a healer stands that I will not pass on anything you tell me here—to anyone. Not even Lord Arawn.”

Maeve sniffed again, nodded. “Okay.”

“Whenever you’d like to start,” Tashia said, leaning back in her chair, “some things I would ask you about are how you’re sleeping and whether you have intrusive thoughts or flashbacks. I would try to gauge how severe the PTSD symptoms are for you, so we can work on reducing them.” A pause. “Take your time to answer—if at all—and just know that I’m here for you. You’re safe.”

Those last two words sent more silent tears rolling down her cheeks, her chest both filled and hollowed out by the promise of a catharsis she hadn’t seen coming.