“Not a problem. That’s all?” Phyllis managed a tiny frown. It could not have been easy given the amount of cosmetic surgery she’d had over the years. “Why do I have the feeling that things might be somewhat more complicated than you’re letting on?”
“My client’s name is Jack Winters. And the family heirloom is the Burning Lamp. Ring any bells?”
“Oh, my,” Phyllis murmured. The vivacious energy that had animated her a moment ago dimmed abruptly. Her heavily made-up eyes narrowed with shrewd intelligence. “That definitely complicates the picture. Do you think he actually is a Winters? A true descendant of Nicholas Winters, I mean? The name is not that uncommon after all.”
Chloe thought about the nightmare energy that had slammed through her last night. “I’m pretty sure he’s the real deal.”
“Why does he want the lamp?”
“He believes that he’ll turn into some sort of psychic monster if he doesn’t find it.”
“But surely he realizes those old tales about Nicholas and the Burning Lamp are just myths and legends.”
“He’s convinced they’re real,” Chloe said.
Phyllis sniffed. “Then he must have a few loose screws.”
“If I refused to accept every client who had a loose screw I’d go out of business in a week.”
“How did he find you?”
“He admitted that he hacked into the Arcane files to find a strong dreamlight reader.”
“And he came up with you? But you aren’t registered with the Society. No Harper is.”
“Evidently Arcane has kept tabs on the family over the years,” Chloe said.
“Supercilious bastards.” Phyllis bristled. “I’d like to know who granted them the right to set down rules for the rest of us who also happen to possess a modicum of talent. If I had a nickel for every time someone from J&J had the nerve to warn a member of our family that he or she was engaged in some enterprise that, as Arcane likes to put it, gives psychics a bad name, I would be a wealthy woman.”
Chloe grinned. “You are a wealthy woman.”
“That’s not the point, and you know it.”
Chloe nodded and sipped her tea. There was no need to go into detail. Everyone in the family understood that Arcane and J&J were to be avoided whenever and wherever possible.
“Trust me, under the circumstances Mr. Winters has no more desire to draw the attention of the Society than I do,” she said.
“Hmm. That certainly gives the two of you something in common, doesn’t it?”
“Are you trying to play matchmaker, Aunt Phyllis?”
Phyllis sighed. “I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to tease you. But I do worry about you and this new celibacy phase of yours. Just because a traditional marriage is not an option for you doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun.”
“I’m tired of having The Talk with men. It always goes the same way: Initially they jump at the offer of a no-strings-attached affair. They think it’s the perfect setup.”
“A male fantasy come true.”
“But when they find out that I really am serious about not making a long-term commitment, they get mad and go all self-righteous on me. It only works if I let them dump me first. But who has the patience to sit around waiting for that to happen?”
“I know, dear,” Phyllis said, her tone soothing. “You must learn how to finesse things.”
“I try, Aunt Phyllis, but I always end up having to waste a lot of time and energy maneuvering seemingly intelligent men into thinking that they’re the ones who are ready to move on.” She was warming to her topic now. The frustration of it all spilled out of her. “It’s not only tedious, it’s stressful.”
“It’s tricky, I admit. In my younger days I assumed that the arrangement would work best with married men,” Phyllis said. “They had every incentive to want a discreet arrangement with a woman who would never demand a commitment from them. But oddly enough the married ones always got just as upset as the single men did when I tried to end things. Something to do with the masculine ego, I suppose.”
“You know I don’t do married men,” Chloe reminded her.
“I know, dear, another one of your rules. I really don’t know how you manage with so many of them. I have always found that rules tended to take all the fun and spontaneity out of life.”
“And then there’s the problem of sleepovers,” Chloe continued, ignoring the interruption. “Sooner or later men always want to go away with you for a romantic weekend. Heck, sooner or later I want to get away for a few days in Hawaii, too. But when they find out that they’ll have to book two rooms they get irate, even when I make it clear that I’ll pay for the second room.”
Phyllis nodded solemnly. “I think it’s the sense of knowing that they can never really possess you. So many men always seem to want what they can’t have.”
“The fiasco with that psych instructor a few months ago was the last straw. For Pete’s sake, Fletcher Monroe seemed absolutely perfect for me. How could I have been so wrong?”
“Well, I did tell you that it is never a good idea to get involved with people involved in the field of psychology. They always try to fix you.”
“I admit that was a mistake.”
“But you really mustn’t give up on love and a normal or at least seminormal sex life,” Phyllis said firmly. “You’re young and healthy. Your hormones are humming. There’s always the possibility that you’ll find that special person, a man who will accept a relationship on your terms.”
“A man who will be okay with a committed relationship with a woman who won’t sleep with him? Hah. What are the odds?”
“You know, in previous centuries it was not unusual for husbands and wives to have separate bedrooms.”
“I think that was mainly an upper-class phenomenon.” Chloe frowned. “Probably because the upper classes were the only ones who could afford a second bedroom and because marriages at that level of society were contracted for reasons other than love.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Phyllis agreed. “But, still, there is a precedent for that approach to marriage.”
Chloe looked at her. “You could afford a second bedroom. You could afford a dozen bedrooms. But you never married.”
Phyllis expelled a surprisingly wistful sigh. “Yes, well, let’s just say I never found the right man, either.”