Page 45 of The Diamond in the Rough

“You don’t want me to do it, is what you mean.”

I shrugged, then nodded. “Yes.”

Let him be, Nancy, Sylvia interjected. She’d been watching as breakfast unfolded, presumably occasionally talking to Ward or Beck. She could make herself visible and audible if she wanted, although I knew it tired her after a while. Ward and Mason had set up what Mason called a nexus to enable both Sylvia and Archie to make their own choice about when they wanted people other than me, Ward, and Beck to be able to see and hear them.

Ward threw up his hands. “Okay, fine,” he said, although his tone stayed mild. “Just take care of yourself, okay, Rayn?”

I nodded again. He was the second person to tell me that this morning. I wondered if I looked extra tired or something. Iwasextra tired—the kind that wasn’t so much about sleep as it was about bone-deep exhaustion.

I got up and took my mug to the kitchen just to escapethe fact that everyone kept glancing my way. At least if I had a full cup of coffee, they’d stop asking if I wanted more.

As I passed the conference room, I could hear Elliot humming to himself as he unpacked his tools. It was a pleasant sound, one that reminded me that not everyone’s life revolved around death or the dead. Sure, the table was meant to help with summoning the dead, but Elliot himself wasn’t really connected to that part—he was a carpenter and wood-worker. Someone who made his living with his hands.

There wasn’t really much to that, I supposed, but it was nice to think that not everyone or everything had to revolve around dead people.

I heard that, sunshine, Sylvia remarked.

I sighed as I slipped into the kitchen, then swore inwardly because I’d forgotten my gloves and I still had to handle the coffee pot, even if the mug was mine. I wondered if I could get away with it, then ripped off a piece of paper towel with a sigh.

It is getting worse, isn’t it?The Victorian woman asked me.

Yes,I replied.Well, stronger. I’m not sure if that’s worse or better, honestly.

You can be more useful to our brooding tiger-shifter and foul-mouthed elf, you mean,she said, and it wasn’t really a question.

Yes, I confirmed, anyway.

And you can’t turn it on and off, I take it?

No.I sighed as I pulled my creamer out of the fridge, using the towel, just in case.I’ve tried. I can make it a little less strong, but not like it used to be.I put a dollop of creamer in the bottom of my mug.

So you need to get better at doing that,she said.

I put the creamer back in the fridge, then grabbed the carafe from the warmer and poured coffee into my mug, holding the handle with the paper towel.I’m trying,I told her.But it seems like every time I do it, the wall just gets weaker.

Wall?

I put the carafe back, tossed the paper towel in the trash, then leaned against the counter, sipping the now-sweetened coffee.When I first went to Cyprian’s, they taught me to help shield myself against psychic contact—low grade, anyway—by having me build a wall in my mind. Mortaring in the bricks, and so on. I pulled it apart in order to get more access to people’s thoughts after you suggested trying to hear what wasn’t being said, but I can’t rebuild it quickly.I grimaced.It took months to build it the first time.

So you’re… what? Just piling up bricks just because you don’t want to take the time to rebuild your wall?

I shrugged.I’m just going to pull it apart again, anyway,I pointed out.There doesn’t seem to be much point in putting in the effort if I’m just going to undo it again.

I would hazard a guess, sunshine, that it would go faster if you kept practicing at building it,she said. It wasn’t an unreasonable point, but…

I don’t really have months to rebuild it in between when Raj and Hart need it, I replied.

So get as far as you can, she replied, matter-of-fact as always.Sunshine,she said, then, and her voice had softened.You can tell them no, you know.

I know,I replied.But I do want to help.

Just be careful,she told me.

I sighed again.Why does everyone keep warning me to be careful or take care of myself?I demanded. It was easier—for me, anyway—to sound less petulant in my head than it wasout loud, which was why I was asking Sylvia instead of Mason or Ward.

Because we like you, sunshine,she told me, her disembodied voice soft and almost tender.And we know how hard it is.

I scowled.Ward and Beck and Mason do hard things all the time, I protested.