Total pages in book: 194
Estimated words: 187021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 935(@200wpm)___ 748(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 187021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 935(@200wpm)___ 748(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
“A psychiatrist?” Kierse asked. “And that’s different than a therapist?”
“A psychiatrist can do everything a licensed therapist can do and also prescribe medicine.”
“Medicine,” she said skeptically. “You think I need medicine?”
Mafi arched an eyebrow. “At this time, no, but I want to recommend the best specialist for you. And luckily, we have the best in the business for monster-human psychiatry.”
“Are you sure I’d need that?”
“I plan to treat your brain the same way I would any other organ. Your mental state is as important as your physical state. If you broke your leg, you wouldn’t shrug off seeing a specialist for the injury.”
“If we could afford it.”
“Money doesn’t seem to be a problem anymore,” she quipped. “So let’s keep our mind open, shall we? We can get a lot farther together if we all look at this as a combination of magic and science. You came to me for my specialty. If I need to steal something, I’ll come to you. Got it?”
“Sure,” Kierse said.
Mental health just wasn’t talked about on the street. When your entire life was centered around survival, dealing with your trauma any way other than finding your next meal and keeping a roof over your head wasn’t possible. She’d never looked into her past even when it seemed to have gaps. She hadn’t wanted to know what she’d find.
“So what’s your suggestion, Emmaline?” Graves asked finally.
Mafi met his gaze warily. “Our most distinguished psychiatrist, Dr. Carrión, is back home in Peru at the moment. Her specialty is monster mental health in a post-Monster War New York City. I would suggest Kierse come to see her when she returns. I can let you know when that is.”
Graves looked at Kierse. She blew out a breath and nodded. “Done,” he said.
Mafi handed Kierse a bunch of paperwork about the benefits of therapy and told her to read through it.
“More homework,” she mused. Her eyes found Graves as they headed to the car. “Why do I always have homework when I see you?”
“Always trying to make you a brain and not just a little thief.”
She rolled her eyes. “I can be both.”
“You can,” he agreed. “But you usually think what’s the most trouble I can barrel straight into first, and the stop-and-think part comes second.”
“Fair,” she conceded as she slid into the backseat. “You were quiet in there. I know you have thoughts about what Mafi said.”
“I want what’s best for you.” He tapped the book in his hands. “Which means mental fortifications and memory work and yes, even therapy, if that’s what you want.”
“Yeah,” she said, biting down on her lip. “I don’t know how I feel about therapy.”
“Color me shocked.”
She laughed. “What? That doesn’t surprise you?”
“Very few things surprise me. You almost always do,” he conceded. “But not in this. You’ve been on your own your entire life. You thought your mother died and your father abandoned you. The only person you’ve ever let in is Gen.”
“I let you in,” she said, lifting her chin. “And learned why I shouldn’t have.”
He stilled at her comment. “As I said, I’m here to prove you wrong about that.”
“It’s a work in progress.”
He was working on it. She could see that he was changing. She just didn’t know if it was a forever change. She’d been fooled once. She didn’t want to make the same mistake again.
“I’ll take it.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Kierse completed her homework.
She read the mental fortification book, and she considered therapy. Something she never in a million years would have thought about before this point. Maybe she’d do it if Graves got the promised follow-up call. In the meantime, mental work.
The practice seemed simple: create a little mind block to separate her consciousness from an attacker. But it was not simple. Not in the slightest. And it made her head hurt ferociously.
Still, she practiced until her temples throbbed all day and night. Then she practiced some more. Day after day, working on muscles she’d never used before, until she felt a scream building in her throat. Until she thought she’d tear the house down in frustration. From her need to do something physical.
So, one morning, she hoofed it out of Graves’s brownstone, paid off a particularly obnoxious troll, and took the 2 to Penn Station. She exited onto 31st Street just as dawn was breaching the horizon and headed at a quick clip toward Chelsea Park.
Only this winter, she’d seen drug deals on the corner here, but the place had been cleaned up. Fresh grass, trees in bloom, flowers around a small fountain, the playground filled with children’s laughter, even signs advertising a weekend farmer’s market. Her city had changed so much in her absence.
She loved and hated it all at once.
She wasn’t even sure that Nate would be up when she’d texted him on her way over, but by the time she’d soldiered past an unknown guard, who had clearly drawn the short stick for such an early shift, she’d received a text back.