by Gillian Zane
When I rounded the corner, I had the perfect view of my new residence and place of possibly sketchy business. I tried to look at it from a non-skeptic's point of view, the cute cottage home, the frosted glass door with the sign that read closed hanging from the door handle. There was a neon light in the window that read psychic and it flickered on and off in a random pattern. The light drew my attention to a figure near the door. He hadn’t been there a second ago, had he?
He was a tall figure, dressed in a suit, leaning against the wood slats of the wall between the front door and the picture window. He held something in his hand, possibly a phone. He was glancing down at it casually, like he had been there for hours, or maybe only stopped for a moment to read a message. He looked up and our eyes met. He seemed familiar, but I knew I had never seen him before.
I wasn’t apprehensive, which surprised me as I walked toward him. My steps picked up and I began to hurry to the office with my keys in my hand.
“Hello?” I greeted tentatively to the man in front of the big glass window that advertised my psychic ability, palm reading services, and other services.
“Castalia Rosso, I am in need of your services,” he said in a voice that sounded like sadness and riches.
“Uh, okay, yes of course.”
I unlocked the door to the office and ushered him inside. I nervously switched on the overhead lights and glanced around the unfamiliar room looking for a sign of what I was supposed to do. Was he in need of my psychic services? How was I going to pull this off?
“Would you like some tea?” I didn’t even know if I had tea, or even a kitchen.
“Yes. Thank you.”
Time to find out. I gestured to a chair at the table in the front room and then walked as confidently as I could into the back area. There was a door situated between two book shelves crammed full of books on the occult and crystals. I figured this was as good of a place to start as any. I opened the door tentatively, not knowing what I was going to find, and nearly did a dance when I saw it led to an apartment of sorts. A living room opened to a small kitchen, which happened to have a tea pot sitting on the stove. I filled it with water and set it to boil, not bothering to look for tea bags, simply manifesting my favorite jasmine tea, a tray, sugar, two cups, and a small carton of milk. This was job related, my manifestation skills were on point.
When the kettle was screaming its completion, I readied the tea and brought the entire tray to the front room where the man sat as still as a statue. His stillness was unnerving and I breathed a sigh of relief when his head turned as I set the tray down and placed a cup in front of him.
“What can I do for you, Mister…?” I let the fact that he hadn’t introduced himself hang in the air like an accusation. Why had I let this man into the house? I had no idea what his intentions were. He could be a serial killer, or worse, a rapist. In need of my services, what kind of line was that?
“Theon.” He gave a slight nod. “Theon Chthonius.” His pronunciation of his name was thick with an unrecognizable accent. He said it like they-on thaw-knee-ous. Quite a mouthful, but it didn’t sound like a serial killer name. Serial killers had simple and charming names like Ted, Henry, Steve. This guy’s name, all accented and heavy like spice, sounded like an ancient warrior, or lord. His other words weren’t accented, but he made sure to emphasize each syllable of his moniker, like he was proud of his name.
“Nice to meet you, Theon.” I tried not to shred up the pronunciation too badly, and I couldn’t interpret his smile as whether I did a good or terrible job.
“What brings you here?” I went on.
“Someone told me about you recently, and my curiosity led me here,” he said with a frankness that was a little unsettling.
“Who told you about me?” I asked, thinking maybe he was associated with the ghost hunters. Was this some kind of preliminary interview?
“That information is inconsequential.” He held my gaze, a slow blink his only reaction.
I cleared my throat, to regain a little better footing.
“Okay, fine. You’ve heard about me.” I decided I would play his game. “Would you like a reading?” I figured he was trying to be mysterious, maybe so he wouldn’t give anything away in case I was trying to swindle him in a reading.
“If that makes your more comfortable.” He looked at my hands which were clasped in front of me in a tight grip, an outward display of what he referred to. I pulled them apart and fisted my hands under the table. I could feel a cool sweat covering each palm. Whoever this guy was, he was making me nervous, but I didn’t want him to know. I needed to get this done and make him leave. There was something about him that had my insides twitching.
“If you’re here for a reading, it’s my goal to make you comfortable.” I wrinkled my nose, trying to get a grip on the situation and thinking a bit of good customer service would mask the unease gripping my spine in a vice.
“Then, by all means, proceed.” He spread his hands in an encouraging gesture.
I shook my head and tried not to jump out of the chair and flee into the back apartment. This was my new identity’s profession, so I should be delighted by a late night reading and a new client. Weren’t fortune tellers and psychics all about the money?
He glanced at the deck of cards on the table. Was he expecting me to pick them up and use them? Taking the large deck into my hand, I shuffled them nervously, compelled to do as he wished.
I focused on the man, looking for his aura. And threw down a card.
“Death,” he said, like the card was an old friend and he knew the meaning behind it. In the tarot deck, each card had a meaning, all seventy-eight cards. They meant a different thing if up or down, or where they showed themselves within the line-up. I was fooling myself to think that I would be able to give an accurate reading. I didn’t know the meaning of any of these cards. But, it wasn’t hard to interpret what Death meant. Death was rather obvious.
I looked away from the man and down at the card. It was a dark and disturbing illustration. In the center of the card was a pregnant figure, with a skull for a head, standing on a polluted beach. There was a ship sinking in the background. The pregnant mother’s foot rested on a child’s head, which was reaching for her. It was macabre and insane looking.
My eyes shot back up to the man. He expected me to say something. I needed to give him his reading and get him out of my shop. I would get this done and move on. On to my case, then get it solved and get gone. Tomorrow I would be traipsing around a haunted house with two con artists. Tonight I was in a small home with a possible serial killer. I loved my life—er, afterlife.
I closed my eyes and then opened them, trying to find his aura again.
His aura. Oh sweet mother. I forced my eyes to shut and fell back in my chair with a hard gasp. It was unbearable. I could still see the light against the darkness of my closed eyes. I had latched on to the table, my sweaty palms slipping against the stained wood, but I held on with a panicked grip so I wouldn’t fall over. Parts of his aura swelled against mine, finding similarities and clinging with stubborn tenacity. Pieces and shards ripped against me, forcing me to use every ounce of my control to shake them off and slam all the protection I could muster around me.
“You’re not human,” I whispered.
“And you are something I did not expect,” he said quietly. His face had a slightly rounder quality to it, like he was surprised.
“What, because I can recognize you aren’t human?"
“It depends on what definition of human you subscribe to.”
“Homo sapien, you know, the only surviving species of homo.” I unclenched my teeth to speak. I kept my defenses firmly in place, defenses I didn’t even know I had. I would not look at his aura again. I didn’t want to burn my retinas off. I was a mess, but proud of myself for my snarky and quick-witted response. I was getting good at this, you know, this reacting to bat shit crazy scenarios.
“Well, then I guess no,” he chuckled. “But
then, neither are you. From what I see. Surprising.”
My defenses dropped in shock and my eyes widened. I braced for the onslaught only to find his aura was now a soft and shimmering purple. Was it possible to mask your aura? If so, what kind of creature could do that?
“You aren’t here for a reading.” I hoped my face conveyed aggravation instead of the intense fear I was really feeling.
“All I wanted to do was meet you. What is your real name?” He extended his hand until his palm wrapped around mine. I froze, my entire being focused down to the contact of his skin on mine.
“Cassandra,” he purred answering his own question.
My mouth was dry to the point of pain as I tried to swallow around the panic. I was alone with this person—unknown creature and I had no idea what his intentions were and how he knew who I really was. What I really was.
“You’ve met me. Okay, is that all? Time for you to go if that’s it.” I tried to pull my hand away, but he held on. He smiled even though I was trying my best to be rude.
“I apologize, there was no other scenario I could rationally come up with that would have a better outcome than this without damning consequences. I only wanted to ascertain your intentions and see what all the emotional outbursts were about, but now I see there is so much more to this story.” He let my hand go and stood. He took a step closer to me around the table. I stood and stumbled in the opposite direction, angling my body for the door in the back of the room so I could make a quick run for it. There was nothing but a table and a full tea pot between us, but it would have to do.
“Why? Why did you need to meet me?” I questioned him.
“That requires secrets I am not at liberty to say.”
“I’m so sick of secrets and things I can’t remember,” I said with more anger than I intended.
“No matter what she did to you, remember, she did it because she thought it was the right thing to do.” He smiled a sad smile and extended his hand across the table again. I made no move to touch him. I didn’t want to touch him again. I didn’t know what he wanted, or who he was referring to. My eyes never left his face and his arm eventually fell back to his side.
“What are you?” I called to him as he turned his back on me to leave.
“Better question,” he said as he looked over his shoulder at me. “What are you, Cassandra Klymenos?” He said nothing else as he turned to leave the cramped front reading room.
“That’s not my name.” He stopped, his hand on the front door, and he turned to face me.
“You have many names, that is one of them.”
“How do you know this, who are you?” I suddenly wanted him to come back. I wanted him to tell me what he knew. Fear was replaced by my burning need for answers.
“Maybe one day I’ll visit again and tell you.”
It wasn’t until after the door had shut behind him that I let out my breath and slumped down in the seat in front of me.
There was something on the table, something he must have left. Two vials. One red. One blue. They were the vials Lethe had given me. The ones I had lost somewhere in the ether.
What. The. Hell?
12
The Twins
The nervous girl came for me the next day at quarter to noon. She was dressed nicer than the previous night, now in a business suit. I was sitting in the same chair that I not so graciously collapsed into the night before. I had spent the night reading through the many books that lined the shelves of this shop. I had realized too late in the night that I could manifest the knowledge from each book with only a thought. I had discovered this after I had crashed my head against the book and wished I could just suck up the information by osmosis. This manifestation thing was handy, but I wished it came with a handbook. It might have saved me hours of frustration.
Now, though, I was an expert on the occult, psychic mediums, and ghosts. Go me.
I could see the girl through the glass of my door, but was unsure if she saw me. So I called out loud enough so she could hear me through the door.
“One moment.” I didn’t know her name, so I couldn’t acknowledge I knew it was her. I had lost track of time, lost in trying to digest all the information I was downloading. I was still dressed casually, in the same clothes I had changed into last night. Luckily the lights were off and the day was dim so she wouldn’t be able to see into the shop. I slipped behind some display shelves and manifested myself into a simple black dress with a peter pan collar and checked myself in the full length mirror to refresh my make-up. I rolled my eyes at my very Goth look. I wasn’t one to dress for a trend and always thought it was a silly habit, be all counter-culture by dressing exactly like a prescribed fringe movement. I looked good, though. I had to appreciate the overall dark look that the blue hair, the shadowy makeup and baby doll dress gave to the role I was playing. Goth princess extraordinaire, or really, Wednesday Addams all grown up. I hope it went over well. I only had one shot to impress.
Time to play psychic, well, psychic medium to be precise.
We pulled up to the highest priced restaurant in the small town that was now my home base. I had finally learned Carla’s name on the drive over, which lasted all of five-minutes. In that short time she shared enough information to get a lay of what was to come. I had learned she was not working for the twins, but the production company hired by the money men financing the show. Today I would be meeting with the twins, and one of the actual money men, if what Carla told me was accurate.
She held the door for me as we walked into the restaurant and continued her nervous chatter. She would stop periodically to comment on my hair, or my nail color, trying to center herself back on me and not the show. She was making my palms itch.
“Even though we haven’t shot the pilot, The Wander Channel has signed the show for one season. So, the stress level is way down. But they put in one caveat…” She looked over at me with a big smile. “They specifically asked for a psychic on the show, instead of two ghost hunters. That’s been done too many times before. Plus, they want the sex appeal of two female main players, so the request was specifically a female psychic.”
“Sex appeal,” I repeated dumbly.
“It sells, and the ghost hunter genre is a sausage fest.” She nodded solemnly like she was dropping a marketing secret. “Which is why I was relieved to see you yesterday. I couldn’t find a picture of you online.”
“So, you’re implying that being attractive will help me land the spot?” Again the urge to roll my eyes was overpowering, but I held it back.
“Yes, the twins are pretty attractive, and so they also needed—” She looked at me and I waited patiently for her to continue.
“Well, a not so weird psychic, that’s also hot.” She laughed again. “So, that’s how we got your name.”
“Did you Google hot, not weird psychic?” I asked under my breath.
“Pretty much. Weird I couldn’t find a picture of you, though. Oh, look they’re already here.” She motioned to one of the only occupied tables in the restaurant. A male and female who I assumed were the twins were seated at the table, sipping on water in goblets. They didn’t stand as we approached the table. They regarded me with the cool, forced stillness of two people trying desperately to look above it all. Not impressed.
Carla was right. They were attractive, in a pale, pinched sort of way. They both had light red hair, as fine as a child’s, which worked for him and not so much for her. It looked too thin and she overcompensated for it, with what I assumed were extensions, lots of them. They pooled around her thin face in red, stiff waves that shone brassily in the bright light of the restaurant. Her hair was a bit much, but it wasn’t enough to detract from the bright red lipstick that painted her lips, which were arguably her best feature.
A third person at the table, whom I assumed was the money man, did stand to greet me, unlike the twins. He pasted a big smile on his face, took me in from head to toe, smiled even bigger, and then held out his hand for me to sha
ke.
“Jerry Nieffervessel.” I took his hand with a nod. “So glad you could meet with us on such a short notice, Ms. Rosso.”
“Cas, call me Cas,” I said with a polite smile.
“This is Roselle and Raul.” He gestured to the two at his side and they both nodded with stiff but elegant jerks of the head. He didn’t say a last name and I remembered there wasn’t one listed in the case file. Like Madonna times two. I nodded back, trying to play the cool, reserved psychic, like they were playing the cool, reserved ghost hunters. They looked at me with squinty, skeptical eyes.
“Before we go any further,” Raul began. His voice was a deep baritone, almost sultry. “My show will be one hundred and one percent legit. If you are one of those charlatans, let’s not play any games. Tell us right now because I will not have you sully our show with any theatrics.” Speaking of theatrics. Was he kidding?
I bit the inside of my cheek to stop the smirk that wanted to burst forth. The guy made a living by scamming people in need. I guess if you were a scam artist, you suspected everyone else of being one too.
“I am not a charlatan,” I said in an even tone and held his gaze.
“Perhaps a demonstration then.” Roselle’s voice was just as sultry and full of skepticism as her brother’s.
“Why don’t we order some food first?” Jerry looked pleadingly at the twins whose eyes were firmly fixed on me. He waved the waitress over frantically and she scurried over. We were one of only three parties in the place.
“I don’t do party tricks,” I said, thinking I had to hold my ground with these two. Roselle was the first to break eye contact with a huff. She rolled her eyes and gave all her attention to the waitress who was waiting patiently to take our orders.
The case files had mentioned they would most likely choose this restaurant as a place to meet. There was also a notation of what I should order. A very specific order. I could only assume it was to solidify my psychic street cred. Here’s hoping it worked. When the waitress hovered over me for my order, I tore my gaze away from the twins and focused on her. She looked nervous. It was probably the first time she had served TV people in the restaurant.