Twice Bitten, Once Shy: Confessions of a Fake Psychic Detective #5

Chapter 11

That cold reading should count as a demo. Never fuck for free.

After waiting through two cigarettes on the upper level, Ivy fetches Zandra.

"They're waiting for you downstairs," Ivy says. "These were the first attendees to reserve a spot. The most enthusiastic of the bunch, I'd say, and they're all here for you."

And also because of me.

These people want to know how to start a business as a psychic. What the hell am I supposed to tell them? And why haven't I already figured out the answer? Maybe my brain is finally catching up to my body.

"One more cigarette," Zandra says and reaches into her pack.

Ivy rests a firm hand on Zandra's arm. It's not aggressive, but it gets the point across. "We're already running behind."

"Just one more," Zandra says and lights up.

Ivy flicks the cigarette out of Zandra's lips. It takes Zandra by surprise.

No one's ever done that before.

"Don't mess this up for me," Ivy says. "You want to retire someday? Go."

Zandra stuffs the pack of cigarettes back into her pocket. "Next time, send Jade."

They walk downstairs, through the lounge, and to the conference rooms. All but one of the doors are closed. A dozen or so attendees sit on folding chairs. The feet of the chairs scrape the floor as the attendees twist to watch Zandra enter.

No Chad. No Bexley. At least I've got that going for me.

"Apologies for the late start everyone. I promise it'll be worth it," Ivy says before slipping away.

Zandra drags herself to a lectern at the front of the room. She leans on the lectern to take the weight off her bad ankle. Her presentation starts in silence.

They say to open with a joke.

Well, here I am.

"Excuse me, are you OK?" a woman in the front row says after 30 seconds of Zandra staring at the floor.

Zandra notices the woman holding hands with a man sitting beside her. A framed photo of a boy smiling next to a dog under a tree rests in the man's lap.

"What's that?" Zandra says and points to the photo.

"Our son. He passed away. He was..." the woman starts to say before choking on a tear.

Her husband finishes the sentence. "He was seven years old."

Fuck me. What am I even doing here?

"This is a presentation about starting a business as a psychic," Zandra says. "I won't be doing readings today."

"We know," the man says. He comforts his wife with a steady hand on her back. "We thought maybe if you were going to show people how to contact the dead, we could use it to..."

The man tears up. Now it's the woman's turn to finish the sentence.

"Tell him how much we love him," the woman says.

That slams the brakes on whatever modicum of momentum Zandra could muster up to this point. She's relieved when someone in the back cracks a joke.

"You're not going to ask us to sell our souls, are you?" the attendee says.

That gets a few muffled laughs. It gives Zandra an on-ramp to get started, too.

Fine. Let's do this.