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“Alright,” I said, giving his forearm a final wipe before applying the ointment and wrapping it up. “You’re all set. Stop by the front desk to square up and collect your aftercare package.” I tilted my head to where Violet could be seen, behind the still bickering Phil and Ernest, standing at the reception desk, smiling and chatting with the people who streamed in and out of the shop, curious to see what we had done with the place.
Looking around, I had to say that I was pretty damn proud. The shop looked exactly as I’d always pictured it, and somehow, better than my wildest dreams, too. The sexy Gothic vibe paired with Violet’s whimsical cottage core influence had created a haunting yet somehow romantic feel that made me so freaking excited, if I thought about it too long, I might pass the fuck out.
“Hey!” I shouted over the music—Joan Jett at the moment—drawing the attention of the two seriously surly seniors still yammering away about who needed what medication and who could or couldn’t get a boner. “Come on now, gentlemen. That’s more than enough outta you two.” I smiled, enjoying the way they both harrumphed, their actions mirroring each other the way that only people who have known each other their whole lives could manage. “How about you guys head to the bench out front and take over candy duty?” Yeah, I’d put a bench outside my shop for those two to park their bony asses on. Don’t ask me why. “Then you can head next door and see if you can find some cold ones, yeah?”
As I expected, Phil and Ernest hustled their wrinkled asses back outside as fast as their decrepit knees could carry them.
Snapping off my gloves, I hurried to wipe down the station, ready for a drink of my own. So much had happened in the last few weeks, and I hadn’t really taken the time to wrap my head around much of it, but for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t stressing about the future. I had my shop, I had my girl, and, strangely enough, I thought I might have Asher, too.
The idea of having someone—someone who got me, who understood who I was and didn’t judge me by my past—was more appealing than it had any right to be, but I was gonna need some time to wrap my head around that one, as well.
But first, booze.
Lifting my chin to Violet, chuckling at how she was trying to answer questions and book appointments while dressed like a latte with extra whipped cream made of fluffy cotton, I made my way through the crowd, smiling and waving to all the neighborhood folks. Denise from the bodega was sitting on the leather couch up front, decked out like a Greek goddess of some sort, reading palms and just generally freaking people out. Next to her sat Leona from the mini-mart, scowling, an unlit cigarette clutched between her lips as she watched Denise work.
“Oh! Ricki,” Denise called, her mound of curly hair bouncing as she flagged me over. “You look fabulous tonight, girl,” she gushed, indicating my costume, a hastily put together thing consisting of leather-look leggings, a sparkly black cropped top, and a set of black cat ears. Throw in some thick and sharp eyeliner and my boots—black with silver stars painted on them—and I guessed I had a fairly successful outfit. “Come here and get your fortune told!” Casting one last glance at Violet to make sure she had the desk covered, I walked over, seating myself on the perpendicular side of the couch and pasting on a smile when Denise sat up straight, closing her eyes and massaging her temples. “I can feel such strong energy coming off of you right now, Ricki,” she murmured dramatically, and Leona sighed.
“That’s because she’s working hard at trying to put up with your bullshit,” she muttered around her cigarette.
Denise shot the old woman a dark look.
“Just because you have no capacity for the mystical arts doesn’t mean the rest of us are closed off to it, Leona.”
Leona just sat back with a huff, crossing her arms over her simple t-shirt with the wordsThis Is My Costumescrawled across the front. “I’ll show you mystical.”
Turning back to me, her smile just a little less confident, Denise reached for my hand.
“Now, Ricki, I want you to relax. Let yourself be open to the energy flowing through you.”
“Denise,” I started, wanting to side with Leona but not wanting to hurt Denise’s feelings at the same time. She looked at me, her wide brown eyes pleading, and I relented, resigning myself to letting her do her thing. “Alright. Tell me my future, oh wise Athena.”
“Cassandra, actually,” she corrected me lightly.
“Who?”
“Cassandra, priestess of Apollo,” Leona said, not looking at us as she spoke. “That prick who gifted her with the ability to see the future when she agreed to sleep with him, but she changed her mind, so he added a curse that she’d never be believed.” She finished with a snort, plucking the cigarette from her lips and sliding it behind her ear, standing from the couch in a rush.
Denise and I both stared at her, our faces likely wearing matching expressions of shock.
“What?” Leona barked when she caught us looking. “I dated a Classics professor in the 80s. She was obsessed with that kinda stuff. And besides”—Leona glared around the room, frowning at everyone and no one at the same time—“no always means no, even if you’ve already given a yes.”
With that, she stomped away, heading for the door.
“Huh,” was all I could think to say. “That was...”
“Surprising.” Denise finished for me. “And so very awesome. Now, where were we?” She glanced down at my palm, her face scrunched in concentration. “Ah, yes. This is good. Very good.” I sighed as Denise moved my hand first one way and then another, studying the marks on my palm like they held the secrets of the universe or some shit. “Look here, Ricki. You have a lifeline that is nearly straight as an arrow, hardly any curve to it at all.”
“So, is that good?” I asked cautiously, not sure I wanted to hear the answer.
“Well, it’s notnotgood, at least,” she offered cryptically, still not looking up. “A lifeline like that means that you’re cautious with relationships and who you let into your life. You know,” she said, turning her head one way and then another, trying to get a good view of my hand, “you could benefit from trusting people a bit more, girl.”
Yeah, right.
“I’ll get right on that,” I deadpanned.
“Oh! Now this is interesting,” Denise went on, completely ignoring my sarcasm. “Your Mount of Apollo is quite pronounced.” She rubbed one of her thumbs along the pad of flesh at the base of my ring finger, poking and prodding at the area from every direction. “This is a clear indication of a lack of control over one’s temper.” Finally raising her head, Denise smirked at me. “That couldn’t possibly be you, right?”
“Right.” I really needed that beer.
