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“I thought I was supposed to blunder around until I figured out what I wanted to do with my life. Everyone says at this age I should be on a voyage of self-discovery.”
“Blundering around works for some people, and there certainly is a long-standing tradition of doing that,” Gabriella Jones said. “But why waste your time with gap years, false starts, and dead-end jobs when you’ve got a genuine calling?”
“I’m not sure interior design qualifies as a calling.”
“It does in this case.”
“How do you know that?” Pallas asked, still uneasy about the prospect of such a career path. “The only experience I’ve had with decorating was when I painted my bedroom orange. Mom was horrified. I did buy some bookshelves and a couple of ferns for my dorm room, but I don’t think that counts.”
Gabriella Jones peered at her across the desk, evidently seeing something other than what Pallas saw when she looked in a mirror.
“You know that thing you’re trying to do when you get the urge to draw after you stumble into a bad space?” Gabriella Jones said. “That’s what I do when I figure out what sort of career someone should pursue.”
“Yeah?” Pallas was intrigued. “Does everyone take your advice?”
“Nope. And not everyone will want your designs. Don’t worry, you’ll get over it.”
“Okay,” Pallas said, wondering how she was going to explain a career path focused on balancing energy to her parents, who were pushing her to get serious about grad school. “Well, thanks. I guess.”
She got to her feet and reached down for the backpack she had left on the floor. A shadow flickered at the edge of her vision, startling her.
She yelped and turned much too quickly. The back of her knee hit the edge of the chair and she lost her balance. She grabbed the corner of Jones’s desk to steady herself.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, flushing.
“My fault,” Gabriella Jones said. “I apologize. Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” Pallas straightened and hitched her pack over one shoulder. She started toward the door, stopped, and turned back. “Why did you say it was your fault?”
“I should have told you about Dr.Metcalf.”
“Who is Dr.Metcalf?”
“My predecessor. The poor man suffered a heart attack while working late one night. In the morning they found his body on the floor right where you lost your balance. You obviously picked up traces of the energy he left in the space during his final moments.”
Horrified, Pallas stared at Gabriella Jones. “Is that the kind of stuff I’m sensing when I see the little flickering shadows?”
“I think so, yes. Strong energy of any kind leaves a stain or, in your case, a shadow. But sometimes you’ll be able to rebalance the bad stuff.”
“No offense, but that sounds pretty woo-wooish.”
“I know. Please don’t tell anyone, okay? My boss doesn’t believe in psychic talents. She would fire me if she found out that I use them to counsel students. You will probably want to keep your own talent to yourself, too.”
“Wow. Just wow. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. Especially not my parents.”
Gabriella Jones regarded the floor where Metcalf had died with a considering expression, and then she looked at Pallas.
“Do you have any suggestions?” she said.
Pallas stared at her. “What?”
“Can you think of a way to rearrange this room to rebalance the energy flow?”
“Oh.” Pallas blinked. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. That spot on the floor bothers me a bit, too.”
“Huh. Well. Okay. I guess I could try.”
