Sin & Chocolate (Demigod of San Francisco 1)

“It’s worse when you say things like that, Mordie, because you’re so genuine,” Daisy said, taking the words right out of my mouth. “You should leave me to say those things. She doesn’t care about my opinion.”

“I do,” I said out of duty. “At least…five percent of the time.”

“See? Oh…wait a minute. What’s this?” Daisy elbowed Mordecai. “Look good. We’ve got one. Lexi, don’t blow this.”

I glanced at the crowd, having turned my chair toward the wards so I could talk to them as well as watch the water.

A middle-aged woman walked up with determined strides and a set expression. She stopped beside the visitor chair and nudged the leg with the toe of her Kate Spade flat. “This is broken.”

“It’s fine. Can I help you?” I asked her, almost pleasantly. I might not have liked putting my abilities on display, but I liked boredom even less.

She gingerly sat down before looking over my setup. Disgust crossed her face.

I waited her out. Daisy didn’t.

“Can she help you?” she asked.

“Are these your children?” the woman said with a curled lip, her gaze going back and forth between us.

“Yup,” I answered without hesitation. “I started at ten. Why wait, you know?”

Disbelief replaced disgust, and it wasn’t because she didn’t trust my words—it was because she did. She was probably trying to work out how it was physically possible for someone to have children before puberty.

“You’re a witch-medium, aren’t you?” She analyzed my crystal ball. “Shouldn’t that be on a stand?”

“Depends on what you use it for.” I stood and turned my chair. I loved playing with clients like this one. “I’m a witch-medium, yes. In the flesh. How can I help you?”

“But she’s not—”

“Shh.” I barely saw Mordecai elbow Daisy to shut her up. She was far too gullible.

The woman eyed the kids for a moment before looking back to me. “I need you to call my late husband. I have a question for him.”

“Uh-huh. How long has your husband been deceased?” I reached forward and grabbed the tarot cards.

She watched my movements. “Two years.”

“I see.” I shuffled the cards without looking at them. “And what sort of question are you hoping to receive an answer for?”

She pursed her lips. “That’s between me and him.”

“But that doesn’t make sense, since she has to—”

Daisy was elbowed again.

“Yes, of course. Of course it is.” I nodded seriously. “Here you go.” I passed the tarot deck across the TV tray divider. She hesitated in taking it. “I need to get your impression of him.”

Nodding as though that was A) a real thing, and B) made any kind of sense, she took the deck and lifted her chin a little higher. Soon she’d be looking at the sky.

I stifled a laugh. This woman seemed to perfectly encapsulate the term Chester. She hated magic, hated anything related to magic, and she especially hated people who were magical.

Yet here she was, in her own version of hell, wanting help from a witch-medium. My, what tangled webs…

“Go ahead and cut the deck,” I said, because everyone knew you were supposed to cut the deck. “Now put the deck on the table in front of you and pull off the top card. Place it face-up.” The image of three cartoon mermaids swimming around with cups in their hands stared at the world. I’d mixed and matched tarot decks to get the most outrageous images I could find. They aggravated the Chesters. “Do you think that image identifies with your husband?”

Her eyebrows lowered and red infused her cheeks. She leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest.

I held back my surprise. It did! I’d never had someone identify on the first flip. Usually they had to go two or three cards to get something significant to them.

Without warning, a man strolled through the thickening crowd. His hair receded from his high forehead and his nose took up entirely too much of his face. He wasn’t handsome, but self-importance radiated from him.

No one noticed him as he weaved in and out, his back straight and shoulders squared.

“We need to discuss payment,” I said, folding my hands in my lap. “Then I will consult the oracle and ask your question.”

“The oracle? Don’t you speak directly to the deceased?” she asked in confusion.

The man saw my client and a few expressions rolled across his face. The last was guilt. He stopped in his tracks before trying to back-pedal.

“Focus on that card,” I said, pointing. “He feels guilty over something. He doesn’t want to stay.”

She snorted. “Yeah, right.” She looked to the side.

Clearly she didn’t believe me.

I didn’t dare speculate. The card suggested infidelity, but if I was wrong, she’d call me a fake and storm off, taking all my fun with her.

“Please focus on the card,” I said, but I needn’t have bothered. He was close enough for me to reel in, something I only did in this situation. I didn’t much like the wiggly thing it did to my stomach. It filled me with nervousness and anxiety and a bit of nausea. Plus, the feeling of the Line throbbed on the edge of my consciousness.

I put out my hands and swayed side to side, hamming it up a little for effect. Chesters hated that as much as they required it to satisfy their preconceived notions of what we did and how we did it. “I’m getting something. A man. Light brown hair streaked with gray. Five ten or so, with a medium build and a slight stomach. A small amount of hair peeks out of his V-neck.”

Her eyebrows stayed lowered. She was not impressed, which meant this guy was either the wrong one, or he’d adopted a different image than the one he’d died with. Each was equally possible.

“Right. Fine.” I pointed at the man, still being reeled in by my efforts. This had just turned into a grudge match. I needed to prove to this Chester that I wasn’t a fake, and forever upset her equilibrium. Just doing my part.

I also wanted to know why he felt guilty. When violence wasn’t on the table, curiosity sometimes got the better of me.

“You.” I continued to point at him.

My customer scowled.

The man’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. “Y-you can see me?”

“Yes. What’s your name?”

“Puh-Paul.”

“Do you always stutter, Paul, or just when you’re shocked?”

The woman started and looked over her shoulder, wide-eyed.

Gotcha!

“It’s j-just that, no one hears me. N-no one sees me. I can’t get anyone’s attention,” Paul said, hunger lighting his eyes.

Oh no. That look. This one was desperate for human connection.

“Do you know that you’re dead, Paul?” I asked, ignoring the woman sitting in front of me, staring at me like I’d just sprouted another head.

“I…I’m… Wh-what?” Supreme confusion made his face go slack, and he gripped his shirt. His image flickered, and a slightly older man, with a large stomach and completely gray hair, replaced it. One was what he probably saw in the mirror, and the other was what other people had seen toward the end of his life. You could tell a lot about a person when they were in spirit form.

One thing was clear: he’d have no problem crossing over.

“Right.” I turned my attention back to my stunned-mute client. “So. We need to discuss payment, and then I can ask Paul here a question. It was Paul you were wanting, right?”

“You’re…” Her face closed down in fear. “You’re a…”

“Witch-medium. Filthy magical worker. Awful soul stealer. Look, lady, you sought me out. I have no idea how this could possibly surprise you.”

“It’s like I’m watching a train wreck in progress,” Daisy said in hushed tones, “and I can’t look away.”

“I don’t want to look away. We should’ve brought popcorn,” Mordecai whispered.

“It’s just…when they said you were a…” She swallowed. “I thought all this magic stuff was a hoax.”

“The Demigod who runs half the city plays with the weather on a regular basis, the news programs love to run footage of shifters changing shape, and you undoubtedly saw all the magical beasts on your way here. How can you still think magic is a load of crap?” I put up my hands. “Congratulations. You win the Most Willfully Ignorant award. You’ve come a long way, baby.”

“No, she didn’t,” Daisy whispered before giggling.

I did. I totally did. Non-magical people like this were in a strange bubble that had never made much sense to me. Sometimes a good jolt was all they needed.

“Did Janice tell you I was coming?” Suspicion crossed the lady’s face.

Sometimes more than a jolt. By someone with more patience than I possessed.

“I don’t know Janice. Just as I hope not to know you. The price is forty bucks. But you’d better hurry. Paul is staring at his hands like a baby who’s just learned those appendages are attached.”

“Forty…?” The woman shook her head and pulled her brown leather purse into her lap. Her cut and styled hair, blitzed with hairspray, barely moved in the breeze. “Highway robbery.”