“And which of you girls will go first?”

Quinn looked at me, raising her eyebrows. The freckles on her nose wrinkled up; I could swear she’d gotten more since school let out for summer. Now, on a late August night, there was hardly a blank spot on her bunched-up face. She’d been the one to convince me to do this, and I just couldn’t say no. Besides, I’d found a twenty shoved in the mess of my duffel bag this morning. What better use for a happy coincidence?

Incense hung heavy in the air, a thick blanket of fragrant smoke that clung to the apartment’s low ceiling. My lungs filled with a dull burning, but I didn’t cough. I had breathed thick smoke for years, every weekend at my mom’s apartment.

“You nervous?” Quinn leaned her weight against me, laughing.

“Shut up,” I said, smiling despite myself.

The woman looked up at me with dark, dark eyes, sunken into gray skin. The room was illuminated only by candles, turning those eyes into two burning embers leftover from a dying fire. 

“I’ll guess it’s the first time for both of you, yes?”

As she spoke, her wrinkled hands shuffled a fluttering tarot deck in rhythmic motion. She levelled it on the table in front of her, split the deck in two, and finally sent the cards airborne in a graceful arch. Her hair was tied up in a loose leaf-print scarf, the end of which trailed down her back. The few stray strands fallen in front of her face were only slightly grayer than her shadowed complexion; I got the impression she didn’t spend much time outside this apartment. Gaunt shoulders wrapped in several layers of jewel-toned fabric, she appeared not to mind the heat. She levelled her cards again and again, every time with a soft tap as they hit the scratched wooden table. 

“Yeah, it is,” I said, mesmerized.

Her voice was deep and gravelly. “I can tell, love. New customers are always a little nervous,” she said. I became aware of the tension in my shoulders as I smiled in response. “My name is Ines. Now, let’s get started, yes?”

We both nodded.

“I’ll go,” Quinn spoke up. “I’m Quinn, by the way, and this is Dahlia.”

I pressed palms to my knees, covering up the holes I’d ripped in my tights. I breathed out through my nose to muffle the sigh of relief.

“Lovely,” said the psychic. “Oh, and I nearly forgot,” she added as if she had made the most obvious mistake in the world, “You’ll need this.”

She pulled a rusty tin can from somewhere in the surrounding mountain of grimy throw pillows. Confused, I stared at her outstretched hand for a second before taking it. 

Without a word of explanation, the woman plucked a card from her deck, its edges worn from years of use. She laid it face up in front of Quinn. In bright-colored ink, an upside-down death looked up with a skeletal face, riding a horse into battle. Beside him, she laid down two more cards: queen of cups, who perched on a throne flooding with water. Last, the lovers, both of them bathed in sunshine.

“This reading follows your past, present, and future, one for each card.” The yellow candlelight lit Ines’ shadowed face from below, shrouding her in an otherworldly radiance. “Death, in reverse, is stagnation, resistance. You have felt trapped in old habits and beliefs, perhaps pertaining to self image. Paired with-”

Quinn filled the room with her laugh, warm like summer rain. “Thank god. Calling it death seems a little extreme.”

“Right?” I said, trying to fight the clenching in my jaw. “I was getting concerned.”

Ines responded with a laugh that was gruff like sandpaper. Clearly unamused, she forced it through her teeth like a bad taste. “And paired with your future represented in the lovers, it points to a transformation.”

My heart rate sped up at her words. Each inhale and exhale became a conscious effort to appear nonchalant.

“The stagnancy will give way to unity, harmony. Harmony, yes, you will see it in new, new or shifting relationships in the coming years. They will come to embody this, this harmony through transformation.” 

As she continued with her reading, the psychic swung her hands in wild gestures. Her bony fingers swelled at each joint, each one adorned with a ring that glimmered in the candlelight. All around us a chorus of their tiny flames twinkled amidst a black background. They stood perched on bookshelves, on the cushions scattered across the floor, on each overcrowded table. A few hung from the ceiling in clusters. To blur my eyes would be to gaze upon a starry sky, one far from that above this roof. Fifty miles into the countryside and I might hope to find a sky so radiant, hidden away from Boston’s smog and streetlights. The city was lovely, but it had no place for stars like that. 

Here, they seemed to form an altar, with her as its centerpiece.

“And you,” Ines’ voice snapped me back to reality. 

I shifted awkwardly on the mound of cushions. Three new cards were placed in front of me, each hitting the table with a faint snap. 

“Ten of swords, followed by the chariot, reversed, followed by ten of cups.”

I wasn’t a superstitious person, yet I found myself avoiding her eyes. What would she tell me? What would my best friend hear? I turned to the back wall, instead allowing myself to become transfixed by its million curiosities. The room was bursting at the seams, like the closet of some maniacal hoarder. Some things were odd, and many seemed like trash—old plastic lighters, abalone shells, an ashtray filled with animal teeth. A pot holding nothing but dirt sat atop a stack of laminated menus from the Italian place next door.

“At present you live in codependence, lack direction.”

A teetering bookshelf in the left hand corner caught my eye, its shelves lined with jars of varying sizes. Each held liquid and something previously alive, suspended in observable decay.

“The first card indicates disunity, division. You carry something from your past, your childhood, something like a weight.” 

I became aware of a cluster of eight canvases the size of my fist, mounted in a shadowy corner. On each was a sloppily painted eye; they watched me with an arachnid glare. I told myself they were the reason for my uneasiness, not the memories her words conjured up. Not the cold air on my neck that night I made up my mind to leave, 15 and carefully closing the window behind me. 

“You look worried, love, but know that ten of clubs points to an auspicious future.”

I was certain the room had gotten hotter since I’d entered. Or perhaps the incense had grown stronger, its smoky stench more oppressive. I wiped my sweaty palms again.

“It’s divine love, harmony. It means bliss.”

When I finally looked up, both Ines and Quinn were watching me.

“Oh, ” I started, suddenly embarrassed at my composure. “That’s good. Thanks so much Ines, uh, for that.”

“Of course, dear,” she said, sounding slightly impatient.

I felt my breathing return to normal. That wasn’t so bad after all.

“And my rate is $25 for each reading,” the psychic explained while searching through a pile of clutter, “Now, my card reader has been acting up recently, but with any luck it’ll work for us here today.”

My stomach dropped. Ines carried on about her faulty card reader, which had apparently cost her quite a lot of money, far too much for the poor quality, it was nearly worthless just a month after she bought it! Outrageous, really, and the customer service had nothing helpful to say…

Quinn turned towards me. All she had to do was raise her eyebrows slightly, and I knew we were thinking the same thing.

F***.

All we had between us was my twenty dollar bill, two bus passes, wintergreen gum, and a bit of change in Quinn’s pockets if we were really lucky. Her house with my bag was five miles away, not that I had anything to offer besides some old clothes and an air mattress. I had no idea how to respond, so I didn’t say anything at all.

“So will that be cash or card? I can do two separate payments, if you’d like.”

It turns out I didn’t have to. Quinn, ever bolder than I, retorted immediately.

“Fifty dollars? You’re kidding, right?” she turned to me. I saw right through her bluff, but to anyone else, she could be quite convincing. “She’s kidding, right?”

I nodded, not sure what else to do.

“That’s the rate.” Ines said. Her scratchy voice was much less friendly than before.

“No, it’s not,” replied Quinn loudly.

“I’m afraid it is, love.”

Quinn threw her head back, her laugh now cold as ice. She could be really intimidating when she wanted. “You flipped six cards over, and you expect me to pay you fifty dollars?” Each syllable was charged with unrestrained hostility, and I was glad to not be on the receiving end.

Ines said nothing.

“Oh wait no, I forgot. You stole some generic fortunes off the internet, and gave my friend a tin can. If I had known you could make so much lying to young girls, I’d spend half my life in this disgusting room, too.” She paused, and added an eye roll for good measure. “That sh*t won’t work on me.”

Is that really all she thought it meant? I held my breath, waiting for the psychic to say something, wishing she would yell back. Instead, her shadowy expression was inscrutable, leaving the fabricated abuse with nothing to latch on to. I noticed Quinn’s clenched fists, nails digging into strained palms like they always did when she was worked up about something. 

Finally, Ines spoke, her voice devoid of any anger. “If you don’t have money,” she said slowly, each word a calm calculation, “I have to accept another payment.” 

At first, both of us were too baffled to respond. The psychic pursed her lips pensively, as though deep in contemplation. She seemed almost melancholy. I suppose I could’ve suggested we come back later, or even if Ines had a checkbook, but my mind was elsewhere. Besides, Quinn had gathered up enough feigned anger to rant on a bit longer. Now, she was going on about how it wasn’t because of the money, it was integrity, it was work ethic; how she wouldn’t sacrifice her values or be exploited by capitalist greed, and a million other things after that. Her voice echoed around in my skull, the words not quite registering; the incense or heat or something was making my head dizzy. 

Instead, I concentrated on the back wall again. Through a cracked window I could make out a family, a young couple with a red-faced little girl, stepping out of a taxi, thanking the driver from the sidewalk. They seemed so, so far away from my cushioned seat, and they were growing even farther. I watched the taxi speed away with a screech, disappearing beyond the window-frame. The little kid stumbled clumsily over the curb, was caught by her father’s arms and her mother’s cheerful laughter. It was contagious—in seconds, all three were giggling through wide smiles. The noise was barely audible, though, as if through a phone speaker with bad connection. I squinted my eyes, but they were too blurry, their place on the sidewalk had grown too far. The traffic lights above them were too bright, and too blurry, and so, so far away. It was 20 miles from me to that sidewalk, maybe more. I rubbed my eyes. What the hell did she put in the air? My head spun, and so did my stomach. No use in keeping my eyes open if everything’s blurry. Quinn says something to me, but her voice sounds like telephone static, just like them. Maybe she’s 20 miles away on the sidewalk, too, laughing with that couple and their kid. It was rude of her to leave me here, I think, but I can’t be too mad because everything’s bright, and my stomach’s off somewhere in that taxi, flying down a windy road. It’s gotta be that incense. I taste bile rising in my throat, and the taxi’s going way too fast, out of control. I wanted Quinn and that stupid happy family to stop laughing, I knew they were laughing at me. The candles dance around my peripheral vision, winking their little eyes one by one. I yell at the taxi driver to slow down but my voice sounds like a bad connection, and it’s too late anyways, we’re rolling down the green, green, mountainside. My mouth tastes like vomit, and we stop. 

Somebody made coffee. It’s good coffee, too, not like my 99 cent usual from the corner gas station. I breathe in deep from my nose, savoring that expensive coffee smell before I open my eyes. Soft cotton sheets are wrapped around my legs, pushed aside. I’ve always been a restless sleeper. Slowly, I force my drowsy eyelids open. There’s a pleasant breeze coming through the cracked window, cooling my face and gently tossing my hair. The room I wake to is bathed in 11 am sunlight, glowing but not overly harsh. It warms my skin,  and turns the cream walls to gold. 

I’ve never been here before, I note with mild surprise. Still, the four stucco walls and all of their framed photos couldn’t be more familiar. The mattress was real, not inflatable like I was used to, and though I’d never woken up in this bed, it was safe, and it was home. I stretched my arms unhurriedly. This place was mine. My gaze fell upon a vase of cut tulips, wilting a little. I should replace them this afternoon, I think. I swung my legs over one side of the king-sized bed, joints protesting, and paused for a moment. There was a photo on my nightstand, framed in wood. I took it in my hands, running my fingertips over the smooth glass in awe. It was me in that photograph, though I almost didn’t recognize it—this version of me had hair down to the small of my back, was dressed in fancy, business-woman clothes, the kind you had to tailor and dry-clean. My now-fuller face beamed with genuine happiness. And I wasn’t alone. Beside me stood a woman with a thousand freckles on her bunched-up nose. Between us a little girl grasped a hand from each parent, legs bunched up so she’d fly suspended in mid-air. I set the picture back on my nightstand. As my feet touched the cool hardwood floor, I couldn’t help but laugh a little at my daughter’s smirk, a gesture of defiance at the family portrait. 

The morning was set to soft music, playing from the next room over. I don’t think I had heard this song before, but I knew it was my favorite. I walked in the soft pajama t shirt I’d worn a thousand times over, opened the bedroom door. The music got louder with each step. I remembered the words now, and started to hum along. I decided I would pick new tulips after I poured the coffee. Through the hallway, rounding the corner, I thought I had all the time in the world.

I threw up. I clutched the empty tin can, filling it almost to the brim. Between each wave of nausea I could hear Quinn’s voice in the background, her words all bleeding together while my head pounded. I became vaguely aware of her hands around my hair as the spinning room began to slow. The sour stench of vomit burned my nose and mouth, and I felt some small longing for that coffee smell, already distant.

“...and now my friend’s sick. Look at her! Did you f***ing drug her, or what?” This time, Quinn’s venomous glare was fully genuine.

“Of course I didn’t drug her,” Ines sounded offended at the accusation. “And be sure not to get any vomit on the floor, dear.”

I wiped my mouth with a sleeve, and smiled halfheartedly to convince Quinn I was alright. The sunlight and music and fleeting feeling of security had entirely dissolved from my mind; the memory was no longer mine to keep. All I wanted was to get out of this apartment, to fill my lungs with outside air. Once again, Quinn acted for me. She was already standing impatiently, hand outstretched. She had just pulled me up when the psychic finally spoke. 

“It’s almost a shame, love. I think you would’ve enjoyed that morning,” Ines said in the sandpaper voice I had grown to despise. “But I’ll take good care of it,” she added with a wink.

Quinn scoffed and turned to leave. She paid no mind to the cushions in her way, covering them all over with dusty shoe prints. 

“That was creepy as hell,” she muttered under her breath for only me, already out the door. I didn’t have to turn around to know the psychic’s dark, dark, eyes were on my back. 

I clasped my shaking hands together, sweat turned cold in nighttime. Familiar sounds of traffic and crowds marked my return to the world I knew, and my heart rate began to calm. I had new appreciation for each beaming metal streetlight, their fluorescent glow so mundane.

I turned to my friend. Our eyes met, the two of us silhouetted in blue light. She was dazzlingly beautiful. My dizzy head was making the world spin, but she stood still at the center of it all. 

“What is it?”

“Oh, nothing,” I said. I knew that this time, I really did have all the time in the world. “But I still have a twenty, you know. And I might be in the mood for slushies.”

Quinn had never looked happier.