The Psychic Next Door

Chapter 11: Curse

Though we had done our best to weed out the flashy flakes from our list of local psychics, the first we visited was a straight-up joke.

Her shop was exactly what I had imagined Luc's would be before I had gone inside. In stark contrast from his clean, white, almost clinical shop, this one was garishly bright and colourful, with gaudy shawls draped across every surface and hanging on every wall. The air was thickly perfumed with dollar store incense that irritated my throat so badly I nearly gagged. And what I assumed was once a table was just now a mound of even more scarves, with a crystal ball nestled on top.

And the woman herself? Good Lord.

We had barely stepped through the door before she descended upon us. She smelled strongly of the repulsive incense, tinged with some other thick and sickly perfume. "My dears," she moaned in her husky, faux-Romani accent, waving her arms around for dramatic effect. "You've been abused! Someone seeks to injure you!"

"Ya think?" Polly snapped, her face wincing into a scowl as her cast clunked loudly on the floor. Our wounds were still visible in many places; it was obvious that we had seen some action. So much for her powers of divination.

"Come, come," the woman simpered, ignoring Polly's snark. Her act would've been hilarious if she weren't wasting our precious time. "Sit with me, children. Let Madame Belladonna help you."

"Yeah, not gonna happen," I muttered, quickly turning back towards the door.

She lunged forward, taking hold of Polly's arm, who couldn't dodge fast enough to avoid her. "Please! I fear for your lives. You must take one of my special protection charms! They're even on sale!"

Polly tried to wrench her arm free, to little success. "Look," she snarled. "If you don't let go of my arm, you're going to be the one who fears for her life, get it?"

The lady's eyes went wide; she let go of Polly and backed away slowly.

"Thanks," Polly sang sarcastically, before her voice turned sharp and gravelly again. "For nothing." She stormed out of the nauseating shop, pulling me after her.

The rest of the shops we visited were much the same; maybe not so much in style, but definitely in terms of ridiculousness. The same things were repeated: the tacky interiors, the overly dramatic people, and the damned insistence to buy something. The only thing that got better was our ability to say "no" forcefully enough that they would let us exit their stores.

As our fruitless search dragged on, I began to lose sleep. Though it had been quiet—too quiet, without even a single whisper or growl from the presence—I just couldn't seem to rest. We hadn't suffered a single attack in the three weeks since the throw down at Polly's house, and I couldn't help but feeling like there should be another one just around the corner. On top of that, our utter lack of progress had begun to wear me down.

But with no other leads and nothing else to do, we just kept at it. Our list of psychics dwindled with each passing day, and with it, my hope. Soon, there were only three left on the list.

All our previous encounters considered, I didn't have too many expectations for the one we were visiting today, but I tried not to think about it as I drove, robotically following the instructions that Polly's GPS system gave me in a stilted British accent.

"Please take a left on North Jackson Ave," chirped the digital Englishman.

We had come to a stop at a red light, when I realized I didn't recognize the name of the street the GPS had given me. I hesitated and looked around, trying to get my bearings. The roads were rough and patched, and the low, one-story buildings that lined the street were dated and shabby. I had never seen this part of town before.