1
Crystal-tinged light danced across the worn floorboards of Crystal Clear Visions as Delilah Hart arranged her scrying tools. The morning sun caught in dozens of hanging crystals, painting rainbows across the cramped consultation space. Her fingers lingered on a polished obsidian sphere before selecting a small silver pendulum instead.
"I'm terribly sorry about the mess," Delilah said, nudging aside a stack of tarot cards with her elbow. "Spring cleaning got interrupted by an emergency vision about Mr. Peabody's missing dentures. Turned out they were in his koi pond. Don't ask."
Mrs. Shufflewick perched on the edge of her chair, spine ramrod straight, silver bun gleaming in the prismatic light. Her tweed suit had begun showing faint traces of lace at the cuffs—a sure sign she was channeling Miss Havisham from Great Expectations.
"I've never consulted a... psychic before," Mrs. Shufflewick whispered, pronouncing "psychic" as if it were a mildly scandalous word.
"Clairvoyant," Delilah corrected gently. "And don't worry, your wedding ring wants to be found as much as you want to find it."
A loud crash from the corner made both women jump. Jinxie, Delilah's calico cat, had leapt onto a shelf and sent a row of crystal balls rolling. The three-legged feline looked entirely unapologetic, mismatched eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
"Jinxie! We've discussed this," Delilah scolded, but the cat merely began grooming her paw with imperial indifference.
Mrs. Shufflewick clutched her handbag tighter. "Perhaps this was a mistake. I should try the lost and found at the library again."
"The spirits don't need tidiness to communicate, Mrs. Shufflewick—they just need an open mind and someone who can hear them over the sound of falling crystal balls." Delilah extended her hand. "May I see your other rings? It'll help me connect with the missing one."
Hesitantly, Mrs. Shufflewick removed two rings from her right hand and placed them in Delilah's palm. The moment of contact sent a jolt up Delilah's arm—the familiar precursor to a vision.
The shop dimmed around her as images flashed behind her eyes: gardening gloves, dark soil, a ceramic gnome with a chipped hat, moonlight on silver.
"You were gardening three nights ago," Delilah said, eyes still closed. "Planting something that blooms at night... evening primrose? You took off your ring because the soil was getting underneath it."
Mrs. Shufflewick gasped. "Yes! In my night garden!"
"There's a gnome," Delilah continued, the vision sharpening. "The one with the broken hat. Your ring is buried at his feet, about two inches down."
The vision released her with a snap that left a dull throb behind her eyes. Delilah blinked, the familiar post-vision headache beginning to build.
"That's... extraordinary," Mrs. Shufflewick whispered, her outfit now sporting full Victorian lace cuffs. "Herbert gave me that ring forty-three years ago."
Jinxie chose that moment to knock a bottle of lavender oil onto the floor, filling the shop with calming scent.
After Mrs. Shufflewick departed with profuse thanks and a generous payment, Delilah added the cash to a disappointingly small pile in her register. Bills were piling up faster than clients these days.
She glanced at the wall of testimonials—handwritten notes, newspaper clippings, and photographs of grateful clients. Mayor Grimble's florid handwriting stood out on expensive municipal letterhead: "Miss Hart's extraordinary talents recovered my lucky governing gavel, without which Assjacket would surely have fallen into administrative chaos! Her services to this municipality cannot be overstated!"
Delilah smiled despite her headache. The mayor had been wearing his "crisis containment" bowler hat when he'd picked it up—complete with miniature sandbags around the brim.
Jinxie meowed loudly from atop the bookshelf, where she'd somehow managed to climb despite her three-legged status.
"I know," Delilah sighed. "One satisfied customer doesn't pay the electric bill. But it's a start."
The bell above the door of Bread of Heaven chimed a cheerful G-major chord as Delilah entered—her mood apparently registering as "cautiously optimistic" on Fabio's enchanted doorway. The bakery enveloped her in warmth, cinnamon, and the distinct scent of magic-infused sourdough.
"You're late, darling!" Fabio called from behind the counter, his auburn hair dusted with flour that somehow made him look more glamorous rather than messy. "The others are already dissecting Ivy's garden drama."
"Sorry," Delilah weaved between tables where pastries occasionally floated a few inches above their plates. "Client emergency. Missing wedding ring in a gnome garden."
In their usual corner booth—protected by a privacy charm that shimmered like heat waves around the edges—Zelda and Ivy were already deep in conversation. A half-eaten selection of pastries crowded the table, including Fabio's infamous Mood Muffins, which changed flavor based on what the eater needed most.
"There she is!" Zelda's green eyes sparkled as she waved Delilah over. "We were about to send a tracking spell. How was the date with Accounting Guy?"
Delilah groaned, sliding into the booth. "Pass me a Mood Muffin before I have to relive that disaster."
Ivy pushed a plate toward her, eyebrow raised. "That bad?"
