“Blow on it. Exhale. Not hard, no?” She sits in the opposing chair. Waiting.
I lean over and blow on the deck. Feeling like an idiot.
“Yes, yes. Good.” She closes her eyes. Her hands hovering over the cards. Then her eyes snap open, fixing on my chest like she can see through my hoodie. “You carry something. Something that is not yours.”
Cold reading. Has to be. She saw my hand move to my chest when I walked in, or maybe?—
The ring burns against my sternum.
Not warm. Actually burns, like touching a stove, like that moment in the alley when Alex first picked it up and handed it to me.
“I’m wearing a dead woman’s ring.”
The words just fall out. Flat. True. Like I’ve been carrying them in my throat for weeks, waiting for someone to ask the right question. Or any question. Waiting for permission to stop being fine.
The woman doesn’t even blink. “Ah.”
“I found it in an alley. Three weeks ago.” I’m still talking. Can’t stop now. “There was blonde hair wrapped around it and I should have left it there, I should have called the police, but I didn’t because my boss—” I catch myself. “I can’t talk about my boss.”
“Then talk about the girl.”
And I crack.
“I don’t know her. I never met her. But I heard—” I stop. Cover my throat with my hand. The tell I can’t control.“Someone hurt her. Someone killed her. And I’m the only person who knows and I can’t tell anyone because of this fucking NDA and my best friend thinks I should listen to ghosts but I don’t believe in ghosts except this ring gets HOT and I have nightmares where she’s standing in an alley and I can never reach her and?—”
I’m spiraling now. The words coming faster.
“And my best friend left. She’s not speaking to me. Because I wouldn’t listen. Because I keep making jokes instead of just—” I gesture helplessly. “Instead of showing up. And her birthday is next week and what if I fucked up so bad she doesn’t come back? What if I lose her because I was too scared to believe?”
The woman is quiet for a long moment. Just watching me with those dark, ancient eyes.
“You are not scared of ghosts, child.”
I swallow hard. “I’m not?”
“No.” She shakes her head slowly. “You are scared of what believing in them means.”
My throat closes.
Because she’s right.
She’s completely right.
“It means my dad is really gone,” I whisper. “Not watching over me. Not in heaven. Just... gone. An echo. Something I can never reach.”
“Yes.” She nods. “This is the price of listening. You must hear all the voices. Not just the ones you want.”
She cuts the deck. Flips the first card.
Death.
A figure in white walking through a field of dandelions gone to seed, all the wishes scattered and dying.
“Fuck.” The word escapes before I can stop it.
“Not your death.” The woman’s voice is matter-of-fact. “Not yet. But close. So close you wear it—” She touches her own chest. “—here.”
The ring burns hotter.
