Psychic Junkie by Sarah Lassez Read Free Book Online

business transaction—four singles, three quarters, a nickel, and two dimes—was out of the way, she got down to business. She studied my palm, her eyes narrowed, her gypsy breath on my skin. After about a minute she sat back and shook her head. Her jewelry clanged.
    “You have a curse.”
    Simple. As if announcing I had brown hair.
    In silent horror I listened to the details: An older woman in my life wished me ill and had cast a curse, and till it was gone, my life would be tainted.
    “ Tainted ,” she said again, “viz bad luck.”
    I sat back, fleetingly noticing that the red paint she’d picked for the room was the same charming shade as blood from a fresh-cut artery, and thought, “Why, yes, this makes perfect sense.” It explained everything. Of course I had a curse! I was supposed to be happy with a career and love, but this darn curse kept blocking those things. It was like some evil force field that no goodness could penetrate. In a way I was relieved, relieved it was that simple. We’d remove the curse and I’d be gifted with the life I was supposed to have. On the way home I’d even buy a lottery ticket, as I figured the universe might tweak some numbers to help make up for lost time.
    “Two hundred dollars,” the gyspy said.
    I’d win two hundred dollars? Had she read my mind?
    “To remove zee curse. Is bargain, special for you.” She smiled. “Cash only.”
    Now I lost it. Having the curse was one thing, but not being able to afford to remove it was another. Somehow I panicked my way to the front door, made the gypsy swear that she’d get rid of the curse as soon as I found the money, swear that this wasn’t a one-time-only offer, and then flew out the door, past the gargantuan hand, and into my car. I could practically feel the curse on me, scratching me like an itchy sweater.
    Right as I dumped my last shoe box of bills onto my bed—determined to find at least one credit card pin number—the phone rang. Thank God it was Aurelia; the second she said hello I began frantically spewing words—“scarves, curse, hand in yard, pin number, Russian”—until somehow she was able to locate the pertinent ones, string them together, and then tell me to stop.
    “It’s a scam,” she said. “Are you breathing? I need to hear you take a deep breath.”
    I took a deep, wobbly breath.
    “It’s a scam. A very common scam. You don’t have a curse.”
    I stared at my credit card statements. The entire bed was filled with them, every inch. “But—but then why isn’t my life as good as it should be?”
    Aurelia laughed, softly, sweetly. “It’ll get better. And I have something you can do, if you’re still worried. Get some sage. It’s purifying. Burn it around your house, visualize the negative energy leaving, feel the air being cleansed. If there is any kind of negative energy around you, the sage will help.”
    I didn’t need to hear another word. Within seconds I was in my car and about to pull away from the curb, when there was Gina, standing on the sidewalk, ready for the dinner I’d neglected to cook, and looking rather confused.
    “Get in,” I yelled.
    Obediantly she climbed in, bottle of wine in hand, and buckled her seat belt. She glanced at me as I threw the car in drive and punched the accelerator.
    “I don’t know what’s going on,” she said, “but I like it.”

    An hour later we had sage. The man at the new-age store said we’d only need a bit, but to be safe I bought bundles. I wasn’t messing around with this cleansing business. I was serious, and now I was holding a match.
    “Ready?” I asked Gina.
    She, too, held a bundle in her hand. She nodded solemnly. We lit the sage.
    At first it was fun, traipsing around the apartment from corner to corner, waving the sage as we cleansed my aura and purified my energy. But then the smoke got thick. Really thick. Apparently there was a reason you only needed a little bit. I opened the windows, but the smoke was everywhere.