Twice Bitten, Once Shy: Confessions of a Fake Psychic Detective #5

Chapter 4

On the Honesty of Urinating Canines

Jade rushes into the bedroom upon hearing the word, "miracle." Sure enough, Grigori's swollen foot is back to a normal size.

Ivy squeezes her son in a hug. She helps him to his feet. He's wobbly after so much time in bed, but for the first time in a week and a half, he can walk unimpeded. Grigori smiles without the aid of a video game.

I'm feeling better, too. All this sleep and room service are just what I needed.

Zandra allows herself a moment to feel satisfied. She leans against the wall and rubs her ankle, which remains, as usual, bad.

"It's no miracle," Jade says, turning to Zandra. "The energy work worked."

Zandra's palm hits a sensitive spot on her ankle. She winces.

A small celebration follows in the kitchen. Ivy runs across the street to Polito's, a by-the-slice pizzeria with an oversized interpretation of what constitutes a single "slice."

"Who taught you how to do that? Or did you teach yourself?" Jade says to Zandrawhile Ivy is still away.

"The power is in everyone, child," Zandra says. She draws a cigarette from its pack and brings it to her lips. She didn't abstain for three straight days, but she did cut back on the heaters quite a bit. "If you'll excuse me, I need to recharge outside."

Zandra hobbles out the apartment and down to the street level. Standing next to a blue Collection Box tagged with graffiti and dog urine, she lights up and cracks her neck side to side. The smoke curling up her nostrils pries at the aroma of the natural "cures" shellacked to her nose.

Energy work. Sure.

There are two ways to treat what ails you: start doing something or stop doing something. There's more money in the first if you're pushing products like tea and oils. There's even more if the second would be admitting something about the first. People don't like to be wrong, and they'll pay to keep it that way. Tea not working? Buy more tea. Oils not working? Buy more oils. Or maybe buy some mung beans.

Zandra looks at the health warning on her pack of cigarettes.

At least cigarettes are honest, in the way that a dog pissing on a postal Collection Box is honest.

Zandra closes her eyes and lets her head roll back so her face feels the warmth of the sun.

Grigori had a cold. He might also have an allergy to rooibos tea that caused his foot to swell. Hard to say, but it fits in the timing. They pumped him so full of that tea that it took 24 hours for the symptoms to stop once they switched to water. The other two days, I napped. If his parents would've knocked off the natural bullshit in the first place, this would've been over already.

But then I wouldn't be here.

"Bum a smoke?" a voice says.

Zandra's focus snaps back to the sidewalk. A young man holds his hand out a few feet away from her.

"Bum a smoke?" the young man says again. "Come on. I seen you with a whole pack."

The smokers aren't usually this aggressive.

Neither is a mundane smoke break on a sidewalk. A second man, using the distraction of the first, forces a blindfold over Zandra's eyes. A van on the street slows to a roll. The sliding side door opens, and the two men push Zandra inside. She doesn't have the time or the orientation to pull the lawnmower knife.

Well, this is fucking terrifying.

The two men slam Zandra into a seat and take spots on either side of her. They press her wrists into the seat cushion.