4. Cheribelle
Cheribelle
Smoke and Mirrors (and Adderall)
“Just a little bit of robin-egg blue there for a shadow, I think,” I said, picking up my cup to take a drink only to realize the straw I’d just wrapped my lips around was a paintbrush handle. I glanced down at the cup. My paint water. “Whoopsie-daisy.”
That wasn’t the first time I did that, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.
I really need to get something to make sure I don’t do that anymore.
One day I’m gonna actually swallow some!
What would work, a lid? Nah, then I’ll have to pull it off every time I want to wash a brush. Waaaayyy too annoying
Lid with straw hole for brush??
What if brush too big?
Did you order that replacement lid for your crockpot?
Shit! I forgot.
“ Mrrrrp? ”
“Sorry, Hudson, you’re right. I did stop paying attention to you for thirty seconds, and for that I am eternally sorry. Could you find it in your kitty heart to forgive me?”
“ Brrrrrrrlll. ”
“What was that? I couldn’t understand you over all that catnip you have in your system.”
Really, I was to blame for that, as I was the one who provided her with the kittynip, but I wanted to paint a still life, and there were only so many ways to convince an active cat to sit still long enough so I could properly capture her in all her glory.
I was an amateur painter, after all, not Picasso.
Yeah, I’d need to be like eighty times more sexist to come close to him!
“Come on, just a little longer, and then you get a tube treat!”
“ Meeeerk! ”
“I thought you would see things my way.”
I swirled one of my finer detail brushes in the mixture of light blue, light gray, and cream I had on my palette, then started on those delicate shadows along her white coat. Before I could sink into any sort of hyperfixation, my phone rang.
Barely paying attention, I pulled it out of my pocket and answered.
“ Haus de Donmoue , oracle through the ages, how may I help you?”
“Hello, I need to schedule a consultation as soon as possible.”
My brain glitched as I realized I was having a conversation with someone, and I was extra startled that it was a dude.
Not that there was anything wrong with a man calling a psychic, but the majority of Haus de Donmoue’s clients were women.
There was probably some fascinating gender study as to why.
“My apologies,” I said, using my phone voice.
Before I’d dropped out of college, my roommate had called it my scary robot receptionist tone.
I didn’t think it was all that concerning, but I figured the code switch was startling to someone who was used to my more flippant and quippy way of talking.
“The oracle is booked all day”—painting an adequate masterpiece of an exemplary cat—“but she does have openings starting on Monday.”
Was it irresponsible of me to turn down the appointment?
Maybe. But when my brain decided it wanted to do something, it was better to get it out of the way rather than fight it, drain all my energy, and end up dissatisfied with nothing accomplished.
As long as I didn’t fall down a multi-day rabbit hole and remembered to eat and drink, taking a day off to do whatever the goblins in my head wanted was a way better solution than the alternative.
Besides, it wasn’t like I was hard up for money.
I had a sizable inheritance from my mother.
Not enough to be, like, a millionaire or anything, but enough to sustain me for the rest of my life as long as I was smart about it.
The family home had also been bequeathed to me, so I wasn’t paying the insane rental prices that had become the norm.
“Are you certain?”
“I’m looking at her schedule right now, sir.”
Hah, schedule. That was funny.
“This is a… time-sensitive situation. I mean no disrespect, but would the oracle be willing to disrupt her current schedule if I were to pay triple the appointment fee on your website?”
Say what now?
“You know what, let me check if we’ve had any last-minute cancellations.”
It wasn’t about the money, but if a client was that desperate to get into the book, they were likely to spread the word if they had a great experience. Endorsement like that could turn Haus de Donmoue from a relic past its glory to something my mother could be proud of.
I didn’t want everything my mother had worked so hard for to slip into obscurity.
“Thank you for holding,” I said, like I was a real receptionist and not just cosplaying as one for the moment. “It turns out we do have an opening in two hours, if you can make it.”
“Thank you so much. I’ll be there.”
And then he hung up.
“Well, that was rather cut and dry, wasn’t it?” I asked Hudson. My cat didn’t reply. She was passed out on the pink, fuzzy cat bed I’d bought specifically so I could paint her lounging in it. “Whatever he’s got going on, I know it’s going to be interesting.”
I returned to my painting, ready to really lock in for the next hour or so, but when I dropped my brush and bent to retrieve it, I got a good look at the floor. In the three days since I’d last had a client, I’d maybe kinda sorta definitely trashed my place.
It wasn’t filthy with rotten food or anything like that, but the dishwasher needed to be emptied; I had two laundry baskets of clean clothes in the psychic reading room that needed to be folded and put away; the skateboard that I’d stolen borrowed was sitting out as the youngster was coming to pick it up along with a twenty dollar thank you later that afternoon; all the non-perishable groceries that had been delivered were still on the counter; and my craft room looked like a bomb had gone off.
Also, I could probably do with a shower.
“Shit! Better get this place in shape.”
Although there was a curtain separating the reading room from the other parts of the house, that didn’t mean the client wouldn’t get a sneak peek of the chaos if the wind buffeted the partition, or even if Hudson decided to play with it.
At the very least, I needed to get the clothes out of there and put away all my paints so nothing would dry out while I was busy.
I also needed to clothe myself. Sure, I wore that dramatic robe and hat during readings, but it didn’t seem very appropriate to only have a muumuu on underneath it.
Cue an hour and fifty minutes of me whirling around the house, trying to stay on task by blasting music that made me want to get up and move.
An unforeseen side effect was that the music made me subconsciously mean-mug while I was shakin’ it, but thankfully, the hot water of my shower relaxed any tension in my jaw that might lead to a headache.
The two energy drinks also probably helped prevent that. I loved caffeine. Outside of my meds, it was one of the best ways I’d found to calm down and focus.
Had I taken them today?
Check the pill box! Wait, I forgot to fill the pillbox.
Did we even fill the prescription?
I thought these were supposed to be addictive!
How can I get hooked on them if I can’t even remember to take them half the time?
Whatever, I’ll deal with that later.
Get dressed!
And that was how I ended up sitting down at my reading table and unveiling my crystal ball right as the doorbell chimed.
It was nice not to be late or in a panic. Why didn’t I do that more often?
“Come in,” I said, putting all the psychic rizz I could muster into my voice. I needed to lay it on thick to make the right impression. “Come in and greet the fates.”
A man rounded the corner of my little foyer, and phew , wasn’t he a hunk of somethin’ somethin’? I didn’t normally like to ogle people—I didn’t like it happening to me—but damn, between that jaw cut from steel and those piercing gray eyes, how could I not?
He stopped short, his strong brows knitting together over his understated but stylish glasses. “You’re not Ophelia.”
There were probably a lot of tactful ways I could respond to that, but as usual, my mouth moved before my brain did, and the next thing I knew, I was talking.
“No, I am not. Ophelia is dead and has been for a while now. I’m her daughter, and the owner of this establishment.”
Huh.
Kind of weird to say that out loud.
It wasn’t the first time I had, but for some reason it just hit a bit more intensely. Emotions were funny that way. Sometimes people thought they had everything handled, and all wrapped up in a neat box, only for a wave of something to come swooping in and making it all brand new again.
“Apologies,” the mysterious stranger said, sounding quite contrite. “I will take my leave then.”
“What? Why?” While I knew I was an empath masquerading as a psychic, he didn’t. Was there something so off-putting about me that he had to leave immediately?
“The matter is quite sensitive, and I was under the impression...”
Now, normally I wouldn’t persuade anyone to try my services if they weren’t interested, but the man had offered three times my going rate, so even if he still ended up walking away, I had to know what was going on with him.
He was enshrouded in emotions so thick and intense, I couldn’t distinguish them from each other. I would need him to sit down, to make physical contact, and parse through the mess of feelings around him.
“Look, I’m not sure what outdated ads you saw with my mother in them, but I can tell you that the gift of the oracle has always and will always run through the Donmoue line. Ophelia was not only an incredible psychic, she was an incredible parent.
“Even before I received my gift, she trained me in her ways. Taught me how to listen, how to expand my senses. So, if you came here to discuss things with her on a personal level, I understand if you’d prefer to leave because I’m not her.
But if you are leaving because you think I am lesser than the amazing woman who raised me, then you are wrong, and I challenge you to at least sit at my table to see for yourself. ”