don’t know. Just seems like they would be. New Orleans has that...”
“Vibe?” I finished for him.
“Yeah. Some cities are like that. Prague. Vienna. Kyoto. Edinburgh. Cairo.”
“You’re just naming old cities.”
“It’s not that,” he insisted. “Paris doesn’t feel this way. Rome either. Or Dubai. But New Orleans does.”
“That may be true—is true,” I corrected myself when he looked like he was about to argue again, “but this place can’t read your palm any better than I could.”
I started to move on, but he stayed where he was. “Let’s try it,” he said.
“Try what?”
“A palm reading. Or a tarot reading or whatever.”
I laughed until I saw his face. “Wait, you’re serious?”
“Serious about trying it. Why not? Could be fun.”
“You can find a dozen psychics in Jackson Square every day.”
“But we’re here.”
I flicked another glance at the window. It wasn’t like I had anywhere else to be. “I’ll go with you, but I’m not getting one.” I had better ways to spend the fifty dollars advertised for palm and tarot readings.
A small handwritten sign above the doorknob read, “Just come in,” and we stepped into the dim interior of the living room. The walls were painted a nice shade of murder red, and a white woman in chinos and a pink polo smiled at us from her seat at a small oak table where she was working a crossword. She wore her hair in a ponytail and had a bedazzled water bottle next to her. She looked like a suburban mom named Heather who spent her days running her kids to too many activities. It was not who I’d expected.
“Hey,” she said. “What can I do for you?”
I let Miles take the question while I checked out the interior on reflex, appraising it like I did any commercial property. Nothing besides the intense walls met my expectations for a seedy psychic shop. There were no pillows piled on the floor, no gauzy fabrics or bead curtains hanging anywhere. Besides the table and four chairs in the center of the room, a simple oak cabinet sat in one corner with a collection of houseplants atop it, and a few larger potted plants nestled in each corner. Shelves lined the walls displaying candles, books, and incense for sale. Tidy low-grade carpeting covered the floor, and the dim light came from low wattage bulbs in the utilitarian light fixture overhead.
“We’re here for a reading,” Miles told her.
She glanced at her watch. “What kind? My sister isn’t here. She’s the psychic.”
“Um, what kind do you do?” Miles asked.
“I do tarot. I’m waiting for a seven o’clock appointment, but I have a half hour. I can squeeze y’all in”
Miles looked at me, and I shrugged. This was his idea. I was tagging along to humor him.
He looked back at her. “Well, I’m Miles and this is Elle.” He stopped and shook his head. “I guess you knew that.”
“I knew your name but only because I know your music,” she said. “Welcome, by the way. I’m Heather.”
Heather? HA. Who was the psychic now?
“Right. Heather. Hello. So I don’t know what kind of reading I need, really. You tell me.”
She ran an eye over both of us, her expression thoughtful. “I told you, my sister’s the psychic. I don’t have any talent with divination. I do intuitive readings. I’d say you need a three-card reading. If that sounds good, come sit down.”
Miles took the seat across from her, and I hung back awkwardly, not sure how the rules worked if I wasn’t getting a reading.
“Come on,” Heather said. “I don’t bite.”
“Is that okay even if I’m not getting a reading?”
One of Heather’s eyebrows went up. “Sit down,” she said, her voice firm but kind. I sat. She looked from Miles to me and back again. “Y’all have a distinct energy. You’re definitely getting a reading together.”
She went to the cabinet, and Miles shot me a grin. I smiled back, glad that things had been easy between us this evening.
Heather resumed her seat and set a wooden box carved with vines on the table. She opened it and removed a deck of large cards and set them down in front of her. They looked old and well-used. “This is the Rider-Waite-Smith deck. Let’s begin.”
“Just like that?” I asked, confused. “Don’t you need to ask us some questions?”
“Like what?” she asked as she shuffled.
“I don’t know. About our childhoods, or maybe about our jobs and hobbies?”
She shot me a knowing look. “Why? So I can do some basic conning where I make