Tightrope

Beccy Shaw

I didn't realise it was possible, but the inside of Beccy Shaw's psychic tent was even stranger than the outside.

We pushed through the hanging beads that guarded the door, and the sight that greeted us was... different. The walls were lined with shelves groaning beneath the weight of Beccy's trinkets; bottles and jars and scraps of coloured materials, crystal orbs and witch's hats. The floor was littered with rainbow feathers, sequins and plastic butterflies. Beccy had pasted posters to the walls depicting all sorts of famous magicians, like Houdini and Constantino. It was a lot.

I scrunched my nose in disgust. The air smelled of thick incense and lavender air freshener.

This is fuuuuuuked, I mouthed at Jace, twirling my finger next to my head.

Jace rolled his eyes and shoved my shoulder lightly, jerking his head towards the center of the room.

There stood the woman I assumed was Beccy Shaw. If her name didn't sound like it belonged to a psychic, her appearance made up for it. She looked as if she'd walked out of Psychic Stereotype magazine, or a Halloween catalogue for mystical fortune-tellers. She had leaned so far into the psychic thing, it almost made her less believable than if she was wearing a cheerleading skirt and a top that said PEP. The woman embodied hippy with her knitted patchwork shawl, wispy grey hair, mysterious purple-ish eyes.

She was a bit creepy.

She was also definitely a little bit high. That explained the cloying scent in the air. No one used that much air freshener unless they were trying to mask the smell of something else.

"Uh, Beccy Shaw?" said Jace.

"No shit, Sherlock," Beccy replied.

"I love you," I said immediately. Anyone who was rude to Hartley immediately earned my undying affection.

Beccy smiled kindly. "Thank you, dear."

Jace reached into his pocket for his wallet. I covered his wrist with my hand. "I can pay, you know."

It was no secret that my parents were astronomically wealthy. The kind of wealthy in which budgeting was unnecessary, the kind of wealthy that meant we could buy anything for any price and not even blink, including the services of a dubious psychic. It wasn't something I necessarily flaunted, but it was something everyone knew. It was hard to ignore after my parents purchased the famous multimillion-dollar historical home in the center of the richest suburb in the area.

I knew that some people were proud. Jace was one of those people. "I'm the one forcing you to be here, Montez. No need to flex your platinum credit card."

I shrugged. "Alright."

Beccy seemed thrilled at the mention of a platinum credit card. "What would you kids like today, hmm? A glimpse into the future, a reading of your fate?"

Jace said, "Uh, sure. That."

She motioned for us to sit down on the pink beanbags resting before her. I manoeuvred my way awkwardly down onto the beanbag, passing my crutches to Hartley. For someone who'd really put the effort into convincing me to come to Beccy, he took his seat beside me apprehensively.

Beccy didn't seem to notice. She seemed rather spaced out.

When we'd settled, Beccy pulled out a crystal ball. Personally, I thought the tarot cards seemed slightly more realistic than the crystal ball, but when someone had smoked as much weed as Beccy clearly had, remembering the meanings of a bunch of cards was probably beyond her capacity.

"Who would like to go first?" Beccy said, her voice dropping to hushed whisper. It did not make her more mysterious. The only thing mysterious about Beccy was the number of feathered boas she had wrapped around her body.