Page 4 of Divine Oaths

“Did I do something to piss you off?”

“You’re from Westfield, and apparently the university’s heir. Which, if I did believe you—and I don’t—makes this situation worse. But day drinking in the mall? Embarrassing. And the fact that you’re propositioning me while I’m at my other job? Cornering me like this and forcing me to listen to whatever nonsense you and your friends came up with for this… this prank? I mean, it’d be fair if I could at least curse you out. But I don’t want to lose this job. So, congratulations on ruining my shift. Now leave.”

That made him pause for a moment.

“It’s because of the fire, isn’t it?” he said.

The cool, dismissive way he said the words was a knife to my chest.

He knew who I was, who I’d been before the fire and my fame had burned out. And more likely than not, this offer wasn’t because he needed my psychic services. It was for a photo op, or to brag to his friends that he’d gotten the once-famous Baby Mozart to relive the most traumatic night of her life.

“Either buy something,” I repeated, “or go.”

He glanced over his shoulder, a nervous tic to his movements.

“All right. I’ll buy the dress you just sold. My girlfriend’s birthday is in a few months, and I want to surprise her.”

“You have a girlfriend, but you told your friends you’re asking me out?” Clearly, Westfield University wasn’t just filled with stuck-up elitists. There were assholes enrolled too.

“She cheated on me,” he said.

“So you’re cheating back?”

“Only to even the playing field. I don’t want her to feel bad about what she did.”

That earned him a chuckle from me. But only one. His eyes lit up and I swallowed against the lump in my throat.

“You can’t buy the dress,” I said, killing whatever impasse we’d come to.

Instead of responding, the guy reached into his blazer, and I caught a glimpse of something gold and flashy on his wrist; a watch, likely. Or one of those expensive smart devices. For a second, I thought he was going to take the flask out again. But instead, he pulled a crumpled sheet of paper from his wallet, ironed it out with his palms, and passed it to me.

Baby Mozart becomes psychic extraordinaire!

Get your fortune told by the child musical prodigy who ignited the world ablaze with her magical touch, from the piano keys to palm readings.

Private readings and services available on demand.

“I called the number at the bottom of the flyer. The person hung up on me every time. So I’m here for a private reading, and I’m asking if I can book your services for just a few days while I’m back on campus at the beginning of the semester. I’m not trying to play games or screw you over. I’m in genuine need of a medium.”

I cringed at the sight of my photo at the bottom of the flyer, where Louisa had awkwardly edited the picture to crop out my parents from the frame.

“There have been accidents on Westfield’s campus, and things have been… escalating. None of the other psychics or soothsayers could help me. But the reviews online say your visions are legit. So if you could kindly, just for this moment, entertain what I’m asking here, then I’d appreciate it. Greatly.”

My memories of my audition to Westfield curdled at the back of my mind; the screams from the audience, my parents at the back of the stage, encased in smoke and separated from the fleeing crowds by a barrier of flames.

“Everything in the kitchen aisle is twenty percent off,” I said, forcing a smile.

The guy leaned over, his eyes searing. Behind him, his friends grew restless, chanting for him to go in for the kiss, as if he’d really been asking me out, as if from their view of everything, I was returning his affections.

“Nothing’s going to change my mind,” I said.

But then he pulled out a wad of cash.

I counted nearly two grand. More than enough for what I needed for the rent deposit.

I licked my lips, trying to stay calm, yet knowing how much this amount, in this moment, would fix everything.

“It’s always money, isn’t it?” he said, reading the hunger in my eyes for what it was.