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          THE home on #87 Mystic Lane is unlike anything Shawn's ever seen before. Wrapped around it is a white picket fence, and a blooming garden with lots of different plants and flowers in varying colors. It has stone steps leading up to the front porch, and its walls are an egg-blue color.

          Lots of different things hang from the ceiling, like stars and signs and symbols Shawn's not even sure what to make of. He shoves his hands into his coat's pockets and squints up at the now clear sky, still standing by the house's perimeter. He swears he sees someone peeking out from the dormer windows of the second floor, but the eyes vanish before he could have a proper look.

          Shawn steps onto the patio and hesitates by the redwood door. The number #87 is embellished with white ink on a black plate next to him, and he double checks the flyer to see if he was at the right place.

          He was.

          Inhaling a deep breath, Shawn lifts a hand to knock on the door. He gives it three good raps before he spots the doorbell, and then he presses that and stands back.

          A girl opens it, but only a peek. His lips part at the sight of her, racking his brain for an explanation as to why he was here, but the words don't come. Instead, he looks at her and drinks in her details.

          Black hair in a bun. White collar peeking out from underneath the dullest black and white striped sweater. A round, silver pendant hanging off a chain around her neck. Navy blue jeans rolled up to her calves. Worn in Converse sneakers. Sleepy slanted eyes. She looks like him on a bad day.

          The sight of it makes him want to laugh.

          "Um, hi," she says, furrowing her eyebrows, even though a polite smile graces her lips. "Can I help you?"

          Shawn doesn't know what to say.

          "Did you have an appointment?" she asks. Appointment for what? he thinks. But as soon as he's about to turn and make a run for it, never having uttered a single word, the girl from the coffee shop pulls the door further open. She doesn't say anything, either; just gestures for him to come in. The girl in the sweater furrows her eyebrows but steps aside, and Shawn obliges.

          #87 Mystic Lane is even stranger on the inside. Thick and dusty books line the shelves amongst the walls, boasting of titles like The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success, The Prophet, and The Secret Teachings of All Ages. Not the kind you'd usually find in a typical home—or at least, not the typical homes he was used to.

          The silver-haired girl leads him to a small room—one of many on the first floor—and he doesn't even realize the other is following until she shuts the door behind him and occupies the second seat around the round table. A printed cloth is draped over it, and the window casts an elongated four-paneled shadow into the room.

          "Have a seat, please," the girl in the sweater says when the silver-haired one touches her arm. Shawn obliges, still not sure what he was doing here.

          "What is your name?" the girl in the sweater asks.

          "Shawn," he says. "You?"

          "It's not important," she says, but again the silver-haired girl touches her arm. She sighs. "My name is Fleur."

          "Fleur," he echoes. "I like it."

          She gives him a small smile. Shawn lowers his gaze and presses his palms together under the table sheepishly.

          "This is Aurora," Fleur then says, gesturing to the silver-haired girl. Aurora widens her eyes at Fleur, so she says, "Just to be fair." Aurora rolls her eyes and gesticulates something, although what, Shawn's not sure.

          Fleur gets up from her seat and pulls a twine basket from the shelf. She sets it on the table and opens it to reveal multiple decks of cards, and at once it hits Shawn, just what this all was.

          "Oh," he blurts out, "I'm not—" He cuts himself off when Aurora moves her hands yet again. It's clearly some sort of sign language, but he doesn't understand. "What's she saying?" he asks Fleur.

          Fleur blinks at Aurora and hesitates. "She says you came here for a reason. That..." she trails off, as Aurora signals again. "That there is no such thing as coincidences." Fleur looks at Shawn, looking just as confused as he was.

          Aurora signs again.

          "What'd she say now?" he asks.

          "She's asking you to stay," Fleur mumbles, sounding unsure herself. "Aurora, what is this about?" But Aurora says no more; instead she picks out certain decks and lays some cards on the table. Fleur lets out a resigned sigh.

          Now, Shawn doesn't mean to be rude, but he can't help but ask, "I don't have to pay for anything, do I?" Aurora shakes her head. She flips the cards and examines them. Then, she starts to sign again.

          "What is it?" Shawn's asking. "What's she saying?"

          Fleur holds a finger up as Aurora finishes 'speaking'. Fleur blinks at her, once, before looking at Shawn. "The cards are telling her you're lost," she says. "You feel empty inside, because you've been let down. Have you lost any friends lately?"

          Shawn's throat feels dry. Fleur and Aurora look at him expectantly, but when he doesn't move, doesn't say anything, Aurora signs again.

          "She says the cards brought her to you," Fleur explains, eyes glued to Aurora's fingers. "And that she wants to help you out of that rut." She glances briefly at him, then back to Aurora. "There are things—there are things about yourself that you see in others and don't like. You're—Shawn, do you feel jaded?"

          Shawn's heart is racing now, and all he can take are short, shallow breaths.

          Both Fleur and Aurora pause. Aurora collects the cards and spreads new ones down. They start over. "You don't want to be alone," Fleur says, "but you push everyone away." Aurora points at a card that has a mirror printed on it. She looks at Fleur as if to ask her to explain.

          Fleur licks her lip. "This card is meant to represent, um," she says, then pauses to look at him. She tilts her head to the side. "D'you know when someone pisses you off, because they do a certain thing, or act a certain way? This card—when it shows up—it tells you that that thing you don't like about them is a reflection of you. That that behavior is very much a part of your own, and that it bothers you because you don't, can't, acknowledge it."

          Shawn clenches his fists. He can't help but feel angry, of course! Who were they to speak to him like that? He didn't ask them to tell him anything; they sprung it up on him! "I don't know who you are or what you're doing," he says, "but you don't know me or any of the things I'm going through. These stupid cards don't mean anything." But still, Aurora soldiers on.

          Fleur looks scared. She doesn't speak even when Aurora finishes, and Shawn's teary eyes are boring a hole into her head. "What did she say?" he asks. Demands, almost. "Fleur, tell me what she said."

          "It's not important," Fleur says, and Aurora looks at her like she's crazy. "There's no use if you don't believe in this stuff. I can show you out." But Shawn stays rooted in his spot. Sure, he was angry, but now he was also curious.

          Fleur sighs. "She says there's a reason she picked you out from the crowd this morning," she says. "There's a reason she traveled all the way to the city." She looks at him then, and says, "Aurora never leaves the house. So if she felt compelled to and spotted you there, then that should tell you it's fate."

          Fate, Shawn thinks bitterly. How many times has Fate spit in his face? "Bullshit," he mutters, and Fleur rises from her seat.

          "If you're going to be disrespectful of this house and our practices, you can see your way out."

          Aurora sits her down. She re-collects the cards and spreads another set on the table. Though the air in the room is thick, they carry on.

          "You're too hard on yourself," Fleur says, then clenches her jaw. "You have a gift, but you think it's a curse. The cards say you're intuitive, but you doubt yourself too much." She looks at him. "Don't."

          Shawn looks away.

          "Because of this," Fleur continues, "you've strayed from the light and your friends don't recognize you anymore. Would you agree to that?"

          Shawn gets up to his feet. Fuck curiosity. It killed the cat, anyway. "I'm done wasting my time, thanks," he says, deflecting her question. The truth is that he was scared, scared that they seemed to dig into his mind and pull out all the truths he could never admit to himself, but knew deep down was true.

          Fleur shrugs. "Well, so am I," she says, and goes to open the door. "I don't know who you are and what Aurora saw in you, but you don't impress me. Close-minded freaks rarely do."

          He scoffs. "You're calling me a freak? You're the one reading cards and pretending to read my fortune!" he says, in a manner that was both mocking and condescending.

          "Oh, screw you," she says. "Get out of here. We don't need your negative energy."

          Shawn laughs again. "Energy," he says. "It gets better!"

          "Freak," Fleur says again, glaring at him. Shawn can almost feel the anger emanating off of her.

          "What's that again, about mirrors?" he quips, crossing his arms.

          "Oh, screw you," she groans, turning around to head her way out into the kitchen.

          "Fleur, wait!"

          Both Shawn and Fleur freeze, then turn to look at Aurora. She's on her feet now, too, and there's a panicked look on her face as she looks to and fro the both of them. Shawn eyes Fleur; she looks stunned.

          Her mouth falls open and then slams shut back again. "Aurora," she starts to say, but Aurora shakes her head and brings her hand up to her heart. She signs something, and this time, it's Fleur who shakes her head. "No," she says. "No."

          Aurora nods.

          "What's she saying?" Shawn asks, eyebrows furrowed. All Fleur can do is shake her head. "Hey," Shawn snaps, "what's she saying?"

          Aurora signs one last time. Fleur finally turns to look at him.

          "She's telling me that you're the one."

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A/N: In case you're wondering what sort of modality they were using, it's called the Millenium Method, which I've had firsthand experience with. Shit's cool, yo.