Rasputin

Zandra sighs through her cigarette.

I should've stayed in that hospital bed.

"If it's an emergency, try the emergency room. It's right over there," Zandra says and flicks ash toward the hospital.

"No, you don't understand. It's something, um, that someone like, well, you could help with," the woman says.

"What, like an emergency tarot reading?" Zandra says. She starts to walk away. The woman grabs both of Zandra's arms.

"Please. I can explain. I just can't explain here," the woman says.

Zandra shakes the woman's grip free.

I don't need this trouble, but I do need something else.

"Money," Zandra says.

"Name your price."

Zandra snorts. "Really?"

"Yes, of course."

Bullshit.

"Nice try," Zandra says. "You're in line for a free bus ride at a hospital. Whatever it is you want me to do, you can't afford it."

"I live downtown. That's why I took the bus. I promise."

I also live downtown if you count sleeping in unlocked cars.

"Where downtown?" Zandra says.

"Across from the library, above the toy shop with all the cats in it," the woman says.

"Yeah, I know that place. Everyone says it's cute they let the cats roam free. Truth is the place is infested with mice."

"I know."

Zandra takes her time to think the offer over.

Wouldn't be so bad to get to somewhere out of sight. The wrong person is going to recognize me eventually.

"OK," Zandra says finally.

"Oh, thank you so much. You have no idea how much this means to me," the woman says. She sniffles.

You're right. I don't.

On the short bus ride, Zandra learns the woman's name is Ivy. Her wife's name is Jade, and their 7-year-old son's name is Grigori.

Russian.

"Interesting name," Zandra says.

"Jade?" Ivy says quietly. She dropped her voice when talking about her wife and son. The bus is crowded. Lots of ears turn at Ivy's mention of her wife. Stevens Point's progressive streak may be an anomaly in central Wisconsin, but it is still in central Wisconsin.

"No. Grigori. Adopted?" Zandra says.

"Yes, but not in the way you're thinking. It's complicated. He's our son, though," Ivy says. "You'll get to meet him soon."

Ten minutes later, Ivy unlocks a door next to the toy store. A pair of cats in the toy store window beneath a sign that says, "Going Out of Business Sale!" watch Ivy work the key. Zandra watches back.

What happens to the cats when the toy store goes away?

Ivy leads Zandra up a flight of stairs to her apartment. A smile from a woman, presumably Jade, greets them. It's not a happy smile, though.

It's one of those worried smiles, the kind that comes on the cusp of relief. A desperate smile.

A barefoot Jade unloads before Ivy can even introduce Zandra, much less walk through the door.

"He's in his bedroom, and I'm sorry about the mess, but it's been a week, I think, since it started—yeah, a week—and we tried everything—well, almost everything—because, I guess there's still a chance if you're here, right?" Jade says. Her fingers interlace into a ball against her chest.

They better let me smoke in here.

Ivy centers Jade with a hug, allowing Zandra to slip inside the apartment. Zandra's first impression is the wall of floral scent. She doesn't see any flowers. The living room, kitchen, and dining room—all part of the same great room—are as vanilla as it gets.

Sans the vanilla scent, of course. It smells like flowers in here.

Of course.

"Jade, this is Zandra. As in the Zandra. She said she could help Grigori," Ivy says.

Jade plucks Zandra's hand and shakes it. "Thank you for coming."

What kind of emergency is this?

Zandra takes her hand back. "I guess I'm supposed to say it's my pleasure, but I'm not exactly sure why I'm here."

Ivy asks Jade to get Zandra something to drink. Jade fumbles with the fridge door before offering a beer.

"Stop that. Can't have her working on alcohol. It's too early for beer anyway," Ivy says.

"Sorry. Couldn't tell you what day it is, much less the time," Jade says from the kitchen. She shuffles through the fridge. "My bad. This isn't a Point Beer. It's a Point Root Beer, like the pop. It's in a glass bottle, so I got confused. We got that and fizzy water."

That they'd have root beer, or beer, from the brewery in Stevens Point doesn't mean they're local. Using "pop" and "fizzy water" does, though.

"I'd rather have someone tell me what's going on," Zandra says.

Jade pulls a glass bottle from the fridge and gives the top a twist. The cap hisses and pops. She takes a drink, swallows, and examines the label. "Oh. I guess this was a beer after all."

This isn't stupidity. This is exhaustion. It took Jade two tries to pull open the fridge door. Her arms are tired. Her whole body is probably tired.

That Jade isn't wearing socks doesn't mean much until you notice her feet. She's not accustomed to barefeet. First thing I do is look at someone's shoes, or in this case, lack thereof. Jade is a regular for pedicures. Probably got one a week ago, from the looks of it. That times with the start of whatever is going on with Grigori. That's too good a pair of feet to be walking barefoot out of habit. Smooth, clean heels.

This signals a break in Jade's baseline routine. Any dumb shit could've figured out Jade is stressed, but this is worth noting. This isn't a trap. They're not lying to me, because Jade's feet aren't lying to me.

Shoes—or feet—and teeth. You can cover up everything else, but feet and teeth tell the truth every time.

"What is Grigori sick with, and what is it you think I can do about it?" Zandra says. She hacks into her sleeve. "Also, can I smoke in here?"

Jade laughs. It's out of place, just like her mental state. She takes a drink, and then she turns serious. "I mean, if it's part of your ritual, then sure."

Absolutely it is.

"I'm not a psychic healer. Just a psychic," Zandra says. She reaches for the pack of cigarettes in the deep pocket of her purple gown. Her hand feels the pack, but she returns with nothing.

It's a sick kid. I can shout, "Fuck this city," all day long. But kids? The kids have nothing to do with it. Half the time, they want out of here just as bad as I do.

And I'd be out of here, too, if I hadn't given away that money. There must've been a small fortune in those terracotta soldiers at Carey Manor. Only got myself to blame for that. But...

Zandra smiles to herself.

...it felt good to do it. It tripled the "fuck you" to Gene. Because not only is Gene dead, I'm alive. And not only am I alive, I gave away a small slice of his fortune to someone who'd been fucked over all her life. And even though I was part of that, Gene paid off my debt.

"Why're you smiling?" Jade says. "Something funny?"

Almost forgot they were still talking to me.

Zandra clears her throat as she snaps back to attention. "Oh, child, sometimes the spirits tell me things. One just whispered in my ear."

Ivy and Jade trade glances.

"And?" Ivy says at the same time Jade says, "Is it about Grigori?"

Zandra rubs her hands together and closes her eyes.

I need money. How much can the spirits get for me?

"The spirits guided Ivy to me at the hospital. What are the odds you would run into me, Ivy? A million to one. Do you think you can get that lucky without supernatural assistance?" Zandra says, using one of her favorite fallacies.

Everything that happens, no matter where or how it takes place, is more likely to have never happened than to have happened. That is, if you stretch the variables out far enough. You can take it all the way to the Big Bang, or the invention of electricity, or pausing to eat a sandwich. It only seems ridiculous on the surface. Had Gavrilo Princip never stopped to eat a sandwich in 1914, World War I would never have happened. No World War I means no World War II, and that means no world order the way it is now.

Now supercharge this effect with the presence of someone like myself. Everything is supernatural. Everything is beyond coincidence. It all happens for a reason, because psychics provide reasons to a chaotic world with few of them.

Like a sick child with a mysterious illness.

"The spirits tell me my talents can help, child, but it's going to take a lot of work," Zandra says. "While I would love to do this work for free, I cannot leave here with our energies unbalanced. The universe abhors a vacuum. You can get ahead of unpleasant surprises later by restoring our balance when I'm done."

"Take my energy. Take all of it," Jade says, desperate.

Ivy holds up a wallet. "I think Zandra means this."

A lot of that.

"You can put that away for now, child. I wanted to be sure your home is in proper harmony before starting," Zandra says and waves her right hand like she's cleaning a window.

Ivy puts the wallet back in her jeans pocket.

"Shall we?" Zandra says.

Jade stays in the kitchen to nurse the beer with crooked, nervous lips. Ivy leads the way to Grigori's room down a short hallway filled with framed family photos. The boy's door is shut.

Why? If he's sick, wouldn't they want to hear him?

Ivy knocks on the door. She doesn't wait for a response before turning the handle. That's when the isolation makes sense to Zandra. Damp air saturated with diffused essential oils hits her square in the nose like an uppercut.

Good lord. They're hot boxing him with chamomile.

Once the initial sting wears off, Zandra steps into a room outfitted with the remains of an exploded Death Star. Star Wars characters and toys stack and lay strewn about the room. In the corner, a Star Wars-themed bed. Surrounded by plush Ewoks, resting between the novelty sheets but above the Rouge One pillow, is Grigori.

Zandra takes a good look at him. She takes a step backward, squints, and looks again.

The hell?

What is that on Grigori?