Nearly Departed, Max Schlienger [the gingerbread man read aloud txt] 📗

in his inside pocket, but waited to hear the answer to his question first.

“Oh, no…” the woman replied. She had a smile on her face that might have given her the air of having some forbidden secret, but only if one didn’t look too closely. “None of them have the gift. They’re too involved with other things. Why, one of them even has a husband who is Jewish, and they didn’t even have a handfasting!”

“How horrid,” September answered flatly, keeping his face neutral.

“I know, it’s awful, isn’t it? They think that I’m missing the point by talking to spirits and doing my spells, but they’re not the ones who have to deal with this!”

“That... really doesn’t make any sense,” said September hesitantly.

“What?”

He bowed his head. “I’m sorry; I was meditating on your situation.”

“You said I didn’t make any sense,” the woman said with a hint of suspicion. September’s face gave no indication as to his thoughts, but he was hastily trying to recover the situation.

“I think you may have misheard me, Moon,” he said calmly. “I merely said that I agree with you, and that it doesn’t seem to make sense for you to have to deal with this on your own.” It might have been a stretch, but he had learned some time ago that many people had a habit of going along with things if they thought it had been their idea. As he expected, the woman’s skepticism quickly dissipated.

“You’re absolutely right,” she said. She took a sip from the mug in front of her. “Oh, I’m sorry, would you like some tea?”

“Thank you, but I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” she pressed. “I make it myself.”

“I’m fine.”

Several minutes passed in awkward silence, during which time September rearranged the objects on the table, more or less at random. Moon watched with fading interest, seemingly intent on some result that was threatening to remain absent. It might be prudent, September thought, to keep her talking, but just as he was about to launch into another string of practiced patter, the candle let out a sharp crack, and a glowing ember danced into the air. September adjusted his glasses and followed the glow with his eyes, putting on an expression of intense concentration.

“Oh, my…” He turned one of the chopsticks to face the candle, then slowly rotated the pyramid.

“What?” asked the woman excitedly, her curiosity suddenly returned. “What? What is it?”

September held up a finger for silence, continuing to turn the pyramid as he stared at the candle. Usually, the sparks came in groups, and he probably only needed to wait a few more seconds before –

“Oh my god!” the woman exclaimed, as a sudden outburst of sound and light erupted from the candle.

“Now!” September shouted. He reached forward and opened the silver box, and then slammed it shut. The candle sputtered once or twice more before going back to burning quietly and steadily. September leaned forward and lightly blew it out, leaving a thin trail of smoke rising towards the ceiling.

“What was that?” the woman asked. “What did you do? What happened?”

“Nothing significant,” September replied, pulling the box towards him and opening it. He pretended to examine the contents – or lack thereof – and did his best to ignore the reflection of his own blue eyes staring back at him from the polished silver interior. After a moment of silence, during which the woman anxiously folded and unfolded her hands, September looked up.

“I have found the source of your problem,” he declared. He adjusted his glasses and met the woman’s stare straight-on. “However, this is not a matter of eliminating the spirit or of dealing with him directly. The two of you have become linked, and so it is you who must stop him from driving your suitors away.”

“Hah, my suitors,” the woman laughed.

“Ma’am… Moon…” September began. “I am not supposed to do this, but I can sense that you are a special case, and it is my desire to help you.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card. “Your situation is not in my area of expertise, but I do have a friend who can provide you with much better assistance. He is both well-qualified and trustworthy.” He held the card out to the woman, who took it eagerly at first, but then scowled with anger and suspicion.

“A shrink?” she scoffed. “You want to send me to a fucking shrink? God, they all want to send me to fucking shrinks…” September leaned forward and removed his glasses, willing his gaze to appear both stern and piercing.

“He is no mere psychiatrist, Moon. This man will help you learn how to control your spirit, and how to keep him from upsetting your life any further.” He gestured with his glasses. “I do not have the ability to help you here. I am an investigator and a consultant, nothing more. If you wish to continue on your own, that is your choice. However, if you have any desire to bring this spirit under your power…” He trailed off and let the sentence hang in the air. It had the calculated effect. The woman’s look of suspicion was replaced by one of interest and greed, tinged only slightly with the sort of apprehension one would expect from a more... a more sane person, he supposed.

“Really?” she asked. She looked down at the card again. “How come you’re not supposed to tell people about him?” September returned his glasses to their place on the bridge of his nose and stood. He retrieved his briefcase from the floor and carefully packed the objects on the table back inside it.

“He does not often take on new clients, but with my recommendation, he will undoubtedly be willing to speak with you.” He snapped the briefcase shut and went to take his overcoat and hat from the sculptures where they had been hung. He hoped that the woman wouldn’t realize that he had not actually answered her question, and he donned his outer