by Page Turner
Her colleagues rolled their eyes when she reported her intentions. The department head wrote snarky comments on her form requesting research funding, but checked the box approving it. “Why the heck not?” he said as he handed it to her. “It’ll keep you out of trouble.”
Janira Watson would think of that moment often when she appeared on TV shows with a chyron below her that read, “Scientist, Discovered First Psychics.”
Is this staying out of trouble? she’d ask herself silently as she waited with hot lights on her face, staring at yet another studio audience that seemed to blend in with the last several she’d appeared before.
In these appearances, she was often seated next to some of her first confirmed test cases, perfectly normal-looking young people who could predict future events with accuracy greater than chance.
Not perfectly, mind you. A precog saw potential futures, likely futures. And bias was always a powerful form of interference, regardless of any given precog’s level of perspicacity otherwise.
For matters as inconsequential as a research semantic prime or the sequence of playing cards to be laid down before them like the Zener test, their accuracy was unparalleled. But when it came to interpersonal relationships, things could get quite a bit murkier.
It was hardest to predict one’s own future, precognitionists found. But predicting the future of others wasn’t always easy either.
Despite what centuries of cold reading and psychic play-acting had led the public at large to believe, seeing someone’s future was quite a bit more difficult than anticipating a series of arbitrary symbols.
Still, that’s what that same public wanted. They didn’t want parlor tricks. They didn’t care about Zener cards. They wanted insights into their own futures. Calls flooded the TV stations where intuitives had appeared on programs. People wanted to know information about their professional futures. What they should invest in financially.
And an awful lot of people –most of them– wanted the newly identified psychics to make predictions about their love lives.
Horoscopes had been quite popular prior to the discovery of psychic powers, but who needed to see what the day held for Sagittarius when you had a real life precog to ask about that hunky fellow who worked down the hall?
It didn’t take long for the government to step in. Citing concern for the safety of these first psychics gone public, the precogs Watson had worked with were immediately put into the Black Square Program, in which they were effectively imprisoned. The government claimed this was for their own good, but they also benefited from the study and experimentation on these first psychics, whose participation was not voluntary.
Janira Watson seethed. This was not what she’d wanted, but it was out of her hands now.
The timing was impossible anyway, she reminded herself. The Psychic State had just gained independence, and they were thirsty for anything that would allow them to defend and maintain their recent secession.
As the years passed, however, and their knowledge of the psychic phenomenon increased, governmental control did relax somewhat, and subsequent citizens were granted more freedom and lower-security status.
They also employed a series of regulations regarding the use of psychic power, in order to preempt bedlam from breaking loose. The heaviest restrictions surrounded the use of psychic power in legal negotiations, in the financial industry, or in conjunction with sex.
The first two were intended to prevent the erosion of centralized legal powers and the risk of economic collapse due to psychic destabilization.
The latter, however, was mostly a measure taken to square with existing vice laws. Particularly as the public saw the emergence of more varied forms of psychic power than simply precognition and telepathy (the earliest forms, which would continue to be the most common), there was grave concern about love charms and the ability for someone to improperly compel another to have sex.
In general, the laws prohibiting the commercial use of psychic powers in sexual intercourse didn’t differentiate between sex and love. It didn’t care about consent. Legally, the State believed you couldn’t consent to a love charm.
And most importantly, the law didn’t differentiate between compelling someone to have sex with you and asking a precog what your love life looked like.
Predictably, however, that didn’t stop the public desire for those services.
Savvy businesspeople took full advantage of this unmet need, setting up shop, particularly in seedier neighborhoods, that advertised Fortune-Telling.
In the eyes of the State, Fortune-Telling was considered a For Entertainment Only industry, an entity completely distinct from the verified psychic phenomenon. Legally speaking, it wasn’t any different than hiring someone to deliver a candygram. Or having them dress up elaborately and pretend to predict the future at a child’s birthday party.
In other words, it was perfectly legal to pay someone who was pretending to have psychic powers to give you predictions or advice about your love life. But completely illegal to pay someone who actually had psychic powers to do so.
Savvy undocumented precogs who wanted to find a way to earn a living quickly tapped into this phenomenon and began to work at Fortune-Telling houses, pretending to be frauds. This typically meant that they’d have to be wrong often enough to not arouse suspicion. Usually this involved faking wrong answers in addition to their occasionally incorrect predictions.
The “best” Fortune-Telling Houses were rumored to have as much as ten percent of its workforce made up of undocumented precogs pretending to be charlatans. Legally, they couldn’t come out and say this of course, not without risking a government raid and on-the-spot psyon testing of all employees – but the rumor mill spread the word plenty well.
Consumers knew where to look.
The Warrens of Persephone
The witness was an extraordinarily beautiful woman. As she sat before them, her long legs were tucked underneath her at an improbable angle, with harrowing flexibility. She was positioned more like a bendy doll than an actual human being. Her long thick hair was piled into an elaborate updo that stayed improbably in place, despite looking soft and not shellacked down with hairspray or even mousse.
As they spoke, she held a pear absentmindedly in her right hand. Fruit baskets were scattered around the room. Gold-painted wicker, judging by the look of it. Made to look more opulent than they were but doing a pretty good job regardless.
Tapestries hung on the walls depicting scenes from Greek mythology.
The myth of Persephone, Penny noted. The princess of the underworld, who had in some myths been abducted by Hades to be his wife in the Underworld and in other versions of the same story ran away from her family to voluntarily pursue a love affair with the Prince of Darkness.
In all tellings of the myth, Persephone did look back on her former life and tried to keep both old and new acquaintances. And the way she split her time between overworld and underworld was responsible for the seasons – because Persephone was spring personified. So when she was underground, winter would descend. Or something like that.
It wasn’t Penny’s favorite myth, not by a long shot, so that’s about as much as she knew.
Their current witness fit in quite well with the ambiance, with the art. Statuesque. And holding a bowl of fruit that would look at home as props for a still life painting.
“Gretchen Mills” is what she gave for a name.
But who knows if that’s her actual name? Viv thought. Sounds like an off brand cereal company.
Karen also had suspicions about the name but wrote it down anyway.
“I don’t have any identification,” the witness had told them, turning out the pockets of the satin robe she wore and giving a coquettish shrug.
Even with her empathic powers dulled, Karen recognized that gesture anywhere. Affected helplessness. She imagined it had pro
bably served “Gretchen” quite well in her line of work. A performance that said who are you talking to? Little old me?
Karen suspected that underneath this veneer of waifishness lie a very savvy grand dame in the making.
“Ms. Mills, how did you know the victims?” Penny asked.
The witness looked off to the side. “I’ve been so rude,” she said quietly.
“What do you mean, rude?” Viv said.
The witness grimaced and then smiled.
“What my partner means to say--” Karen began.
And it was Viv’s turn now to grimace.
“--Is that we don’t think you’ve been rude at all. Two people you know were attacked last night, one was killed, and yet you’ve agreed to meet with us and to talk about the issues. Before you’ve had time to really absorb what’s happened, really. That doesn’t seem rude at all to me. In fact, that seems rather commendable. Not everyone is so open to helping out our investigations.”
The witness smiled. “Perhaps. But I’ve been a terrible hostess.”
“How so?” Karen asked.
“I didn’t ask you if you wanted any fruit,” the witness said.
“Honestly, Ms. Mills,” Viv said, “It’s not standard procedure for investigative leads to feed us.”
“Is that what I am? A lead?” Gretchen said. “How extraordinary.”
“I’m not sure if we’d even be allowed to accept food from you,” Karen said. “There are rules about gifts. To stave off bribery.”
“Five dollars,” Penny said.
“Hm?” Karen said.
“We can accept anything under five dollars,” Penny said.
Viv nodded. She remembered that regulation clearly as Penny had claimed the value of the python she accepted during one past investigation as $4.99. But Viv stayed silent because she’d promised Penny she wouldn’t bring up the python ever again. It had been before Karen was with them, and it was something Karen just didn’t need to know about. Something Viv was eager to forget and Penny arguably even more eager.
“Five dollars could get a whole bowl of fruit,” Karen said.
“More or less,” Viv said, “Depending on what’s in season and how big the bowl is.”
“I’d like a piece,” Penny said.
“Go right ahead,” Gretchen replied.
“Does it matter which basket?” Penny asked.
Gretchen shook her head no. “Help yourself.”
As Penny walked around the room comparing the baskets, she noticed that while the fruit placement looked haphazard when viewing a single basket that when you compared multiple baskets they all seemed to be completely identical.
There was a particular position to the fruit. One that whoever had set up the room had been careful to replicate over and over again.
She also noted that all the fruit visually seemed to be perfectly ripe. Perhaps even overripe. So much so that she suspected if she were to squeeze the stone fruits too hard that they might explode in her hand.
Seconds away from a mess, really, she thought, before adding. Delicious.
After careful consideration, Penny picked up a pomegranate and slipped it into her pocket.
“Oh dear,” Gretchen said. “I’m afraid you can’t take that one.”
“I doubt it’s more than five dollars,” Penny said.
“Well, no,” Gretchen said. “But the pomegranates aren’t for guests.”
“Why not?” Penny asked.
“Penny, you’re wasting time. It doesn’t matter. Just put the damn fruit back,” Viv replied.
“No, it’s okay,” Gretchen replied. “It’s a good question. A very important one.”
Penny kept the fruit in her pocket. She wasn’t about to put it back without a good reason.
“The pomegranate is different than other fruits,” Gretchen said. “It has a lot of purpose and meaning to us here at the Warrens of Persephone. You may know us for our services to the public…” She let her voice trail off in euphemism, before continuing, “But there’s a lot more to us than that.”
“Such as?” Viv said.
“Is that related to the crime you’re investigating?” Gretchen said. It was a tone she hadn’t used in their conversation yet. Wry. Knowing.
Ah there’s the savviness, Karen noted.
“No,” Viv said. “But a good hostess doesn’t keep secrets from her guests.”
Gretchen smirked. “Or does she?”
Viv frowned.
“I think a good hostess keeps plenty of secrets. Much is made of honesty as a virtue, noble truths – but there are times when discretion takes far more strength. I think refraining from burdening people with trifles can be noble. And times when sharing certain knowledge can put someone else at risk. Keeping someone in the dark can be protective, you know?”
“Like Persephone in the Underworld, under the guidance of Hades,” Penny said. It escaped her mouth before she was even aware that she was speaking.
“Precisely,” Gretchen said, smiling.
Viv groaned.
“You know, maybe I can tell you,” Gretchen.
“You can,” Penny replied. “And you can let me keep the pomegranate?”
Gretchen considered this. “Maybe,” she said.
“So what is it that you do here?” Viv asked, irritated with how far off track they’d gotten.
“Well, as you know, and as any cursory search of public records would tell you,” Gretchen began, “The Warrens of Persephone is a premiere – no, the premiere provider of Love Divination Services.”
“You’re fortunetellers?” Viv said.
“As far as the law is concerned,” Gretchen said.
“So as far as we’re concerned,” Viv said. “We’re the law. Since we work for the State.”
“Do you?” Gretchen asked.
“Uhhh,” Viv said. “Yes.” She dug her identification out of one of her overall pockets. “Detective Viv Lee. Green Star. Level 3 Investigator, Department of Psychic Operations.” She thrust the identification forward for Gretchen to review as she spoke the words on it. While Viv only had to view something one time for it to be forever locked into her permanent memory, she’d spoken those particular words dozens, if not hundreds of times. Basically, any time she needed to offer credentials, whether to a superior, colleague, or an uncooperative witness.
“Viv? What’s it short for? Vivian? Vivica? Vivid?” Gretchen said.
“Nothing. It’s just Viv,” Viv said. “Viv is my entire first name.”
“It’s certainly not short for Vivid,” Karen offered.
Viv scowled. It sounded so defensive when Karen put it like that.
“Riiiight,” Gretchen said, shaking her head slowly and drawing out the word. “Because a woman who takes herself as seriously as you do wouldn’t have a foolish name like Vivid Lee. I can see that vividly. That it’s not short for Vivid. Vividly. I see it vividly.”
Good thing she doesn’t know my relatives are Tender Lee and Love Lee, Viv thought. She’d have a field day.
“It really isn’t short for anything,” Penny offered. “I’ve seen her birth certificate. Her mom’s a character. Trust me.”
“You I do trust,” Gretchen said to Penny. “Anyway,” she continued. “You might technically work for the State, but you’re far from the law. No, you’re something else entirely. Especially you.” She fixed her gaze on Penny.
Gretchen rose from her chair, walked over to Viv, and placed the pear she was holding in Viv’s hand. Her expression grew serious. She sighed.
“Your crime scene unit was all over this building earlier today, so I suppose there are a lot of basic facts that you either know already or will know shortly. So I’ll spare you those,” Gretchen said.
“Okay,” Viv said. “I appreciate that.”
“I run this organization, the Warrens of Persephone. I am, as some might say, the boss. One of the two victims, Heather – the victim who is… no longer living, worked for me here for the past three years. The other victim, the one who seems to have had a psychotic break, is a regular client of hers. I’m fuzzy on his name. John something? John Johnson?” Gretchen said.
“James Jackson,” Viv offered.
“Yeah that’s it, I think. Maybe. I’m always surprised when clients give their real names. I don’t presume anyone’s giving me the correct name anymore. Sorry about that by the way, giving you a hard time. It’s a hazard of this business, just assuming that everyone you meet’s going by another name.”
“It’s fine,” Viv replied.
“Most people I know have at least three different names. One they go by legally, that they sign to things and maybe hear on the rare occasion they head back to stay with their family. You know, on holidays. Then they have a second one that their friends call them. And finally, there’s the work name. I of course mostly know work names when it comes to my employees, unless we are particularly close.”
“Were you particularly close to Heather?” Viv asked.
“You could say that,” Gretchen said. She paused. “Are any of you eideticists?”
“Yes,” Viv said. “I am. Why?”
“You should really try that pear I gave you,” Gretchen said.
“I’m not hungry,” Viv replied, truthfully.
“It’s good for your vision,” Gretchen said with a peculiar emphasis.
“That’s carrots you’re thinking of,” Viv said.
“Well you can never get too many vitamins, can you?” Gretchen asked.
Viv didn’t have an answer to that. This woman was loopy, she decided. Viv frowned, wondering what the easiest way to get this conversation on track would be.
“And while you eat that pear, I think you should look at that tapestry,” Gretchen said, pointing to one hanging directly behind Viv’s head. This tapestry depicted Demeter, the mother of Persephone, wandering the Earth, clearly distraught, searching for her missing daughter.
