Connor ignored me, but I didn’t care. I was too busy taking it all in. This was the air that filled my lungs. Like the night market, this was its own type of holy ground-an enchanted place that whirled and swirled with rich fabrics and the light of a thousand lands reflected in almost every stall. It was living, always shifting, and sometimes dangerous. The world of secondhand goods was a dog-eat-dog world, gypsies and nomads fighting for every last sale.
I stopped to check the wares at one booth and noticed a young Asian woman approaching Connor. He had taken off his coat and was walking the aisles in tourist mode, and her “sucker radar” had picked up on his naivetй immediately. She swooped in, coming to rest on his arm like a falcon.
“Right this way,” she said with a flourish of Mandarin in her voice. It rang out like the soft tinkling of wind chimes. Connor smiled and turned to follow her as she kept talking. “I show you something nice. Something you give your girlfriend. She like earrings? We got many beautiful earrings here for her.”
I hurried over, waving at the woman. I grabbed her hands from Connor’s arm politely but firmly, and said, “No, thank you. He’s not interested.”
“Ohhh,” she said, with a knowing wink and a coy smile. “I see how it is. We have something nice he buy foryou then!”
“What?” I said and then it dawned on me-she thought we were a couple. I had to give her credit as a salesperson, though. Without any judgment call or even skipping a beat, she continued her sales pitch unfazed.
“No, it’s not like that,” I said.
She nodded and winked again.
“Connor,” I pleaded. “Tell her.”
Connor turned to me and put his hands on his hips “Honestly! No need to be such abitch about things, Simon. I swear! It’s like you’re embarrassed to be seen in public with me!”
He stormed off down the aisle like a faux drama queen before I could get a word in. I chased after him, thankfully ending my conversation with the woman. Connor had ended up in a quiet section full of Indian fabrics, throws, and pillows in rich shades of purple, orange, and deep red. Thank God no one was paying attention to us. When I caught up with him, tears of laughter were running down his face. I just stared at Connor and shook my head.
“What’s wrong?” he said when he saw I wasn’t laughing.
“Can you please not make a scene?” I said, angry. “Do I have to remind you that I’m recognizable in these circles? I’ve worked very hard to be taken seriously here.”
“Sorry,” Connor offered, sobering. “Fine. Let’s get started. Just grab anything. I need to see how you compare to some of the other psychometry experts in Other Division.”
“Whatother psychometry experts?” I said. “With the Mayor’s budget cuts, there’s only Mrs. Teasley and myself as the select few in the Department who exhibit any signs of psychic awareness. And truth be told, the jury’s still out on Mrs. T.”
But I was willing to play this game. I moved through the piles of decorative fabrics, watching them shimmer with dancing lights from the hundreds of tiny mirrors sewn into their patterns. I kept going until I came to a table piled high with books. Hardcovers, dog-eared yellowing paperbacks, and two full stacks of comics. I slipped my gloves off and passed my hand over the books one by one, looking for anything that might stir my power.
“In the past,” I explained, “my visions have been somewhat sporadic when they come, but when they do…it’s like I’m seeing a slice of the former owner’s life. Some are clearer than others. Sometimes they don’t come through at all.”
“What’s your best guess as to why it’s so hit or miss?” Connor asked, flipping through one of the old paperbacks.
I paused my hand over a beat-up copy ofHouse of the Seven Gables. Usually holding an old edition of a Hawthorne was good for something, but this time I didn’t feel the slightest twinge of my power. I continued rummaging.
I shrugged at Connor. “I imagine that it all depends on the object and how long the owner has been out of contact with it, as well as whatever emotional significance the piece has.”
I picked through more of the books, but it was hard to concentrate with Connor watching me.
“Anything?” he said with finality in his voice.
I shook my head. “None of this stuff is charged with anything I can read.”
“Well, kid,” he started, leaning against one of the support beams between the booths, “that’s part of the problem.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. My hands were dusty from touching all the books and I wiped them against my coat.
“If you want to help Irene and be part of this investigation, you need to think of what you do as something scientific, and in order for something to be labeled science, it’s got to be repeatable. Some of the people who teach psi-science theorize that you should be able to pick upanything and get a reading off of it.Every object is supposed to have its own vibrations that reflect its entire history. So it follows that every object should resonate with that at all times.”
I had never really treated my abilities as something scientific. They were simply an unexplainable phenomenon.
“If that’s true,” I asked, picking up another book, “then why aren’t I getting a reading from this?”
“I don’t know,” Connor said. “Lazy? Unfocused, maybe? Let’s try something-”
“Fine. What do you sugg-” I started, but didn’t have a chance to finish my sentence.
Connor slapped me hard across the cheek with the back of his hand. I dropped the book I was holding. “What the fu-”
Connor picked the book up and shoved it back into my hands, and just like that, I psychometrically slipped into the life of someone else. I was the book’s previous owner-a man-and I instantly knew the book was an illustrated copy of the Kama Sutra. A ton of the facts of this man’s life flooded into my head. He taught philosophy at a small New England college, and at the moment of the vision, he was sitting naked in his study at home. He was fit for a man in his midforties, with blond curly hair that was graying at the temples. Another eager-to-earn-an-A female student was just leaving his house. The Kama Sutra lay open before him on his desk. Without even bothering to dress, he started taking copious notes over his latest sexual conquest in the margins, detailing which techniques and positions he had experimented with tonight. The names of other students filled the rest of the margin, each with one, two, or three stars next to their names. Of particular note was the unforgettable Katie B., the only recipient to receive four starsand an exclamation point. The things she had done kneeling on his office desk, and all while a class was going on in the next room!
I jolted out of the vision with the fleeting memories of the randy professor’s sexual encounters locked into my mind. My body’s sugar dropped but the donuts I had scarfed helped make the aftereffects minimal. I swayed slightly as I attempted to shake off the disorientation. Connor grabbed my arm to steady me.
“Well?” Connor asked. “What did you see? Anything?”
“You don’t want to know,” I said. “Trust me.” I felt my face flush from embarrassment. The stinging sensation in my cheek rose again and I rubbed it. “What the hell was with the slapping?”
Connor took the book from me and flipped through it. “That was part of the experiment, kid. Sometimes people have powers that activate under extreme circumstances. Anger, pain…you name it.”
“Great! So I’m the psychic equivalent of the Incredible Hulk.” I snatched the book back from him.
Connor laughed. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much. It doesn’t mean that you’re going to become a raging psychometrist with no self-control. What it does show, though, is that you are able to use your powers on previously unreadable objects given the right emotional stimulus.” He tapped one of the book stacks with his forefinger. “Try again, except I want you to do three or four as fast as you can.”