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It’s been a good, long minute since I’ve worked a psychic fair, but the lovely folks at Pixie’s Intent asked if I wanted to participate in their most recent one, and since the last event I attended there was a blast, I figured this would be, too.
And I was correct! Turnout was great, and everyone’s sessions went well. The back room of the shop has an open floor plan, so the staff moved some dividers around to create private nooks for the three of us offering readings: Mine was right next to the books on crystals and chaos magic, which, as the resident Discordian lithomancer, felt extremely appropriate.
The fair was arranged so that tickets were purchased at the door, each of which was good for a 15-minute reading. If someone wanted their reading to continue after time was up, they could hand over another ticket, or they could move on to a different psychic. A couple of people came in specifically to see one of readers on duty, but most of the attendees were open to working with any of us, so we were happily able to accommodate everyone.
Although there was a moment early on that kind of gave me pause. A client came in with questions in mind, but he wasn’t sure who he wanted to get a reading from, so he asked if we could line up and introduce ourselves. We obliged and explained our divinatory specializations (lithomancy, runes, and clairvoyance, respectively), but…
Okay, does anyone other than me remember the HBO original series Cathouse? If not, it was a reality show about a legal brothel in Nevada, and at least once per episode, the courtesans would be kicked back in the bar area, when a bell would ring, announcing a customer, so everyone would scamper to the lobby and strike professional poses and wait to be chosen. Anyway, that’s what I was reminded of as the client inspected us.
“Hmmm,” he said, weighing his options. Then, pointing at the clairvoyant, “I’m going to start with you. After that, I’ll go with the runeworker.” He gave me a long, critical look. “And I’m going to pay cash for you.”
“Wow,” I thought. “That was… a lot more like Cathouse than I anticipated.”
About an hour later, an older man and woman wandered in, with a younger guy — I’m guessing late teens or early twenties — lagging behind them. Again, they requested that all three of us come over to meet them.
“We’re here to get a reading for our son,” the woman said, “And we’d like him to decide who to go with.” She gestured to the younger guy and beamed with pride. “It’s his first time.”
At which point I was like, “Okay, this is exactly like Cathouse.” And I breathed a quiet sigh of relief when he picked the runeworker to take his V card tell his fortune.
There was a lull in business once that reading finished up, so we capitalized on the opportunity to relax and get to know each other. (The clairvoyant: “What’s the worst part about trying to date when you’re psychic?” Me: “The prophetic dreams.” The clairvoyant and the runeworker in unison: “YES.”) Things seemed to be wrapping for the day, so we started packing up our tools, when one of the shop’s employees came over to us, leading a shy young woman by the hand.
“This is [name], and she would like a reading,” the employee said. “But she’s not sure what she wants to ask, or which kind of reading might be best for her.”
So we went ahead and greeted her as warmly as we could and told her about the individual services we provided, but that only seemed to magnify her reticence.
“I guess I just… need, like, guidance…?” She trailed off, peering at us from under her bangs.
Subtle frustration rippled through the readers. We were all amenable to helping her, but she wasn’t giving us a whole lot to go on. And it wasn’t like we could just arbitrarily assign her to an oracle.
And then, quite suddenly, I had a Very Good Idea and was like, “Wait a second. We can totally assign her to an oracle.” And I ducked into my nook to grab three of my stones: the milky quartz symbolizing the Moon (and clairvoyance), the hematite symbolizing Mercury (and runes), and the tiger’s eye symbolizing the Sun (and lithomancy).
I cupped the stones in my hand and gave them a good shake, then presented them to the woman. “Pick a stone, any stone,” I said. She studied them for a moment, then poked the hematite.
I smiled brilliantly. “You’ll be with our runeworker today.”
And y’all, I am not one to toot my own horn — my horn is dented and rusty and covered in cobwebs — but this was, without a doubt, the greatest innovation in the history of Divination for Entertainment Purposes Only. The client was happy that she didn’t have to make a decision by herself and got to contribute to her own reading, and the readers didn’t have to try to sell ourselves over each other. Come the next psychic fair, I’m going to set out a bowl of crystals, each representing one of the readers: Anyone who’s not sure which direction to take can let the universe play matchmaker for them.
I am so proud of myself for coming up with this, I can’t even tell you.
If you’re not in Texas, you can always hit me up for a lithomantic reading here. But if you do find yourself in the Houston area when an upcoming fair is carrying on, definitely swing by Pixie’s — I’ll be thrilled to throw rocks at for you in person.
And not to skew the results in anyone’s favor, but if you want to press your luck with the casserole of prophetic minerals, the bumblebee jasper will be me.
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