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“Excellent. Anything else you’re after? Anything you’re curious about?”

I take a pause.

“Do you know anything about…visions?”

“Visions? Sure. I had visions of me marrying George Clooney back in the ’90s. That didn’t work out. But something tells me that’s not what you’re asking about. Can you be a little more specific, hon?”

I look around the store to make sure it’s still just the two of us.

Eerily aware of my surroundings, this is starting to feel a lot like I’m at the local pharmacy trying to keep my voice hush as I’m about to ask where I can find some Plan B.

After confirming that I’m alone in The Energy Shoppe, I rule it safe to open up about all-things supernatural.

“There have been a couple times now when I’ll touch someone else’s palm and then I’ll see, like, a glimpse of the future , I guess you could say.

But who really knows? Maybe my barista had been micro-dosing my lattes for a while and I just haven’t snapped out of the trip yet,” I say, attempting to lower my freak flag.

“Are you Claire Voyant?”

“Claire? No, I’m Moonie. Moonie Miller.”

“Cool name, but gosh, you are a newbie, aren’t you?” Angeline says with a hint of judgment. “Clairvoyant. Noun. A person who has a supernatural ability to perceive events in the future or beyond normal sensory contact. So, let meask you again: are you clairvoyant?”

“I mean, maybe? I was once told I have a ‘gift’ by this renowned psychic in San Diego.”

“Esther Higgins?”

“Yes. How did you…?”

“Go on. What happened with Esther?”

“That’s the thing. Nothing really happened. It was quite uneventful. When she went to read my palm, she just told me that I have a gift.”

“So you held out your hand, and she saw nothing. Is that correct?”

“Yeah. Exactly. Then she gave my money back and I left.”

“And how long ago was this?” Angeline asks.

“Not long,” I say.

“Let me guess. You’re twenty-six years old, yeah?”

“How do you know how old I am?”

“Headaches? Itchy palms?”

“I mean, yeah, I used to have both. But nothing since moving back.”

Angeline laughs and claps her hands like she’s discovered Colonel Mustard in the library with the knife.

“I’m no witch doctor or nothin’, but it sounds like an ancient phenomenon called Exexveei,” Angeline finally exclaims as she walks with hurried purpose back over to the book section of the store, like she’s seconds away from the boarding doors closing on her flight to Cancun.

“Say what? Excess aye-aye?”

“X-X-V-I,” she repeats, this time much more slowly.

“It’s the phonetic spelling of the roman numeral twenty-six—the age at which certain people develop the power of future visions.

Think of it like women’s intuition on steroids.

Look, I know you think you might be into crystals, which is great and all—and maybe your powers do supercharge your collection in some way.

But I’m fairly certain your real gift is seeing the future.

To me, it sounds like yours is still hatching—it’s in its baby stages.

Think of it like a muscle you have to work to grow stronger. ”

Angeline has to be on drugs, right? Like that’s the only explanation for what’s happening right now.

“What if I don’t want it to grow stronger?” I ask.

“You’ve got it, so work it.”

Is that a quote from RuPaul’s Drag Race ?

“I sincerely hope you aren’t planning to leave my store without this book. I’ve been waiting a long time for someone like you to come through these doors in search of this.”

She proceeds to blow a visible layer of dust off the tattered cover as she hands the hardcover copy my way: Understanding Your Powers: A Day-to-Day Manual for Navigating Future Visions.

“No thank you,” I say like I’m refusing communion as I hand the copy back to Angeline.

She shakes her head and puts her hands up, as if she’s also refusing communion.

“Please take it back, Angeline,” I not-so-humbly request. “I’m not buying this one.”

“You don’t have to buy it,” she insists. “I won’t charge you for it. You can just take it.”

“It’s not about the money. I just…don’t need it and I’m not getting it,” I double down.

“Respectfully, I disagree. You do need this book. We all have magic inside of us. You though, you have way more than I ever will—hence why it’s called a gift.

Sweetie, you have the kind of magic that can truly connect with the world and invite all sorts of new opportunities into your life and the lives of those around you,” she continues.

“What a great responsibility! And with that responsibility, you need an understanding of this power.”

I fan through the pages of the book. As I do, I see big chapter titles saying things such as, So You Can See the Future: Now What? ”

“With your gift, you’re going to do big things. Trust me.”

I stare at her longer than I should before thumbing through the pages once more.

A new batch of headlines catch my eye: Using Exexveei to Advance Your Career, Finding Love with Exexveei , Using Your Gift to Help Others, and my personal favorite, Claiming the Life You Deserve: How to Wind Up Exactly Where You’re Meant to Be .

“Make some magic happen, Moonie . Master your craft,” Angeline urges.

Girls my age don’t spend their time ‘mastering the art of practical magic.’ They work on perfecting their smoky eye makeup routine.

There’s another stare down between the two us followed by an unofficial vow of silence. I’m the one to break it when I finally say: “Fine. I’ll take it.”