Page 68 of Switch!

“Oh.” I appreciate her honesty enough to try again. “What about two souls inhabiting the same body?”

“Possession.”

“Yeah, but not a demon. More like if someone lost their body and needed to take shelter inside of someone else’s.”

“A spiritual refugee. Hmm.” Gismonda is quiet again before continuing. “I suppose that might be possible, but only temporarily. A silver cord tethers each soul to its assigned body and—”

“It broke,” I say.

She tilts her head. “How do you know?”

“Because I felt it happen.”

Gismonda peers at me. “If you’d like to discuss this further, we could sit together.”

The only other chairs I see are in her tent. She’s trying to sell me a private consultation. “How much will that cost?”

“That depends on if I’m able to help you.”

“Can you?”

“I sincerely doubt it.”

“Oh. Umm…”

“You’re the first interesting person I’ve spoken to all day,” Gismonda says as she stands. “If you don’t want to pay me, that’s fine. I’ll take money from the people who can never get enough of it, or who think that love can be bought. Come. Let us see if you are deluded or gifted. I think we both know it’s the former.”

Wait, is she challengingmyauthenticity? I find myself following just to prove her wrong. She isn’t very tall, her gray hair running down her back in three separate braids. Her clothes are just as gauzy as the tent, although more colorful and in multiple layers. She certainly looks the part, but I’m worried that’s the extent of her talent.

The interior of the tent fails to impress. The chairs are of the folding variety, but at least they have padded seats. A round table is covered with a black cloth, but nothing sits atop it. No crystal ball or smoking incense burner. Gismonda doesn’t waste any time. She’s already sitting as I pull out a chair and take a seat across from her.

“I guess I should explain how it all began,” I say.

“The only thing less reliable than words is the weather,” Gismonda retorts. “If you don’t mind?”

She’s reaching for me. I assume she wants to read my palm, so I offer it to her. Gismonda takes hold of my hand in both of her own, bony fingers squeezing it tight. I’m puzzled, because she can’t see my palm now. Or anything else. When I look up, her eyes are closed and her brow is creased in concentration. I feel my hand tingle, but I can’t pull it away. Her grip is too tight. I’m about to complain when her eyes shoot open again…

And begin to glow.

Twenty ↔ Chapter

I finally manage to pull my hand free from the strange old woman gripping it, and I’m tempted to run, because glowing eyes isnotsomething I was prepared to see. Except now they look normal.

“How did you do that?” I ask.

Gismonda leans back to consider me. “Do what?”

“Your eyes. They were glowing!”

“What color?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course.”

“White,” I say, twisting around in my chair to check the tent for some sort of projector. When I don’t see any, I turn my scrutiny on the oversized glasses she wears. They’re big enough to conceal some sort of LED light and battery. I peer at her suspiciously.

She matches my expression. “We all walk outside our bodies at night,” Gismonda says, “but not like this, and never for so long. You’re far from home. And you should be dead.”