Free First Grave on the Right by Darynda Jones Page B

the first day of summer?”
    “Planning on sticking around that long?” I asked.
    She lifted her shoulders, referenced Garrett with a nod of her head, then wriggled her perfectly arched brows.
    “Ah.” I tried not to laugh. “It’s June twentieth, or sometimes—”
    Garrett gasped, and Elizabeth crossed her arms and smiled, smugness radiating off her in waves.
    “You’re right,” Garrett said. “Elizabeth Ellery’s birthday is June twentieth.”
    I leveled a mortified glare on her. “You tricked me.”
    “Lawyer,” she volleyed, as if that explained it all.
    Yeah, I liked her a lot. I strolled back to my chair and plopped down with my usual fanfare.
    “She tricked me,” I said to Garrett.
    He grinned. But his grin was different. It had changed, and I realized why.
    “Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no,” I said, wagging a finger at him. “Don’t even start with that crap.”
    “What crap?” he asked, all innocence and awe.
    “The crap where you look at me like I have all the answers to every question in the known universe. I don’t. I can’t see into the future. I can’t read your past. I damn sure can’t read your palm, whatever the hell that’s about. I can’t—”
    “But you’re psychic, right?”
    “Dude,” I said, leaning over the desk, “I’m about as psychic as a carrot.”
    “But—”
    “No buts !” I had serious issues with the p-s word. We’d never really bonded. I threw my hands over my ears and started humming to myself.
    “That’s mature.”
    He was right. I stuck out my tongue anyway, then put my hands down. “Listen, even I have more questions than answers. I’m fairly certain my abilities are more closely related to schizophrenia than to anything supernatural. Ask anyone. If I were edible, I’d be a fruitcake.”
    “Schizophrenia,” he said doubtfully.
    “I hear voices in my head. How much more schizophrenic does it get?”
    “But you just said—”
    I held up an index finger to stop him. Though a middle one would have been more to the point, I had to explain before I lost the ground I’d just gained. “Look, when people are in the position you’re in now, when they’re almost to the point of believing in what I can do, they pull out all the stops. They quiz me, ask me stupid questions, want to know where the next earthquake will hit or what the winning lottery numbers will be. Seriously, have you ever read the headline ‘Psychic Wins Lottery’? I’m not psychic. I don’t even know if such a thing exists.”
    “Tell him what you are,” Elizabeth chimed in excitedly while Garrett flipped through his notepad.
    I flashed her a desperate shut-up-or-die look. It didn’t work. Probably because she was already dead.
    “Seriously,” she said, “just tell him. He’s starting to believe you now. He’ll think it’s cool.”
    “No, he won’t,” I whispered through my teeth, forgetting that I was the only living person in the room who could hear her.
    “A person sensitive to things beyond the natural range of perception.” Garrett looked up at me. “The definition of psychic.”
    “Oh, well, okay. Maybe,” I said. “But I still hate the word. And its implications.”
    “Fair enough,” he said with a shrug. “And I won’t what?”
    “Think it’s cool.”
    “What? Your abilities?”
    “Not exactly.”
    “Then what?”
    Then what? I guess if he really wanted to know, I’d hit him with the whole enchilada dinner. I was on a roll, after all. Why stop now? Not even my dad or Uncle Bob really knew the extent of what I was. I’d never needed to tell them. They believed me, and that was good enough. But since I really didn’t care what Garrett thought of me …
    “Fine,” I said with a challenging edge to my voice. “I’ll tell you everything. If I do, will you leave?”
    After a pause, he agreed with an almost imperceptible nod.
    “I’m a … I’m kind of a … I’m sort of like a … well, damn.” I gritted my teeth and just blurted it