Free The Hinky Velvet Chair by Jennifer Stevenson Page A

she ever dated him?
Since she hadn’t made a practice of chasing gay guys, maybe not.
    She also found a stack of pamphlets entitled Magic is Afoot! by Dr. G.K. Kauz,
illustrated with a cartoon of a wizard waving a wand. She pocketed one, her
blood running cold.
    “I thought this was a psychic spa,” she said. “Don’t you
have anything for my soul?”
    Alex spread his arms angelically. “Mademoiselle, of course we won’t neglect your soul. We have many
methods for spiritual cleansing and development, via active or passive energy
flow.”
    She decided to push. “I need my aura tones checked. I’ve
been told they’re too green.”
    Alex looked at her with new interest. “Some practitioners
rely on the naked eye, which is biased. Using our director’s patented
psychespectrometer, our colorimetricians measure every shade in your aura up to
five hundred twelve precise tones, each with unique significance and treatment
indications.”
    Patented. Jewel
made a mental note . That’s a provable
claim of material fact. She said, “Can you treat my aura, too?”
    “But of course.”
    “If it’s broken or stained or something?”
    He raised his chin with such saintliness that his perfect
skin glowed. “Stains and breaks are mended every day,” he uttered. “We make the
process as pleasant as possible.”
    And that was almost a
claim to practice medicine.
    Sovay said, “I’ll have the Hot Stone Relaxing Regimen and,
to follow, the Lymph Drainage Facilitating Bastinado with Spring Salix
Matsudana Twigs.”
    Jewel shot her a curious look. She’d once dated a guy who
was into whippings.
    “I need to relax,” Griffy said, stating the obvious.
    “Then may I suggest to Madame our Ultimate Triumph of Soul Mare Tranquilium, a two hundred minute experience
with facial, mineral bath, massage, and seven-layer sea vegetable wrap. Madame did say she would be using
Diner’s Club?”
    “My treat,” Griffy said, waving at the other two, and glowed
under Alex’s look of startled respect.
    “Perhaps you wish to make your nutrition selections now,
rather than waiting for the midday sustaining ritual? The spa tends to fill up
with office workers at lunch,” he translated.
    Jewel decided on a Rhodochrosite Crystal Chakra Cleanse with
a massage and a marine flora reduction wrap, and after lunch an aura reading on
the Institute’s patented psychespectrometer. This would leave her, she calculated, forty minutes for
loose snooping, while Griffy finished her Ultimate Triumph.
    They were led to a locker room, lovingly undressed by small
elderly women wearing kimonos, and laid out in a sauna. This was depressing.
Sovay looked even better naked than clothed.
    “In fact,” Jewel remarked later to Griffy as they took their
massages, “if you play the who’s-what-bitch game, I look like an overweight
golden lab and she looks like an afghan hound.”
    Griffy moaned under her masseuse’s hands. “Who’s what bitch?”
    “Everyone’s a bitch. Except you. The question is, what kind.”
Jewel felt her back start to loosen up.
    “Oh, you are not overweight.”
    “See? You’re not a bitch.”
    “Well, I think you look majestic. You’re so tall and
strong-looking. And your hair is beautiful. It just falls, like a blonde river.
And you have nicer eyes than she has. I think brown eyes are kind of sneaky.
Blue eyes are honest,” Griffy said, in the teeth of the evidence under her own
roof.
    “Maybe you’re an Irish setter, but blonde,” Jewel said.
    The door opened, and Jewel’s masseuse gasped. “Excuse me,
this room is private!”
    At the door, the barristo from Starbucks peeked in. His lime
green hair seemed to stick straight up when he saw Jewel. “I brought you
another latte.”
    Jewel stammered, “Uh — thuh — thanks.”
    He set the latte cup on the massage table by her nose. “You
need anything, call downstairs.” He smiled a trembly smile.
    Griffy’s masseuse flapped her hands at him. “Go, go!”
    “Uh, here’s