Free A Gift of Ghosts (Tassamara) by Sarah Wynde Page B

the future: the company might need the advantage just to survive.
    “Ah, finally,” Zane said, as a waitress approached, balancing
three plates of food.
    “Here you go.” The teenage waitress had short blonde curls
and way too much eye make-up, but she smiled brightly as she placed the plates
on the table, one in front of each of them. Akira’s held a cheeseburger, thick
and juicy, the lettuce green, the tomato lushly red, and fries that were still
sizzling. But she hadn’t ordered a cheeseburger. In fact, she hadn’t ordered
anything.
    “What is this?” Zane was looking at his plate with an
expression of mild dismay.
    “I dunno. I’ve never seen it before.” The waitress glanced
over her shoulder at the open kitchen and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Do
you want me to take it back? Maggie’ll be madder ‘n heck.”
    “I think maybe you got the plates wrong,” Max said to the
waitress, not unkindly, as he picked up his fork. His plate held grilled salmon
and broccoli, Akira noted.
    “Do you want this?” Zane asked Akira, his doubt obvious.
    Akira looked at Zane’s food: golden rice sprinkled with
chunks of cauliflower, carrots, green beans, and potatoes, almonds and raisins.
“It’s vegetable biryani,” she said with relief. “And yes, I want it.” As she
passed her plate over to Zane and he slid his rice dish along the table to her,
she asked Max, “How did you know that?”
    “Know what?” he asked, taking a bite of salmon.
    “Know what I’d want to eat.” Akira was pragmatic about food:
she ate what was put in front of her. But when she cooked for herself, she
mostly ate vegetarian. Had Max had her investigated? Or was this his foresight
in action?
    “Oh, I didn’t,” he replied, as she began to eat. “I ordered
three specials when I came in. Maggie decides what they’ll be.”
    “Maggie?”
    “It’s her place,” Max replied. “She took it over six, maybe
seven years ago. Used to be a diner—your basic fried eggs and bacon for
breakfast, meatloaf and potatoes for dinner. Not a bad place but nothing
special. Maggie shook it up a bit.”
    The biryani was terrific, the rice soft, the spice with the
perfect level of kick. Akira ate it thoughtfully. Vegetable biryani, in the middle
of nowhere, Florida. For that matter, vegetarian food, in the middle of nowhere,
Florida. And Max was psychic. And Tassamara was a town of psychics.
    “No menus?” she finally asked.
    “For visitors, yeah,” Zane answered.
    She nodded, taking that in. She was beginning to understand
what other people must feel like when she told them she could see ghosts. There
was doubt, and then a cautious interest, and then total confusion.
    “So the town. . .”
    “Attracts people with gifts, yes.” Max nodded. “We look for
them, too, and find them and bring them here, but some show up on their own.”
    Akira looked around the restaurant. She wondered how many of
the people in it were like her. Not that they could see ghosts, of course: Max
wouldn’t have been looking for a medium for so long if mediums were easily
found. But keepers of secrets that most of the world scoffed at?
    “Vampires? Werewolves? Ectoplasmic blobs?” she finally asked.
    Max looked mystified by the question, but Zane grinned. “No,
no, and you’d probably know better on the last. Although I should probably say,
not to the best of our knowledge. We’ve never met any.”
    Akira ate another bite of rice. Could this be an elaborate
practical joke? “You realize this is a little tough to believe.”
    “Zane’s best at providing proof,” Max replied readily.
    Akira glanced at Zane. He was psychic, too? That was
unexpected. “Can you tell me—um—what I’m going to eat for breakfast tomorrow
morning?”
    “Yogurt,” he replied without hesitation and then chuckled at
the look on her face. “Did I get it right?”
    “Yes,” she replied, but something about the laugh in his eyes
was making her feel more defensive than