Free The Merchants of Zion by William Stamp

fortunate to find one another at the end of a wonderful night.”
    “Yes, except for the fight.”
    “I had to establish my dominance of the pack.”
    “Obviously.”
    I offered her a cigarette. I didn't normally smoke in my room, but this was a special occasion and special occasions merit rule-breaking. She paused, and I thought she would say no, but took it between her thumb and forefinger. Her nails were painted a bright blue, in between the shade of the color of her eyes and the streaks in her hair.
    We smoked in silence, the perfect picture of contentment. I hadn't felt this much at peace for a long, long time. New York is a lonely city, even in the best of times. And our world was anything but.
    When she finished she leaned over on one arm and looked straight into my eyes. “I want to tell you something,” she said.
    “What's that?”
    “You have to promise not to laugh.”
    “Is it something funny?”
    “Just promise.”
    “I promise.”
    “I'm psychic,” she said defiantly, daring me to disbelieve.
    “Um...” I stammered. Was this some sort of a joke? God, you're gullible. Hardy-har. Her face was dour, but her eyes were worried, and I think she would've been hurt if I'd scoffed outright. I'd been expecting her to tell me she had cancer, or maybe an STD. I didn't know why she'd think I'd laugh at either of those, but it's always best to go straight to the worst possible scenario.
    This, however, was pure silliness. It occurred to me I would've reacted differently had James told me the same thing. I would've laughed in his face and called him an idiot.
    “All right,” I said. I didn't feel like laughing, but a lecture about the rational nature of reality was in order. Although I doubted she'd appreciate that response any more. “Before I start grilling you... why did you feel the need to tell me that? It seems like something to keep to yourself. Especially around someone you just met.”
    By the time the sentences were out of my mouth I understood her intent, and felt foolish for not seeing it earlier. She was trying to scare me away, to keep me from calling her. And I was a dope who thought we'd been having a great time. Maybe she had a boyfriend.
    “Don't worry,” she said, and laughed. “You think I don't like you. That's too cute,” she said, which only deepened my embarrassment. Her face became somber. “I told you because... because... well I don't really know why. I just had a feeling I should.”
    “So it was, like, a psychic thing?”
    “Exactly.” She smiled as I worked through a puzzle that to her was both obvious and simple. “Do you have any, uh... playing cards, or something?”
    “No. Sorry.”
    “Those'll work.” She pointed at a pile of junk mail and unpaid bills poking out of the half-closed drawer of my nightstand. The utility bills James couldn't pay, student loan and credit card bills that I took care of online, and a cable subscription in the name of my cousin that I couldn't cancel because I didn't have his Social Security Number. The worst economy in a hundred years couldn't kill these behemoths—their inefficiencies and debts continued piling up while the companies rotted on the inside.
    A baker's dozen all told, some unopened, others with their contents stuffed back inside. She grabbed them and turned them face-down on the bed.
    “I've never seen tarot done like this.”
    “It's a conduit, nothing more. The cards aren't magic or anything.”
    “What about astrology?”
    “It's garbage.” She rearranged them into a circle, each one corresponding to a different hour on a clock. The thirteenth she discarded. It was the electricity bill James couldn't help out with.
    “It's convenient there are twelve, don't you think?” she said. "One for each hour of the day."
    “But there were thirteen,” I said. She rolled her eyes.
    “Pick one.”
    I pointed at the envelope positioned at twelve o'clock. “Seems good as any.”
    “You have to keep an open mind about