To complete the look, the designer’s vision went a step further — the space was scattered with toilets and sinks that weren’t attached to anything, just lying around like museum pieces. There were also bidets, toothbrush holders, and a variety of other sanitary oddities.

  

  
• Bold choice, - Manu commented as he followed Flora - I wonder what artistic message lies behind such a brave mis en scène?


  
• No clue, - Flora - Aren’t you surprised this is the set we’re using for the opening act?-


  

  

  
• It’s your Suggest what you want, - shrugged the Hawaiian. - In the end, this is fiction — so why not visit a psychic?


  
• Un? jam nj? mjesht?r i trash?guar! – (I am a master psychic, descended from a long line!) They flinched and turned toward the voice speaking in a language none of them


  

  In the center of the odd tent stood a massive oak table (finally, a nod to medium traditions!), and behind it, slumped in a large chair, was a man of considerable size.

  How had they not noticed him earlier?

  Because in his place was a heap of assorted rags under which he’d clearly been napping. Judging by his stale appearance, he’d been out cold — but hey, reflexes are reflexes and the napper was already snapping at the newcomers with a grumpy roar.

  The large tent began filling with visitors, all of whom first gawked at the bizarre interior, and then

  inevitably stared at the man — apparently the fortune teller himself.

  His body was wrapped in a long gauzy gown covered in embroidered occult symbols, with a fluffy stole draped over his shoulders (how was he not melting from heat?!). His bald head bore no traditional headgear — instead, it was dotted with newly transplanted hair clumps slowly taking root. Cheap costume earrings dangled from his ears.

  Rounding out his look were shiny rings on thick fingers etched with mysterious symbols. His nails were obsessively groomed — clearly, he never missed a salon appointment.

  Vanna immediately gave her verdict:

  

  
• Fabulous look! I always told my sisters that secondhand shops are full of bold fashion


  

  

  
• Kjo nuk ?sht? e dor?s s? dyt?!! K?to jan? artikuj t? mark?s! - (This is not secondhand!! These are branded items!)


  

  Evelyn shouted:

  

  
• What the hell! Can anyone understand what he’s saying? And where the hell is the actual psychic?!


  

  

  
• Yeah, same - Copy chimed in. Manu calmly filled them in:


  

  

  
• The medium is right in front of He’s speaking Albanian.


  
• Gotcha…- muttered the camera operator, adjusting her grip on the She turned to the man. - Mind if I film in here?


  
• Un? nuk jap mallkim! P?r ?far? dreqin po flisni? Ule n? tavolin? apo jo? Le t? ulet nj? person dhe le t? q?ndrojn? t? gjith? t? tjer?t.


  

  (I don’t give a shit! What the hell are you babbling about? Sit at the table or not? One of you sits, the rest stay standing.)

  

  
• Ooooh! - Sighed Vanna - He’s casting spells already, right? I hope he’s blessing our movie!-


  
• Don’t blaspheme, girl, - Evelyn scolded with a frown. - A carnival psychic doesn’t have the power to bless anything.


  
• Cut the chit- chat, homies! This bruja is telling y’all to zip it and let the boss lady sit for the deal talk. You feel me, boyz?


  

  

  
• How do you know his language? - Evelyn asked, taken


  

  The gangsta- girl twitched her left cheek — apparently her version of a smile — and replied cryptically:

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  

  
• Had some beef with the Albanian .. but we sorted it.-


  
• Wow, - Evelyn said with - I’ve only heard of the Albanian mafia in TV shows. I didn’t think they were real. To me, that’s like hearing about the Luxembourg mob or organized crime in San Marino.-


  
• Don’t judge countries by their crime rate, lady!- snapped - Every nation, no matter how small, has its dark side.


  
• Alright, alright, dear, no need to get riled - Evelyn raised her hands in surrender. - Maybe we should listen to what this costumed guy wants, since we’ve got ourselves a translator.-


  

  As this vital debate went on, the medium rose to his full towering height, pushed back his chair, and gestured grandly toward it.

  Flora had no choice but to sit and wait while the magician took his seat. The rest of the crew gathered behind her, uncomfortably close — making it hard for her to breathe. Of course, this delighted Copy, who jumped up onto the table and dangled her legs, amused as ever.

  The director closed her eyes, inhaled deeply through her nose, and exhaled slowly. Still with her eyes closed, she addressed the medium:

  

  
• We’re a newly formed crew gathered to shoot a film. We’ve come here to ask about its future. Will it succeed? Flop at the box office? Or maybe not even see the light of day? We hope you can give us answers. Could you tell us your rates and whether payment comes before or after the session?


  

  Peyota interpreted the entire conversation in her usual style:

  

  
• So basically, dude wanna know—why ya so into the future? Ain’t the present good enough for you?


  
• I’m just Since when is curiosity a crime? — Flora shot back.


  

  The medium ran a hand across his face and asked (now and throughout, in the voice of a young Latina):

  

  
• You for real or just bored like every other culo walking in here babbling nonsense?


  

  That Platonic dialogue was interrupted by the shock troops of Flora’s crew. First up was Campus:

  

  
• Why are we in a bathroom though? My dad, who carries me around in this flak jacket — I mean, he is my flak jacket — wants to pee real bad with all these toilets around. And if I got to go too,


  

  well… this shirt’s not gonna make it. Hee- hee. The medium replied instantly:

  

  
• This is a house of contemplation, bros. And only in the john can you really ponder deep stuff — souls and whatnot.


  
• Bold! Avant- garde! Sounds like a real classy art installation! — Vanna clapped her hands with


  
• Then why are you a dude? The tent sign clearly said - Madame Rufa?a.- — asked the group's woke auntie.


  
• What’s your problem? I can call myself whatever I want, feel however I I am Madame Rufa?a, got it? I got no identity issues. Do you, Carmelita?


  

  Not one to back down easily, Evelyn... stayed quiet. Because, as was mentioned earlier in this semi- documentary adventure, she was a kind person. A bit cranky, sure, but fundamentally kind.

  In this crew, if someone dropped the mic, another would pick it up right away. Manu, ever the scholar, stepped forward:

  

  
• Now look, I won’t pass judgment on your field of Though I’m fully aware it’s about scamming gullible folks out of their hard- earned cash.


  

  Erm… That was probably too much editorializing, sorry. Let me ask what I came to ask: - How do you even operate here if most of your visitors don’t speak your language? We were lucky to have a translator handy. But surely you have your own staff, don’t you?

  

  
• Dude, you need something or what? Why you grilling me? Yeah, I got a He went out for smokes like an hour ago and didn’t come back yet.


  
• That’s how my dad left too. Couple years ago, went out for vape juice and never came home. — Vanna said in a tone of tender solidarity, horrifying the medium. She leapt from her seat, grabbing her head:


  

  

  
• What?! No way! My translator’s my dad too! You think he ghosted me?


  

  

  
• No big — Vanna winked cheerfully. — Losses come with gains. He left you, but you got new friends now. Come here, let me hug you, girl! We’re all together and that’s what matters!


  

  The medium recoiled from the hug, her lips twitching as she tried to process this tragic revelation. Flora gently coughed and decided to change the subject. She did feel sorry for the poor witch, but she still wanted answers. Plus, everyone knows: work heals. A little magical therapy wouldn’t hurt Rufa?a.

  Flora didn’t even need to speak — a dream come true for an introvert. The medium figured it was time to begin her dark arts.

  

  
• Cash comes after I do my dirty deed, y’know?


  

  

  
• Yes, of — The director said it twice, for some reason — once to Peyota and once to Rufa?a herself.


  

  With a flourish of her hand, Rufa?a signaled everyone to keep silent and not interrupt her sacred process. Then she pulled out a desk drawer and produced a thoroughly rotten banana, which she gripped with intense determination — prompting a wave of Freudian jokes from Campus, who shut up quickly after a slap upside the head from his - carrier.-

  Rufa?a waved her hand through the air, signaling everyone to be quiet and not to distract her from the process. Then, she pulled a rather rotten banana from a drawer and grabbed it tightly — which triggered a flood of Freudian jokes from Campus. Though he quickly shut up after getting a fatherly smack on the head from his host.

  The banana, along with the medium’s hand, twitched rhythmically, like she was shaking a baby rattle (or, as the little demon had just joked, doing that thing).