I enter the limo, holding my little perfume bottle. “I’m hungry,” I say.

“We’ve another stop before dinner,” Amelia says.

“But I’m starving,” I protest. “Where are we going for dinner?”

“It’s gourmet burgers for you, but only if you’re good and behave.”

“You can drink champagne if you’re hungry,” Kassandra says, passing me a flute of bubbly.

I’m not sure it’s a good idea on an empty stomach, but I take it all the same.

Two glasses of bubbly later, the limo stops in front of a nondescript building in an area of London I’m not familiar with.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“We’re at the Psychic Sisters.”

“To do what exactly?”

“We’re going to have our fortunes told.”

A round of excited giggles spreads around the back of the limo.

“Oh, you know it’s nonsense,” I whisper in Amelia’s ear.

“It might be nonsense, but it’s fun. Come on, everyone said this was an absolute bachelorette party must.”

Amelia takes my hand and drags me out of the car and inside the building. We enter a sort of office worthy of Whoopi Goldberg’s house in Ghost. The hall opens on to three different rooms, apparently each reserved for a gifted diviner sister. We split into three groups and queue in front of the different doors. Amelia and I are at the front of the middle one and we’re ushered in at once.

Inside, the atmosphere’s kind of dark and gloomy. The air is suffocating and impregnated with the smells of cedar wood and jasmine coming from some incenses burning in a corner.

“Welcome, dears.” An old crone with black hair and yellowish eyes greets us from the farthest corner. She’s so small crouching behind a wooden desk, I hadn’t noticed her when we got in. “Come, come, have your future unraveled.”

We take our seats in two ancient looking armchairs. I take in the chandelier dangling from the ceiling, the baroque style of my armchair, and the ridiculous costume the hag’s wearing, and I’m tempted to snort. I hope we’re not spending too much on this old fraud.

“You have a specific question you’d like to ask the cards?” the crone asks us, unfazed. Apparently, she isn’t getting my incredulity vibes. “You want to know about your past lives, parallel lives, or about your present life?”

“Make it about her love life,” Amelia answers for me.

“The True Love spread then, very well. Take the cards, dear, mix them, and cut the deck for me, please.”

I do as instructed and then pass the deck to the crone who spreads it in a semicircle of sparkling blue and gold cards.

“Now pick six cards and pass them to me one by one. Let the energy in your hands guide you to the right cards.”