He reached into his pocket, fished out a piece of paper. I was surprised to see it was one of our business cards, creased in the middle and bent at the corners. “Do you have time for a reading?” he asked.

“Can’t, sorry,” I said. “All booked up today.” He might be a cop, lurking around, waiting for his chance to bust us. He had that squirrely, suspicious energy about him. But I was so close to escaping, to leaving all of that trouble behind for Des to deal with for once. Let her get caught, I thought. I don’t even care.

He smiled, looked at the darkened shop. I disliked him even more then. “Well, that’s good news for you, then. Maybe you’ll be able to fit me in next time.” I hated the way he was measuring me. Probably there for a private reading, another pig Des had found at the club. I was surprised to feel the familiar tingling start up again—and then I saw a vision of a woman. Her head was turned away from him but she had a lovely curtain of shiny blonde hair. In the vision I could smell her, something floral, heavy. Roses, maybe. Or another flower I couldn’t name. It was such a quick glimpse that I wondered if he even noticed a change in me. He was still staring when I came out of the vision, like he was waiting for me to speak. But I was feeling selfish—I didn’t want or need to attract his attention, didn’t need to flash around what I saw, this little bit of his life that he didn’t even know he had given up to me.

“Yeah, well, be sure to ask for Des when you come back. She’s got the real talent. I’m just an apprentice, after all.”

“I’ll do that,” he said, and pulled on the brim of his hat, tipping it. I waited until he was half a block away to go inside, feeling a combination of relief and unease as I watched his back recede down the boardwalk. It doesn’t matter anymore, I told myself. You’re almost out of here.

I knew that upstairs Des would be in her last frenzy of primping before her shift—curling her eyelashes with one hand and smearing lotion along her calf with another. So I was surprised when I stepped into the apartment and it was quiet. No sound of her swearing under her breath, no clacking of compacts. If she was gone, it would be easier to slip into her room and look for my birth certificate, my Social Security card, which she had squirreled away somewhere years before. Maybe anticipating a moment like this, when I was ready to break free.