Page 126 of Switch!
Me too. Rest easy, my friend.
I feel him letting go, so I assert control by wiggling my toes in the water. By the time I pull my legs from the pool, he’s gone, but not before giving me an idea. One that Gismonda might be able to help me with.
— — —
Trixie and I leave early the next morning, unsure when the maid will arrive. Halfway to our destination, we stop for a leisurely brunch. This time I make sure to use cash. I tell her about the events of the previous night as we eat. She sides with Patrick, saying that leaving him alone is the most respectful course of action, although she changes her tune when I tell her about my new plan. With any luck, Gismonda will be just as receptive.
We continue the drive to Seattle, arriving in a residential neighborhood with narrow streets. None of the houses and apartment buildings strike me as the sort of place a highly powerful psychic would live. I’m braced for disappointment until we reach the right address. Once we do, we both stand in front of the house and stare. My first thought is of a giant green cuckoo clock that somebody decided to live inside. The ornate wooden details are stunning, each painted in a myriad of colors. The façade of the upper floor depicts carved sunflowers bursting from vases, leafy vines snaking into the pointy corners of the shingled roof, which boasts its own bright colors and playful patterns. Patches of stained glass fill the windows, a sculpted Cheshire cat face near the roof’s steeple grins at us, and the bulbous tower on one side sports a Latin phrase that neither of us can interpret. The thriving foliage of the yard obscures further details, and it’s just as well, since we’re already standing there with our mouths hanging open.
“Oh, shedefinitelyneeds to join our superhero team,” Trixie says at last.
“Good luck with that,” I reply. “You’ll see what I mean.” I pretend to be brave when marching up to the door. We don’t have an appointment. I was too concerned that Gismonda would refuse to see us. She certainly didn’t stick around long at the psychic fair.
I’m about to knock when the door swings open. Gismonda is wearing silk robes, the outer layer a shimmering ivory fabric with hints of more colors beneath. She squints at me, like she’s in need of prescription glasses. Then she makes a noise as if she’s trying to dislodge something from her throat.
“So itisyou!” she says. “The hermit crab. I thought my husband was joking. Although come to think of it, his jokes are usually funny. You are not.”
“Nice to see you again,” I murmur, shooting Trixie an I-told-you-so expression.
“Who’s this?” Gismonda peers in her direction. “Your lady-friend? I don’t do weddings anymore. It got boring.”
“We’re not—” I try to say, but the conversation goes on without me.
“I’m Trixie,” she says, stepping forward with a hand extended. “It’s so good to meet you!”
“Are you sure?” Gismonda takes her hand but she doesn’t shake it. Trixie attempts to, but her arm is the only one to wiggle. “Hmm. Maybe you should both come inside. That will make it easier to dispose of your bodies. We wouldn’t want the neighbors getting squeamish again.” And with that, she turns and shuffles inside.
“She’s joking,” I whisper to Trixie as we follow. “Right?”
I look over at my friend, whose smile has frozen in place, her eyes wide with panic. She better be messing with me!
The interior of the house is even busier than the exterior. I’m reminded of an old antique mall my mother used to drag me to, except it’s like a bomb went off. I’m staring up at what appears to be an oriental rug nailed to the ceiling when I bump into a Victorian pram, the porcelain doll inside staring at me apathetically.
Gismonda leads us across a floor tiled with black and red diamonds to a sitting room, which isn’t as crowded but no less gaudy. Portraits of people wearing outdated clothing and strange expressions watch us from the walls as we struggle to figure out where to sit. The mismatched chairs and couches—all with elaborately-carved wooden feet—are covered in tasseled blankets and patchwork quilts. I turn to seek guidance from our host, startled when I find her directly behind me. Gismonda takes advantage of my surprise to grab both my hands.
“Let’s take a closer look,” she says. “Hmm. Yes, this is a much better body for you. I didn’t want Jesse to have his life taken from him. This one was already dead, or nearly so.”
“Actually, I need your help with that,” I reply.
“You’re really good!” Trixie interjects. “Are you psychic?”
Gismonda releases me to look over at her. “No.”
“But you have a superpower. Sorry, I mean a special ability.”
“A gift. Yes. Now then—”
“Do you know why you’re different?” Trixie continues. “Or why we are? Also, can we move in with you? Because this place is amazing. It would make a great headquarters. Do you live alone? We can help with the cleaning. Travis is a good cook. At least while he’s in Patrick’s body. I guess we could have him possess a real chef, if that increases our chances any.”
Gismonda exhales, the sound high-pitched and drawn out like a slowly deflating tire. Then she turns an accusing glare on me. “Who is this woman, and why does she make so much noise?” Gismonda holds up a finger before I can answer. “Hmm? What about her ears? Fins? You’re not making sense.”
I glance over my shoulder, because that’s where Gismonda is now staring. “Are you talking to me?”
“Of course not. Don’t interrupt when Albert is speaking.”
“Who?”
“My husband. He died before you were born. Show some respect for your elders.”
