Fire Me Up
Page 10
On the far side of the table, a man passed behind Mon-ish and Tej on his way to his own table, pausing to look me in the eye and say, "You will spill fruit juice on your breasts."
The spoonful of chopped fruit and fizzy citrusy dressing that I was in the process of piloting to my mouth splattered down my front.
"What the—dammit!" I swore, throwing down the spoon and grabbing the thick linen napkin to mop up the big wet globules of fruit that plastered the thin gauze of my peasant blouse to my left breast. "Who the hell is that man, and why is he doing this to me?"
"Oh, tsk," Tiffany said, making a sad little face as I dipped one corner of my now sticky napkin into my water glass. She actually said the word tsk. "Maybe your demon could lick it off for you?"
"Yeah," Jim said with a leer on its canine lips. "It seems such a shame to waste good soul flowers like that."
"You move your tongue one inch toward my breasts, and I swear I'll get a grapefruit knife and saw off your—"
"Sheesh, I was just offering to be helpful. Some people!" Jim turned its attention back to its own fruit cup, one massive black paw holding down the flared bottom of the sorbet dish.
"That gentleman is Paolo di Stephano," Monish said. "He is a Diviner most extraordinary. He also works with me for the committee."
"Ha! Diviner. Or so he claims" Marvabelle added with a sniff, patting her husband's hand. "Hank could be a Diviner if he wanted. But I told him no, his talents would be wasted doin' simple divinations. His gift is much more profound than that."
Spoons clinked on glass as everyone slurped down the fruit. I finished cleaning off my blouse, trying desperately to shift the sodden material so that the wet spot wasn't quite so obvious. Mentally, I cursed my decision to wear the sheerest and most elegant of my bras under the peasant top. It did nothing to disguise my breast beneath the almost transparent wet gauze. "Bully for Hank," I murmured, jerking my blouse to the side so the wet spot was more or less under my arm. The silence that resulted made me very aware that I had once again put my foot in my mouth. I offered a smile to a tight-lipped Marvabelle. "Sorry. I didn't mean that to sound as obnoxious as it did. To be honest, I don't quite have a grip on this whole Diviner/oracle thing. Can you explain the difference to me?"
"An oracle is one who provides counsel upon petition of the person seeking advice," she answered in a stiff voice, carefully spooning up her fruit without spilling a drop. "Oracles guide our lives with their sage wisdom. Diviners are nothin' more than charlatans. Mind readers and their ilk."
Jim, finished with licking out its dish of fruit, leaned its head on my shoulder and stared at my uneaten portion.
"Much as I would hate to disagree with the gracious lady," Monish said in his soft Indian accent, "Diviners are not mere charlatans or mind readers. They are known best for their ability to see into the immediate future. Many, such as Paolo, feel obligated to tell those around them of any mishaps they foresee."
A soft voice spoke in my ear. "You gonna eat that fruit, nipple girl?"
I looked down. My blouse had untwisted itself, my breast all but bared beneath the wet material. "Son of a—" I jerked the scarf off my hair and wrapped it around my neck so that the ends hung down over my exposed breast, shoving my dish over to Jim's plate so the demon could eat the fruit. "I appreciate the fact that this Paolo guy feels it's his duty to tell me when I'm about to trip or spill food, but I can't help but feel that it is his warnings that are causing the events."
"Schrodinger's cat," Nora said, nodding her head. We all stared at her. "Quantum physics, you know. A man named Erwin Schrtidinger proposed a mental experiment involving a sealed box containing a cat, a bottle of poisonous gas, and a radioactive mineral. The mineral is such that it has a fifty-fifty chance of decaying during the time the cat is sealed in the box and if it does so, it will release the gas and that will kill the cat."
"Poor kitty," Tiffany said, her brow wrinkled in a scowl. "I don't believe in testing being conducted on animals, even mental testing. It is wrong. It does not make for happy thoughts."
"Schrodinger... I think I've heard of him," I said slowly, digging through my memories to the summer I was madly infatuated with a physics professor and took classes that made absolutely no sense to me. "Didn't the experiment have something to do with observation of the cat determining whether it was alive or dead? Oh, I see what you're getting at—by Paolo telling me what he sees in my future, he influences it?"
Nora nodded, her dark eyes glinting behind the lenses of her bright red glasses. "Exactly. Just like Schrodinger's cat. until Paolo speaks, the future exists in many states, but as soon as he tells you the future, it becomes real."
"Cheap parlor trick," Marvabelle said, her expression sour. "Oracles offer much more profound guidance than simply predictin' someone's clumsiness. Oracles offer words to influence a lifetime."
"Really?" I looked at Hank. He didn't look much along the lines of a lifetime-influencing man. He looked like an uncomfortable, slightly sweating bald man with a sizeable beer belly. "So how do you do the oracle thing? Does stuff just come to you, or do people seek your advice, or what?"
Hank opened his mouth to speak, but his wife spoke before he could. "Hank is from the classical school of oracles," she said, with a pointed look at Monisn, "First, he communes with the god and goddess of all bein'. Then he lights a special blend of herbs that allows his mind and soul to merge into a higher plain. At that point, he is tap-pin' into the wisdom of the Ancients, and he is open to questions from those seekin' his advice."
"I bet I can tell you just what sort of herbs he lights, too," Jim said sotto voce.
I stifled a snicker, careful to keep it soundless. I might not think too much of Marvabelle's boasts, but I was new to this society, and it behooved me to mind my p's and q's.
We discussed the various ways oracles consulted their sources of wisdom, and then the conversation turned to upcoming workshops and events of the conference. By the time the banquet was over, my head was spinning with thoughts of water altars, Argentinean curanderismo, ten signs that your significant other is a soul stealer (I could have used that advice before I married my ex-husband), and of course, the demon-tormenting workshops—so popular that three separate sessions were planned.
The spoonful of chopped fruit and fizzy citrusy dressing that I was in the process of piloting to my mouth splattered down my front.
"What the—dammit!" I swore, throwing down the spoon and grabbing the thick linen napkin to mop up the big wet globules of fruit that plastered the thin gauze of my peasant blouse to my left breast. "Who the hell is that man, and why is he doing this to me?"
"Oh, tsk," Tiffany said, making a sad little face as I dipped one corner of my now sticky napkin into my water glass. She actually said the word tsk. "Maybe your demon could lick it off for you?"
"Yeah," Jim said with a leer on its canine lips. "It seems such a shame to waste good soul flowers like that."
"You move your tongue one inch toward my breasts, and I swear I'll get a grapefruit knife and saw off your—"
"Sheesh, I was just offering to be helpful. Some people!" Jim turned its attention back to its own fruit cup, one massive black paw holding down the flared bottom of the sorbet dish.
"That gentleman is Paolo di Stephano," Monish said. "He is a Diviner most extraordinary. He also works with me for the committee."
"Ha! Diviner. Or so he claims" Marvabelle added with a sniff, patting her husband's hand. "Hank could be a Diviner if he wanted. But I told him no, his talents would be wasted doin' simple divinations. His gift is much more profound than that."
Spoons clinked on glass as everyone slurped down the fruit. I finished cleaning off my blouse, trying desperately to shift the sodden material so that the wet spot wasn't quite so obvious. Mentally, I cursed my decision to wear the sheerest and most elegant of my bras under the peasant top. It did nothing to disguise my breast beneath the almost transparent wet gauze. "Bully for Hank," I murmured, jerking my blouse to the side so the wet spot was more or less under my arm. The silence that resulted made me very aware that I had once again put my foot in my mouth. I offered a smile to a tight-lipped Marvabelle. "Sorry. I didn't mean that to sound as obnoxious as it did. To be honest, I don't quite have a grip on this whole Diviner/oracle thing. Can you explain the difference to me?"
"An oracle is one who provides counsel upon petition of the person seeking advice," she answered in a stiff voice, carefully spooning up her fruit without spilling a drop. "Oracles guide our lives with their sage wisdom. Diviners are nothin' more than charlatans. Mind readers and their ilk."
Jim, finished with licking out its dish of fruit, leaned its head on my shoulder and stared at my uneaten portion.
"Much as I would hate to disagree with the gracious lady," Monish said in his soft Indian accent, "Diviners are not mere charlatans or mind readers. They are known best for their ability to see into the immediate future. Many, such as Paolo, feel obligated to tell those around them of any mishaps they foresee."
A soft voice spoke in my ear. "You gonna eat that fruit, nipple girl?"
I looked down. My blouse had untwisted itself, my breast all but bared beneath the wet material. "Son of a—" I jerked the scarf off my hair and wrapped it around my neck so that the ends hung down over my exposed breast, shoving my dish over to Jim's plate so the demon could eat the fruit. "I appreciate the fact that this Paolo guy feels it's his duty to tell me when I'm about to trip or spill food, but I can't help but feel that it is his warnings that are causing the events."
"Schrodinger's cat," Nora said, nodding her head. We all stared at her. "Quantum physics, you know. A man named Erwin Schrtidinger proposed a mental experiment involving a sealed box containing a cat, a bottle of poisonous gas, and a radioactive mineral. The mineral is such that it has a fifty-fifty chance of decaying during the time the cat is sealed in the box and if it does so, it will release the gas and that will kill the cat."
"Poor kitty," Tiffany said, her brow wrinkled in a scowl. "I don't believe in testing being conducted on animals, even mental testing. It is wrong. It does not make for happy thoughts."
"Schrodinger... I think I've heard of him," I said slowly, digging through my memories to the summer I was madly infatuated with a physics professor and took classes that made absolutely no sense to me. "Didn't the experiment have something to do with observation of the cat determining whether it was alive or dead? Oh, I see what you're getting at—by Paolo telling me what he sees in my future, he influences it?"
Nora nodded, her dark eyes glinting behind the lenses of her bright red glasses. "Exactly. Just like Schrodinger's cat. until Paolo speaks, the future exists in many states, but as soon as he tells you the future, it becomes real."
"Cheap parlor trick," Marvabelle said, her expression sour. "Oracles offer much more profound guidance than simply predictin' someone's clumsiness. Oracles offer words to influence a lifetime."
"Really?" I looked at Hank. He didn't look much along the lines of a lifetime-influencing man. He looked like an uncomfortable, slightly sweating bald man with a sizeable beer belly. "So how do you do the oracle thing? Does stuff just come to you, or do people seek your advice, or what?"
Hank opened his mouth to speak, but his wife spoke before he could. "Hank is from the classical school of oracles," she said, with a pointed look at Monisn, "First, he communes with the god and goddess of all bein'. Then he lights a special blend of herbs that allows his mind and soul to merge into a higher plain. At that point, he is tap-pin' into the wisdom of the Ancients, and he is open to questions from those seekin' his advice."
"I bet I can tell you just what sort of herbs he lights, too," Jim said sotto voce.
I stifled a snicker, careful to keep it soundless. I might not think too much of Marvabelle's boasts, but I was new to this society, and it behooved me to mind my p's and q's.
We discussed the various ways oracles consulted their sources of wisdom, and then the conversation turned to upcoming workshops and events of the conference. By the time the banquet was over, my head was spinning with thoughts of water altars, Argentinean curanderismo, ten signs that your significant other is a soul stealer (I could have used that advice before I married my ex-husband), and of course, the demon-tormenting workshops—so popular that three separate sessions were planned.
