Next, I called Jake. My current boyfriend.
"Jake, it' s not working out," I said.
"What? Sarah, what are you talking about?" He sounded confused, hurt.
"You lack depth," I told him. It was a convenient excuse.
The truth was my professional ethic. Full focus on the deceased client.
The dead deserve undivided respect. No "juggling" energies between the living and my assignments.
My Thanato-Charm always made breakups dramatic. Men clung. Jake was no different.
"Depth? What does that even mean? Sarah, please!"
"Goodbye, Jake." I ended the call.
I texted my best friend, Chloe.
"Got another gig. Big one."
Chloe texted back almost immediately. "Another wedding, huh? How many congratulatory gifts have I sent you? My attic is full of them!"
I chuckled. She knew my work wasn' t actual weddings.
I sent her a picture of a knotted string. "New G-string design. For the discerning spirit."
Chloe replied with a string of laughing emojis.
I packed my ritual kit: special oils, incense, a white silk robe, a small ledger, parchment, and a few other specialized items.
Then, I headed out.
The cab ride to Upstate New York was long. The estate was remote.
In the back of the cab, I changed into my ritual attire – a custom, flowing white gown. It was part of the process, part of the persona.
The cab driver glanced in the rearview mirror. "Wow, ma'am. You look like you're going to a wedding. A very fancy one."
"Something like that," I said, smiling faintly. "My groom just isn't alive."
His eyes widened in the mirror. He didn't say another word, just sped up.
He practically skidded to a halt at the gates of the old estate and couldn't get my bags out fast enough.