My career as a professional psychic began when I was sixteen years old. I leaned over a glass display case filled with tarot decks in a local occult book shop, trying to decide which deck to add to my growing collection, when the shop owner introduced herself. “I’m Amber," she said. "We’ve met -- in a previous life.”

“I don’t believe in psychic powers.”

“You never did.” She shrugged. “Still, you're one of the best readers I know. You have a gift for seeing into people’s souls.”

She was half right. I did read cards well, but it was something bogus that I had learned primarily for the entertainment value of watching people spill their life secrets. See into their souls? All I knew was what they told me and what I read from body language.

Maybe I didn’t need that new tarot deck after all. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Amber," I said, "but I’ve got to go.” I picked up my purse and heading for the door.

She stepped in front of me. “I need another reader for the afternoons, and I want to hire you.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” she said. “The shop charges clients twenty-five dollars for half an hour. The reader gets to keep half the fee.” She handed me a business card. “Think about it.”

I did not think very long. Amber was crazy, but the rates she paid beat anything I could earn at the Golden Arches. I was back the next day with one of my decks, expecting that Amber would ask me to do a sample reading for her.

Instead, she played dressmaker. “You’re so petite, you could pass for a twelve year old,” she said. “I think we’ll use that in creating your look. Innocent and pure, but gifted with sight and wisdom beyond your years. No make-up. Hair neat and pulled back into a ponytail. And you should wear blue.”

No matter how flaky Amber’s hiring processes were, her marketing skills were sound. While some people were put off by a child reader, more were intrigued. Perhaps they figured that a kid would be more honest. Little did they know that I was the biggest fraud in the shop.

I would gaze at them solemnly as they came into the room, partly to set the mood and partly to see how they held themselves. Most were nervous and a little skeptical. Fine. I could use that. After we exchanged greetings and I explained the reading process, they would ask their questions. Usually, there was a sign that they had not given themselves fully to me: a moment’s hesitation, or a subtle glance away from my face to the cards in my hand. As I dealt out the cards, I would look them in the eyes, and say, “That isn’t the question you need to ask me. That isn’t the one that is weighing down your heart.” In that moment, I had them.

I took my time with the cards. As I explained each card and its ramifications, I would pause and wait for them to give me clues. Tarot readings are a form of shared storytelling. If I told a client that there was a person who was opposing his dreams, nine times out of ten, the client would immediately tell me who it was: “It’s my father. He never believed in me.” Then I would meet my client’s gaze and agree that yes, it was. Even when they didn’t give me details verbally, their body language spoke volumes. As we went through each card, I built on the details that were given to me, looking for the answers that my clients were seeking.

Did I find them answers? Oh yes. I comforted the weeping football jock who had just realized he was gay, the widow who was frightened about running the family business by herself, and the father who was worried about a child who had just joined a cult. I encouraged people to pursue their dreams, to risk telling a beloved how they felt, to be themselves. They came to me because they had reached a turning point in their lives and they were frightened by the choices that lay ahead of them.

Why seek answers from divination? Why not choose counseling, or a priest? Some people had already tried these options, and found them unsatisfactory. Some did not trust those options, and decided that it was better to spend a few bucks on a psychic reading instead.

My clients perceived divination as a door into a another world that held the answers they so desperately needed. And in a way, they were right. I was the perfect confidant, the stranger who could see into the darkest corners of a soul and not judge it. My readings forced my clients to ask the hard questions and to look carefully at all their options. That other world that held the answers they needed? I held up a mirror and I showed them themselves.

Sometimes, even a fraud can give you the answers that you seek.

Hmm