[ She's brisk and business-like, but her touch is gentle. Something of the air of a competent nurse. Anathema's mother had taught and trained her to have a steady hand and strong nerve; ready to face down the apocalypse, a few injuries are nothing. Like the first-aid supplies, laid out in a neat row, waiting for Newt.

The conversation, though, is a pleasant distraction for both of them from the work of cleaning up Sal's cuts, and Anathema's grin broadens beneath a stray lock of hair that's fallen into her face as she works. ]

Get this: I'm a fortune-teller at a shop called Small Mediums at Large.

It felt like an absolute cosmic joke, when I first saw the assignment, but it's worked out fairly well. I'm making the shop my own, and I'm growing fond of it. You should stop by sometime, get your palm read. I promise it's not entirely a scam.

What did they give you?