The Librarians in the Quest for the Lying Liar’s Lies

I called a couple of the professor’s ghost clients pretending to be his assistant.  I’ve been lying a lot lately.  I don’t love it.   

I was following up to make sure their ghost eradication needs were still met.  And since I had them on the line I asked where they had heard about the service for our records.  Most people said they had heard about the profession and his ghost busting from a friend of a friend at a ball.  Or a gala.  Or other kind of rich person party.  Rich people have a lot of parties.  Now that I think about it so do poor people.  Common ground! 

I found one that didn’t say a friend of a friend at a party.  He pointed me to Jackie Nunziato.  Nunziato sounds like a wrestling name for an Italian stereotype gimmick to me.  This non-wrestling Nunziato is a psychic.  You have a ghost in your house you consult a psychic, makes sense.  I wonder how she got hooked up with the professor.   

I called Jackie Nunziato and left her a message asking if she only does ghost stuff or if she knows anything about necromancy.  She called back a few hours later and told me to meet her the next day at a coffee shop in Canandaigua.   

Canandaigua, where all the psychics hang out. 

Jackie Nunziato looks like a boring white lady to me but she said she’s Cuban by way of Miami and has an Italian last name.  I know it’s rude to ask about someone’s background but is it rude to wonder about it?  Probably. 

When she sat down at her little psychic reading table a look came over her face like someone had just dumped a bucket of ice down the front of her pink pants.  “I can’t read your mind” she blurted out.  Not knowing what else to say I said that I was sorry.   

I started to explain what I was after but she was staring at me.  She reached out like she was going to touch my face.  I asked her not to do that and went over my story again.   She was very confused.

“You’re not here for the professor?” 

“In what way?” 

“To get him out of prison.  I thought that’s why you came.  He was framed.” 

Truth be told there was a lot of confusion on both sides.  She kept shaking her head like a drunk trying to sober themselves up.  It was really freaking her out that we shouldn’t read my mind.  I started off with “we’re all magic right” and then went over again that I was dealing with a girl in prison who may be some kind of zombie and I was looking for someone who knew about that kind of death magic stuff.  This just made her more confused. 

“Who are you?” 

“You ever see that Librarians movie?” 

“You work in a library?” 

“No, uh, I just . . . try to help out . . . with magic stuff.” 

“But who pays you?” 

Valid question.  Eventually she stopped being confused enough to tell me that she might have someone who could tell me about necromancy.  Then she sat there not saying anything.  When I asked her if she was going to tell me who it was she said “Yeah.  He’s kind of a dick.”