Intro­duc­tion

“Joseph Zion, Pri­vate Eye.” I fum­ble through my wal­let, pass­ing by the busi­ness cards in Ogham runes and the ones in Malachim, before dis­cov­er­ing to my great sur­prise that I still had some Eng­lish ones.

I pro­duce it with a flour­ish, but the search had lasted min­utes, and the effect was more-or-less com­pletely lost.

I’m not the kind of Pri­vate Eye you call to spy on your cheat­ing hus­band. No, any fool can do that. It just requires skill, tenac­ity, and a blad­der of steel. I’m miss­ing at least two of those, you can take your pick.

No, where nor­mal P.I.s might carry a note­book, I eschew this in favour of a tarot deck. While phone taps and tiny micro­phones might be com­mon amongst other detec­tives, I am more likely to be found using two yoghurt pots and a piece of string — but no nor­mal yoghurt pots! Never in the his­tory of dairy prod­ucts have con­tain­ers been so endowed with arcane sigils.

I con­sider pro­duc­ing them for inspec­tion, but decline. Some things were not meant for mere mor­tals to know of.

Any­way, my point. Hus­band cheat­ing on you? Call the oth­ers. Satan cheat­ing on you with a coven of bewitched poul­try? I’m your man.