Under_The_Whispering_Door_by_TJ_Klune

Hugo shook his head. “No, I’m not. Not exactly qualified for something
like that, though I do play the role now and then. It’s all part of the gig.”
“The gig,” Wallace repeated.
“Selling tea,” Hugo said. “People come in, and some of them don’t have
any idea what they’re looking for. I try to get to know them, to find out what
they’re all about before deciding on what kind of tea would be the best fit.
It’s a process of discovery. I usually get it right, though not always.”
“Peppermint,” Wallace said.
“Peppermint,” Hugo agreed. “Did I get that right?”
“You hadn’t even met me.”
He shrugged. “I get a feeling, sometimes.”
“A feeling.” Wallace did nothing to stop the scorn dripping from his
words. “You have to know how that sounds.”
“I do. But it’s just tea. Nothing to get so worked up about.”
Wallace felt like screaming. “You got a feeling that told you peppermint.”
“It did.” He stopped in front of another plant, crouching down and picking
up dead leaves off the ground. He put them in a pocket on his apron with the
utmost care, as if he was worried about crushing them. “Was it wrong?”
“No,” Wallace said begrudgingly. “It wasn’t wrong.” He thought Hugo
would ask him to explain, what the peppermint meant.
He didn’t. “Good. I like to think I’m pretty spot-on, but as I said, it
doesn’t always work. I try to be careful about it. You don’t want to end up
missing the forest for the trees.”
Wallace had no idea what that meant. Everything was topsy-turvy, and the
hook in his chest was tugging again. He wanted to tear it out, consequences
be damned. “I liked being alive. I want to be alive again.”
“Kübler-Ross.”
“What?”
“There was a woman named Elisabeth Kübler-Ross. Have you ever heard
of her?”
“No.”
“She was a psychiatrist—”
“Oh dear god.”
“A psychiatrist who studied death and near-death experiences. You know,
you’re rising above your body toward a bright white light, though I expect
it’s a little more complicated than that. A lot of it can be difficult to