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written up in medical journals.
    Her psychic abilities, on the other hand, were controversial. She claimed to have gained a second sight and was famous for predicting that Michael Jackson would die of a drug overdose. Of course, she also predicted that Lindsay Lohan would die in a car crash and that Bono would run for a political office.
    Her file included a transcript from a radio show during which Golubkhov talked with callers:
    Golubkhov: Your mother died.
    Caller: Yes, that is true.
    Golubkhov: She died on a Friday.
    Caller: No, she actually died on a Saturday morning.
    Golubkhov: She die Friday at 3 a.m.
    Caller: She died early morning on Saturday, so perhaps you meant—
    Golubkhov: Yes, Friday night. And never said goodbye.
    Caller: Well, we talked for a long time that day.
    Golubkhov: On Friday.
    Caller: Yes. But you’re right, she never actually said the word “Goodbye.”
    “I hate this,” Charli said to her assistant, who had come in to announce the arrival of the clairvoyant. “Do people still fall for this stuff? Reminds me of arguing about ESP in high school. This is the best we could come up with?”
    “Remember that you did say you were going to have to change your beliefs. You asked for someone relevant. She appeared on a talk show and made the host cry.”
    “But not sneeze.”
    Her assistant laughed. “No, that would be asking a little too much.”
    “I saw the recording of that show. I thought it was open to different interpretations. She is in reception now?”
    Charli walked down the hall. High heels would have helped with her height problem, but she preferred sensible shoes. She moved with the mindless grace of a dancer, still reading her notes as she went.
    In the reception area she approached her visitor. “Ms. Golubkhov, thank you for coming on such short notice.”
    Golubkhov eased herself up onto her crutches. “I knew you were going to say that.”
    Charli grinned, seeing that the woman’s charisma was part of her appeal. Somehow Charli hadn’t expected a sense of humor from someone with such grotesque deformities. She walked behind her guest during the painfully slow trek back to Charli’s office.
    Golubkhov dropped into the visitor’s chair, a controlled crash landing, and leaned her crutches against the desk. “I sense you are skeptical. Do not worry. I was non-believer before my accident. I am used to skepticism.” Although she spoke with an accent, sounding like a Russian gangster, her voice was clear and strong, unaffected by her disability.
    “Good. Thank you for saying that, because I don’t have time to sugarcoat my comments. To be blunt, I see you as either the worst kind of fraud, or more likely, someone who has deluded herself.”
    Golubkhov nodded. “I hope your indigestion will not influence this interview.”
    “My what?” Charli asked as she sat down behind the desk.
    “You had too much orange juice with breakfast this morning. It triggered heartburn.”
    Charli froze and her mouth dropped open. “Well. You are right.” Could there be something here after all? “Is this a psychic thing, or are you picking up … ah, your sense of smell.”
    “Yes. Sorry to be coarse. You burped in office before coming to meet me.”
    “Wow.” She adjusted some things on her desk, lining them up. “That is an amazing gift.”
    “Is curse.”
    “Yes, I can see how it could be. Let’s start with that, something that we can agree on.”
    Golubkhov shifted in the chair. “Imagine you were color blind and woke up one day able to view all colors. Is how it was for me but with smells. Every other sense—sight, sound, touch—is like nothing compared to sense of smell. Each person’s ‘smell face’ is much more … distinct … than sight face. Put twenty people I have met in room, I tell you who is there from smell alone. But is much more. I can tell emotional states in way that is impossible through vision.”
    “Yes, I’ve seen videos of you demonstrating