Jimmy No-Hands sat on the boardwalk, feet dangling above the horseshit and mud and dead birds, waiting for the wizard to bring him his payment. The air was hot and it hurt to whistle. Jimmy sat, looking at his hands, wondering why the wizard had started calling him No-Hands in the first place.
“Because I see the future, Jimmy.” The voice seemed to come from his hand, and yes, there it was, the smallest etching of the wizard’s face, right between his life-line and heart-line.
“I will find a damn centipede and have it eat you outta my hand, wiz. Where’s my money?”
The etching grew in detail. Jimmy could discern a stern look in the wizard’s eyes and a hard set jaw. “I don’t have it. Money means nothing to me on this plane. Look for your riches on crude Earth, Jimmy No-Hands. I no longer exist in the physical realm and can tell you nothing more.”
“Bullshit. Imma get that centipede.”
“No. Do not get the centipede,” the wizard sighed, “I will tell you where I left the money.”
“Then tell me then already.”
“First, I will need you to cut off your hands and burn them in the Brazier of All-Sight…”