Disclaimer: We do not own Psych.

If you asked Shawn Spencer to tell you his favorite thing in the whole world, he would probably say sex, and describe explicitly what kind of sex he enjoyed. Then, after laughing at the scandalized look you would undoubtedly have on your face, he would say it was a close call between two things. One is other people's cooking. Much as he disliked things such as having dinner with his father, he did enjoy having something that wasn't toaster strudel but still required little effort on his part.

The other thing that Shawn Spencer would tell you he liked more than anything else is his motorcycle. Nobody else liked it, but it's Shawn's baby. Gus won't go near the thing, and Henry despises it so much that he even bought Shawn a car once, in the hopes that his son would abandon that "two wheeled death machine." Shawn thanked his dad but told him that, no matter how cool (and safe) the big old black Chevy was, it couldn't compare to his bike.

The day on which our story begins, the bike wasn't looking too well. Busy with his detective… erm… psychic work, Shawn had been neglecting her. His favorite girl (Shawn's words, not mine) was covered in mud and dirt, and was even beginning to rust near one of the wheels. That was why Shawn was spending his Saturday morning in a driveway with a bucket, a sponge and a hose.

Shawn hummed as he busily washed his motorcycle. He heard footsteps coming from behind. As he was expecting Gus to come over, Shawn naturally assumed it was his friend arriving and he turned around, spraying the hose full force at the approaching man.

Detective Lassiter was not amused. "Spencer," he said angrily.

"Lassie-face," Shawn replied. "How are you this lovely morning?" He handed the older man a towel. "What brings you here?"

"I've got a case that I think is right up your alley," Lassiter replied. He handed Shawn a folder which, luckily, had only gotten a little damp from the spray.

"I'm flattered, detective. What's the case?"

"As I'm sure you know there is a meeting this week of… people like you" Lassiter rolled his eyes.

"People like me?" Shawn knew exactly what Lassiter was talking about, but he wanted to hear him say it.

"People with your abilities." Shawn cocked his head and looked at him questioningly. "Psychics," Lassiter clarified.

Shawn smiled. "Oh, yes. Of course. I considered attending but I don't like to exploit my gift."

"Anyway," Lassiter continued. "Two of them have been murdered. There's very little evidence."

"How little is 'very little?'"

"None."

"And none of the psychics at the meeting could tell you anything?"

"We haven't questioned them all yet."

Shawn looked at him. "You think they're fakes, don't you?"

"Of course they're fakes. You're a fake too, but at least you have the distinction of actually having solved a few cases.

"You like me, Lassie!" Shawn said in a high-pitched voice. "You really like me!"

"I'm leaving, Spencer. When you want to be serious, come down to the station." He walked down the driveway, got in his car, and drove away. Shawn continued to clean his bike.

Then he remembered that he had been waiting for Gus when Lassiter had arrived. It wasn't like Gus to be late, and Shawn got a little worried. He picked up his cell phone and called his friend. "Gus, where are you?"

"Shawn, what do you mean 'where are you'?"

"You said you'd come over when you got home."

"And I said my flight was delayed."

"Yeah, but that was last night."

"Shawn, don't you watch the news? Every airport on the east coast is closed, at least until tomorrow. The snow's a foot deep, at least," Gus sounded exasperated.

"So you're still in New York?"

"Yes, Shawn, I'm still in New York."

"But… we've got a case?"

"Oh, in that case, I'll just hop on my magical flying pony and come right on back."

"Gus, I know you don't have a magical flying pony."

"No I don't, Shawn. I guess you'll just have to handle this one on your own."

Shawn sighed. "Bye," he said, and hung up. His bike had, by that point, dried in the sun, but Shawn ignored the streaks and got on his trusty steed to drive down to the police station.

On his way to the station, Shawn passed the convention hall and he stopped for a minute to look. People were milling around, some in everyday clothes, and some in elaborate outfits that Shawn figured they wore to look more mystical. He thought they just looked ridiculous. Shawn smiled and rode on.

When he arrived at the station, he was instructed to take a seat. Lassiter and Chief Vick were questioning a middle aged woman with curly brown hair. Shawn fidgeted for a few minutes, waiting. He grew tired of sitting. He looked for Juliet, but didn't see her. Then he looked at the clock. Four minutes had passed since he had entered the room. He looked again. Four minutes and eight seconds. He shifted in his seat.

Shawn got up and knocked on the door. Lassiter motioned for him to sit back down. Shawn had never been very patient. Or very good at following directions. He opened the door to the chief's office, where the two detectives and the woman were talking.

"Mr. Spencer," Chief Vick said. "Was there a part of 'sit on the bench until we're ready for you' that you misunderstood?"

"No ma'am," Shawn replied. "I just had the feeling that you were about to come get me anyway, so I thought I'd save you from getting up."

"Well, that's very nice of you." Chief Vick said. "Now," she continued, motioning towards the woman, whom Shawn figured to be a bit younger than his father. "I'd like you to meet Emily Marshall. She'll be your partner during this case."

"What?" asked Shawn in surprise. "My partner?"

"Ms. Marshall is a psychic as well. She has been working on police investigations for about thirty years. Detectives O'Hara and Lassiter will be viewing the conference as a crime scene, and you will be working with Emily to gather… what would you call them? Vibrations? From the area."

"But… I usually prefer to work alone."

"You work with Mr. Guster all the time."

"That's different, I"

"If you would prefer not to take this case, I'm sure Ms. Marshall can do it alone."

Shawn considered this. "No, I can work with her." He looked at his new partner, observed her. She looked nice, more like a businesswoman than a psychic. Shawn thought she was probably a fake. But then, so was he, though of course he didn't intend to make her aware of this fact. Shawn pursed his lips and prepared himself for the job ahead.