It didn't matter how many jobs he'd had—he'd never worked a day in his life. It was the sort of thing his dad would've said:

"Son, if you get a job you love, you'll never work a day in your life."

Which would probably been followed up with something like, "So make sure you're in uniform." Which totally was work, and thus negated the above advice.

This was surely not what Henry Spencer would've had in mind. But it worked for Shawn.

Today's new job? Horoscope columnist while working undercover. Their suspect worked on this paper—so, this was for a murder case. But, Shawn thought, sitting down to work, who said he couldn't have a little fun with it?

Now, which zodiac sign was which? What was Jules again…Libra? Or was it Aries…

Aries sounded right. Yeah, go with that.

Now to mess with Jules's and Lassie's minds.

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Juliet liked the horoscopes. Not that she believed them, or any of that superstitious nonsense. But they were, to her, what the daily crosswords were to others. Of course, they were always fake—made up on the spot. And vague. Very vague—either general happy things that everyone would want, with no specifics, or playing on some equally vague fear that everyone had. Horoscopes were on the level of fortune cookies—still, it was fun.

She turned to her sign, Libra, and started reading. She paused. This was odd—it wasn't vague. It was very specific. She read it again.

She was supposed to get extra calcium? Well, that figured. I mean, Calcium was good for everyone, right? But the other bit surprised her.

"You might have a promotion coming up." And she was supposed to…walk backwards through doorways for good luck. Definitely different than usual. And she didn't believe in horoscopes. But still, what if it were true? A promotion!

"Carlton, check this out," she said, walking towards her partner's desk. Of course, he probably didn't remember that there was a horoscope column in the paper. He'd laugh at her, most likely. But she still wanted to show him.

"What, is it, O'Hara?" Lassiter asked, leaning back in his chair. They had a homicide case going, and didn't know what that paper had to do with it.

"Look at this!" she said happily. "It says I might get a promotion. See—right, here."

He gave her what he considered a longsuffering look. "You know I don't believe in that superstitious junk."

Juliet crossed her arms. "Fine, doubter. Let's see what you have!"

He went back to his work. "I don't want to hear it, O'Hara."

"Well, you're going to," she answered, scanning the page. "Aries. Your true love will be wearing an…Apple Jacks t-shirt today. That's weird," she said. "That's way more specific than they usually are. Do you know anyone with an apple jacks shirt?"

"That's ridiculous," Lassiter answered. "If it were true, then everyone with Aries would be meeting someone in an apple jacks t-shirt today. In which case there would be a lot of apple jacks shirts going around today—most of which would be for a different Aries. But it doesn't matter, because it's all fake. Anyway, I hope I don't associate with anyone who would wear an apple jacks t-shirt."

"Fine," Juliet said. Sure what he said made sense. But she was still going to go backwards through doorways…just in case.

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When she saw the psychic team, Juliet did a double take. What with the woman who'd tied herself to a pole for days and everything, the morning's horoscopes had gone right out of her head.

Shawn was…he was…Was that an Apple Jacks t-shirt? What was he doing? When she realized she probably had horror written all over her face, she tried to regain her composure. He was just standing there grinning and talking nonstop.

"What are you wearing?" she burst in. He turned to her with a smug look on his face.

"Did you buy that today?" she asked. Because, come to think of it, she could see him reading the horoscopes and running off to buy an Apple Jacks t-shirt. He was probably trying to mess with Carlton's head. But why would he read Aries? That was a bit…stalkerish.

"What, this old rag?" he asked, looking down like he hadn't even realized he was wearing a shirt. "No, I've had it for years."

"No you…" Gus burst in.

"Yeah, remember?" Shawn asked. "I got it the day you got your Cabbage P…"

Gus elbowed him in the gut.

"Yeah, I remember, now," Gus growled.

Juliet glanced around for Carlton, wondering if he'd spotted the shirt, and if so, how mad was he?

"What are you doing here?" Lassiter asked, coming up behind his partner.

She glanced at him, eyebrows raised. But he didn't seem to be noticing the shirt in question.

"We finally got her out of here," he said, referring to the animal rights activist. "We've got to get going."

"Shawn...what are you.." Juliet tried again.

"O'Hara," Carlton said, impatient. Then he glared at Shawn, who was still grinning like a madman. Something seemed to register.

"What are you wearing?" he asked.

"Clothes. You?" Shawn answered.

Carlton shook his head, dislodging whatever had registered a minute ago.

"Let's go inside," he said to Juliet.

She gave Shawn one last weirded-out look before following.

"Did you see that?" Shawn asked, grinning as the pair walked off. "Did you see her face? I've totally got her."

Gus shook his head. "Let's go."

"Hold on," Shawn said, holding up his hand as the two detectives neared the doorway. "Wait for it…"

But, to his surprise, Lassiter just walked through the door, like normal. Phooey. He'd gotten Juliet but hadn't made any impression on Lassie.

But then he saw Juliet glance around, nervously, and then quickly walk backwards through the door.

"Oh no," Shawn said, a horrified look coming over his face.

"What the…Oh, great job, Psychic," Gus said. "A Psychic who gets horoscopes mixed."

Shawn shuddered rather convulsively. "Oh yuck."

The two turned, now looking for their next lead.

"Remind me to never try that again," Shawn said.