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How a shaman, a street fortune teller and an obscure footnote led me to a distant namesake — a Victorian sex therapist married to a ghost

By Mark Craddock

On June 30, 2013, at roughly 12:35 p.m., David Red Feather had an epiphany.

It happened at a busy intersection in downtown Albuquerque. David had stopped at a red light. As he described it to me, five archangels appeared, surrounding him in the passenger seats of his compact sedan, showing him in a flash the eddies and twists in his life up to that point…

On July 10, 2020, at 9 a.m., a second-floor conference room at 1700 Broadway in Denver lie empty, save a nearly barren conference table, twenty 10-sided dice of various colors and a black plastic model of a castle tower, reminiscent of a Dungeons and Dragons game piece.

The sole occupant of the room — the Dungeon Master, if you will, of the day’s proceedings — was a twenty-something member of the secretary of state’s staff named Melissa, her face barely visible behind thick eyeglasses and a dark face mask.

She adjusted the camera on her computer for optimal video-conference viewing.

Mark Craddock

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