Illegal Fortunes

by Sabrina Stark

  "Huh?" I said.

  Crystal fluttered her hand in Gabriel's direction. "I already told you," she said, "he's the guy who bailed us out."

  Gabriel, a Wiccan magician with flowing blond hair, was shaking his head. "But why?"

  Crystal sat up straighter. "Because," she announced, "he's got the hots for Selena. Always has, always will."

  "That's not true," I said.

  And it wasn't. Crystal knew only half of the story – the good half. "And besides," I said, "none of that matters, not compared to the other stuff."

  It was a lie, of course. It mattered. It mattered so much it hurt. But this wasn't the time or the place to dwell on it. So I went for a distraction. "What Crystal isn't telling you," I told Gabriel, "is why they arrested us in the first place."

  "I was just getting to that," Crystal said, "but the Bishop thing caught me off guard." She turned toward me. "Hey, where do you think he's been all these years?"

  "I don't know," I said. "Siberia?"

  Crystal was nodding. "Yeah. He'd look good in a parka."

  He'd also look good – no, make that great – in nothing at all. And I knew this from experience. But encouraging Crystal was never a good idea, so I said nothing.

  Crystal's face brightened, and she slapped the table with her palm. "I just figured it out," she said.

  "What?" I asked.

  "Who he looks like."

  "Who?" I asked.

  "Mister March."

  I shook my head. "Mister March?"

  "You know? On my Hunk-a-Month calendar?"

  Embarrassingly, I knew exactly what picture she meant. "The fireman?"

  She was nodding. "So you noticed the resemblance too?"

  Gabriel gave me a pointed look. "Perhaps you can discuss your love-life later?"

  "Hey, don't look at me," I said. "I wasn't the one who brought it up."

  He made a forward motion with his hand. "About the police?"

  "Yeah. About that." I cleared my throat. "Apparently, fortune telling is illegal."

  Gabriel's pale eyes narrowed in concern. "Since when?" he asked.

  "Since 1841," I said.

  "Impossible," Gabriel said. "We've been giving psychic readings–"

  "Fortune telling," I corrected. "Not psychic readings."

  Gabriel stared at me. "You know what?" he said. "You're as bad as the police." His jaw tightened. "Damn pigs."

  "In case you missed it," I said, "those 'damn pigs' did us a favor today."

  He looked incredulous. "By arresting you?"

  "By not arresting everyone." I gave him a look. "Including you."

  "So what?" he said. "I'm not afraid of the cops."

  "Good," I said. "Next time, maybe you can get arrested, and I'll stay here and drink coffee."

  "I don't like coffee." He smirked. "Remember?"

  I felt color rise to my face. I did remember. Once in my whole life, I'd almost had a one-night-stand. And it had to be with Gabriel – someone my mom hired the very next week.

  That was two years ago, and I'd been paying ever since. Sometimes, this city felt way too small.

  "What I remember," I said, "was someone getting drunk and barfing down my shirt."

  "Hey, I had the flu!" he said.

  "No," I said. "You had cheese popcorn and a pint of schnapps."

  He gave me a dirty look and turned to crystal. "So about the police thing," he said, "you're gonna fight it, right?"

  "Definitely," Crystal said.

  "So what's the plan?" he said.

  Crystal shrugged. "Selena's gonna handle it."

  "What?" I turned to stare at her. "That wasn't the plan."

  "Yeah, I know," she said. "But this'll be better." She turned to Gabriel. "And, she's gonna stay in town 'til it's settled."

  "No, I'm not," I said. This was a local problem. I wasn't local. Not anymore. And most definitely not in the winter.

  More to the point, Bishop was back. So I needed to be gone, pronto. As far as the bail, I'd just send him a check when I got back to Alabama, assuming I could find him, that is.

  "Oh, don't get all cranky," she told me. "It'll be fun."

  Gabriel gave a low laugh. "For Selena? In January? Yeah, I can't wait to see this."

  Most of what I did for the store – marketing, purchasing and Web maintenance – could be done remotely. My preferred remote location was in the Deep South, where I lived a life far removed from fortune telling.

  When not helping Crystal, I made my money as a freelance science writer, based in Huntsville, Alabama – Rocket City U.S.A., the Silicon Valley of the South, the place where it wasn't snowing.

  Still, Gabriel wasn't giving me enough credit. "Hey," I said, "I'm from Michigan, remember? And besides, I'm here all the time."

  "Sure," he said, "in the summer."

  "And winters too," I said.

  "Yeah," he said, "for maybe a week at a time. After that, you get all squirrely."

  "I do not."

  "And," he said, "you can't even drive in the snow."

  "I can too," I said. "Sort of."

  "Tell ya what." Gabriel turned to Crystal. "Let me handle it."

  "No way," I told him. "You'd just make it worse."

  "Worse how?" he said. "It's already a damn witch hunt."

  I rolled my eyes. "Oh please."

  He leaned back and crossed his arms. "I'll tell you what. They're not burning me at the stake."

  My stomach rumbled. "Mmmmmm...steak."

  "Is this funny to you?" he asked.

  "Hey," I said, "I haven't eaten since breakfast." I stood and stretched. "See you guys later. I'm heading upstairs."

  The Crystal Moon was more than a business. The second story housed two apartments – one for me and one for Crystal. There were two ways to get there – either from an open stairway off the back alley, or from a narrow staircase off the book room.

  For me, it was an easy choice. I headed for the inside option.

  "Wait," Crystal said. "Do a reading first."

  "Oh c'mon," I said. "I've been telling fortunes all day."

  "Just a quickie," she said. "On the fortune-telling thing."

  I glanced longingly toward the staircase. I felt tired, grubby, and eager to be alone.

  "If she won't do it," Gabriel said, "I will."

  Oh crap. I couldn't let Gabriel do it. When it came to card readings, he was a glass-half-empty kind of guy. He'd just get Crystal all worked up, and I'd be stuck with the fallout.

  "Nah, I've got it," I said, reclaiming my seat and reaching for my cards.

  Gabriel was smirking again. "That's a real shocker," he said.

  "Oh shut up."

  I ran a finger along the deck, trying to push aside all the distractions – my own exhaustion, Gabriel's attitude, and most of all, Bishop's unexpected appearance. This reading wasn't about him. But if I wasn't careful, he'd creep in to confuse the cards, just like he'd confused me.

  When my mind cleared, I shuffled, selected, and lay ten cards on the table, not liking what I saw.

  I studied the ten-card spread. The center card, describing our current situation, was the Tower. On it, medieval men and women fell from the tower's peak, as if struck by a bolt out of the blue. I recognized that bolt. It was the unwelcome news from the police.

  Crossing the Tower card was the five of pentacles, revealing two ragged peasants limping along beside a church. The poverty card. This one scared me. I'd seen it plenty while growing up. I wasn't anxious to get reacquainted.

  The next card was Justice. It had fallen reversed, or upside-down, a bad sign. We could expect more problems with the law. The battle would be lopsided, with true justice scarce on the ground.

  Crystal was staring at the cards. She wasn't a Tarot reader. But on some cards, the images speak for themselves. "They don't look good," she said.

  I looked up and caught Gabriel's eye. I willed him to remain silent.

  "We're fucked," he said.

  I gave him a dirt
y look. He grinned back at me. Oh sure, he wouldn't be smiling if I barfed down his shirt.

  Looking back to the cards, I searched for something positive to say. I pointed to the final card. The Wheel of Fortune. "See our outcome?" I said. "It's a good omen, given who we are."

  "So things will work out in the end?" Crystal asked.

  "It appears so," I said, "assuming we stay the course."

  What I didn't mention was the one card that seemed out of place – the Fool. For me, it had a special significance, tied up with a certain someone I'd been trying to forget.

  In the recesses of my mind, I saw his face. Those dark eyes. The contagious smile. Butterflies danced in my stomach. Too soon, his smile disappeared. His face contorted into a mask of rage. The rage was directed at me. The butterflies turned to rocks.

  It was ironic, really. Bishop was anything but a fool. And neither was I – a good thing, since I was surrounded by more than enough foolishness already. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder. What on Earth was he doing back here?

  Chapter 7

  Upstairs, I called our city councilman, a friend of Officer Jolly's. He agreed to meet with me early the next day. I wasn’t thrilled with his choice of location, his fishing shanty atop the frozen river.

  Somehow, the location seemed a cruel twist of fate. Based on the guy's directions, I had a pretty good idea where we'd be talking – just a short walk away from where Bishop and I had talked on the night we'd met.

  Of course, back then everything had been different – a different time of year, and a different time of life. And then, there'd been the biggest difference of all. Back then, I hadn't known Jim Bishop, or how he would turn my life upside-down.

  Sitting with him on that June night, seven years earlier, I'd been silent on the park bench, gathering my thoughts. I still owed him a story, the sad tale of how I'd gotten stranded in the middle of nowhere.

  But he hadn't pressed me. Not yet.

  From the nearby pub, a classic rock ballad drifted over the water. On the pub's patio, the tall brunette was no longer dancing. Instead, she'd locked lips with her date – or whoever the guy was – and was dry humping him while his friends hooted encouragement.

  I couldn't help but stare. Was that supposed to be sexy? I let out a sigh. Who knows? Maybe it was sexy. When it came to sex, I wasn't exactly an expert, even if I was eighteen.

  Sure, I'd gone to second base multiple times, and had made a disappointing stop on third. But when it came to home runs, I'd been embarrassingly slow to swing.

  Mostly, I just hadn't met the right guy. Whoever he was, I wanted it to be special.

  I glanced toward Bishop – or Jim – or whatever the guy was called, expecting him to be watching the girl on the patio. He wasn't. He was watching me.

  Strangely embarrassed, I glanced away. We'd been sitting there at least ten minutes, and I still wasn't sure where to begin. I stretched out my bare legs and studied my feet, marred by blisters, blood, and bits of dried mud.

  I felt his gaze on my face, and it prompted me to speak.

  "I know what you're thinking," I said.

  "Yeah?" His voice was warm in the chilly night air. "What?"

  "You're thinking I was out on some date, and the guy got all–" I searched for the right word and settled on "–aggressive." I lowered my feet. And then, in a futile attempt to hide my grubbiness, I crossed my ankles and tucked my feet under the park bench.

  "Is that what happened?" he asked.

  I smiled. "Eh, sort of.

  "And you're amused by this?"

  I couldn’t help it. I had to laugh, at least a little. "Well," I began, "the thing is, Russell's this frat guy–"

  "Russell?"

  "Yeah. My so-called date."

  "Your so-called date?"

  I nodded. "Last week, he gets dumped by his girlfriend, but he still needs a date this big formal thing. And he's my best friend's brother, so–" I blew out a breath. "–against my better judgment, I agree to go with him."

  "He couldn't get his own date?"

  This is where things got a little murky. "The thing is," I said, "I owed him a favor."

  "What kind of favor?"

  "I'd rather not say," I admitted. "But it doesn't involve me."

  "Uh-huh."

  "So we make this deal," I said. "I'm supposed to go with him to this frat thing – some end-of-the-school-year bash –and you know, hang all over him, and pretend to be super-crazy about him."

  "Why?"

  "Because," I said, "his ex-girlfriend is going with some other guy."

  "So he wants to get a rise out of her."

  "I guess," I said.

  "So what happened?"

  "So we're at this thing," I said, "and I'm trying to play my part. I'm laughing at all his lame jokes and trying to act like we're a couple."

  "Help me picture this," he said. "How hard were you trying?"

  I gave a hollow laugh. "Well, not as hard as Russell was, that's for sure. See, it's supposed to be totally platonic." I shook my head. "But Russell, he's drinking like a fish, and with every drink, he starts getting more friendly."

  "How friendly?"

  I shuddered, recalling Russell's tongue in my ear and hand on my ass. "Don’t ask."

  When Bishop said nothing, I gave him a sideways glance. He was gazing over the river, his body relaxed and his expression neutral. "Go on," he said.

  "Anyway, this party, it's not even at a public place. It's at some old barn."

  Bishop turned to give me a dubious look. "A barn?"

  "Swear to God," I said. "A big red one, just like in the movies."

  "Okay…"

  "See, it's not just for Russell's fraternity. It's for a bunch of them. Sororities too. They've got this whole city-in-the-country theme going. And this barn, it's totally out in the sticks."

  "No neighbors, no cops. Got it."

  "Right," I said. "So anyway, Russell's getting less and less platonic with every minute, and I tell him to cut it out."

  "But he doesn't."

  I nodded. "So I tell him the deal's off, that I want to leave. And he says no, not 'til I live up to my end of the bargain."

  "Meaning?"

  "Actually," I said, "I didn't ask for details."

  "So then what?"

  "So then," I said, "when he's slugging down a beer, I reach into his side pocket and snag his keys. He's so drunk, he doesn't even notice. And I figure I'll just borrow his car–"

  A ghost of a smile drifted across Bishop's face. "Borrow, huh?"

  "Well, I wasn't gonna keep it," I said. "And besides, he's in no condition to drive. So I sneak out, start his car, and I'm just pulling away when all of a sudden, Russell dives into the passenger seat, acting like a crazy person."

  "Next time," Bishop said, "lock the doors."

  "There's not gonna be a next time."

  "Good to know."

  "So by this time," I said, "I'm so mad that I take off anyway. And Russell's going totally nuts. He's pounding on the dashboard, and screaming his head off."

  I did a poor imitation of Russell's little tirade. "You ruined my night. You led me on. You made me look bad." I turned to Bishop. "And you know what else?"

  "What?"

  "Get this. He calls me a psycho. Seriously, what a turd."

  His mouth twitched at the corners. "So then what?"

  "Mostly, I keep on driving. I figure he can yell all he wants. I'm not going back there. But then, Russell makes a grab for the wheel." I cleared my throat. "So, I, um, socked him."

  Chapter 8

  His tone was bland. "You socked him."

  "Not with my fist or anything."

  "Too bad."

  "Actually, I whacked him with my purse, this little beaded thing." I smiled in spite of myself. "But it did have my cell phone in it, so it definitely made an impression."

  "So he kicked you out?"

  "No," I said. "He, uh, unzipped his pants."

  "Subtle."

  "
Yeah. So I stop the car, and I tell him to get the hell out."

  "But he doesn't."

  "Hell no, he doesn't. He says it's his car, and if anyone needs to get out, it's me. And the more we fight about it–" And by the way his pants are still unzipped. "–the more I realize that I'm a hell of a lot safer alone out in the boonies than I am with him, in his stupid car."

  "So you got out."

  "Yup."

  "And he drove off."

  "Yup." I sighed. "Along with my purse, my phone, and the rest of my cash." I gave a bitter laugh. "All of my cash, actually."

  "How much are we talking about?"

  My stomach clenched just thinking about it. "Six hundred bucks." I wanted to groan. I'd spent most of my senior school-year working as a part-time barista at the hospital. After prepaying some college-related expenses, that cash was all I had left.

  Bishop frowned. "That's a lot of money for a little purse."

  "Yeah, well, I couldn't leave it where I'm staying," I said. "Long story."

  Actually, the story wasn't that long. If I'd left the money at the shop, and my mom got a glimpse of it, she'd be nagging me for a loan – not even for food, but for the business.

  "So tonight," he said, "what were you gonna do? Walk home?"

  I shrugged. "Better than knocking on a stranger's door, right?"

  "But you got on a stranger's bike," he pointed out.

  "Yeah?" My chin rose. "Well, better to die on some stranger's bike than be buried in some creeper's crawl space."

  "So this Russell guy, is he from around here?"

  I nodded. "Actually," I said, glancing around, "I'm half-surprised we haven't seen him yet. He likes to cruise by the river, show off his new Camaro and all that." I looked down to my lap. "Probably, I should call the police. Or at least his parents. I dunno. Maybe they'll know what to do."

  Abruptly, Bishop stood. "Ready for a ride home?"

  I jerked, surprised by the sudden dismissal. But then again, what did I expect? Was he really supposed to sit here all night, listening to me whine about my crappy non-date?

  "Uh, yeah." I pushed away from the bench.

  When he reached out for me, I held up a hand. "I can walk. Thanks."

  He glanced at my feet and frowned.

  I forced out a laugh. "Hey, I was willing to walk all the way home, remember?"