Misfortune Teller

by Dima Zales

  I slide the cylinder out, showing them it’s empty.

  If they were Special Forces, they would’ve charged me right then and there, but they seem to be stunned by my irrational behavior and stay still.

  With a flourish, I put the bullet into the cylinder, push the cylinder back in, and give it a satisfying-sounding spin.

  “This game is called Russian Roulette,” I say to my captivated audience.

  The large canines take a step back, tails on all but the biggest wiggling uncertainly.

  This next part of my plan is another moment they could take advantage of, so I do it as fast as I can.

  I point the gun at my own temple, and before anyone can growl, I demonstratively press the trigger.

  My head doesn’t blow up.

  Instead, the gun makes that empty-chamber click.

  “Your turn,” I say.

  Without giving them a chance to react, I point the gun at the biggest she-wolf and press the trigger again.

  Her head doesn’t blow up either, but the beast’s panicked squeal sounds very human-like. The creature tucks her tail between her legs and makes some vocalizations that sound like a wolf trying to speak English.

  I pointedly spin the cylinder. “What? You want to go again?”

  Before the wolf can reply, assuming she can reply, I press the trigger, and the gun goes clickity-click again.

  A flash of energy emanates from the biggest wolf, blinding me.

  If they charge me now, I’m screwed.

  When my vision returns, however, all I see is naked Roxy standing there on all fours, giving Maya—who’s standing bug-eyed behind her—an X-rated view.

  “You’re totally insane!” Roxy jolts to her feet, parts of her anatomy bouncing around.

  She’s impressively unselfconscious of her body. Then again, she must be used to shifting in this state—not to mention, she’s got the lean musculature of a fitness model.

  I spin the cylinder again, point the gun at her human forehead, and press the trigger.

  The gun clicks impotently once more.

  “Please stop.” Is that a tear in Roxy’s eye? “You have to let us go.”

  “Fine. You lose the game. Now go.” I spin the cylinder again and step to the side as I point the gun at them, pretending like I might play another round.

  Naked Roxy and her still-furry friends dash desperately to the staircase, scooping up their clothes with hands, paws, and teeth.

  They—especially the wolf ones—are moving so fast I marvel that my idiotic plan worked.

  “Are you okay?” I ask Maya after the few moments it takes for the werewolves to skedaddle.

  “I-I think so.” Maya bends down, and I notice her glasses lying broken on the floor. She’s shaking so hard I wonder if she’s as afraid of me as she was of her attackers.

  I put the gun back into my bag and soothingly say, “Good. Where do you live?”

  “Downtown Manhattan,” she says, a bit calmer, and rattles out an address.

  “We’re basically neighbors,” I say with a reassuring smile. “Let’s ride home together to make sure you have no more misadventures.”

  She bobs her head and puts the remnants of the glasses into her pocket as we head to the turnstiles.

  I get out my MetroCard and pay for the both of us.

  “Thank you,” she says when we get to the train platform. “I thought they’d maul me for sure this time.”

  “Wouldn’t they get in trouble? And if you die, wouldn’t they answer to the Council?”

  Maya shrugs. “Roxy is crazy.”

  “That she is.”

  “But you’re even worse.” Maya looks at me, eyes wide. “You could’ve shot yourself.”

  “You really thought so?” I can’t suppress my excited grin. “Would you swear you saw the bullet go into the gun?”

  “Yes,” she says, eyeing me in confusion. “The bullet did go into the gun. I’m not blind without my glasses, you know.”

  I look around the empty train station and conspiratorially whisper, “I’ll tell you a secret, but you have to swear you won’t tell a soul.”

  She bobs her head, fear creeping into her eyes again. She must think I’m certifiable.

  “I only pretended to put the bullet into the gun.” I show her the bullet that I still have palmed in my hand.

  She blinks at it uncomprehendingly.

  I perform some of the vanishes with the bullet and show her my unexpectedly empty hand a couple of times.

  “How?” She rubs her eyes.

  “As I started to tell you in class, I’m an illusionist,” I say. “At least I was until recently.”

  “I thought you were a seer,” she says. “You have double powers? Like Loki and Lilith?”

  “I’m a sleight-of-hand artist,” I say. “Are you telling me there’s an actual Cognizant type called ‘illusionist?’”

  “Sure,” she says. “They can make you experience whatever they want. Very trippy stuff.”

  I rub my forehead, wondering what I’d have to call myself if I ever do score a career as a performer for the Cognizant.

  Then again, given the existence of these real illusionists, I wouldn’t impress anyone anyway.

  A train shows up in the distance, so we stay silent until it rolls up and opens the doors.

  Inside, the car is empty, and we have our choice of seats. Got to love Sunday afternoons in the boroughs.

  “What if someone had entered the station when they were in wolf form?” I ask Maya when we sit down. “Wouldn’t they be breaking the Mandate by being in that form?”

  “Like I said before, Roxy is batshit.” Maya sounds a lot more confident now. “But I guess they could’ve pretended to be Siberian huskies or something.”

  I roll my eyes. “Sure, that’s believable. No one would question the pile of clothes, or that they looked more like Chernobyl mutants than Siberian huskies.”

  Maya chuckles. “They will definitely think twice before they mess with you again.”

  “Hey. I’d rather be feared than loved,” I say in my most Machiavellian tone.

  Maya’s laugh is as cute as the rest of her, but I don’t mention it. I sense she might be resentful of compliments that single out her petite stature.

  “So what’s your story?” she says, still smiling. “How come you’re at Orientation at… err… your age?”

  “Are you also about to call me ma’am?” I say in mock horror.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “I’m just messing with you,” I say and smile. “I only learned that I’m a Cognizant recently.”

  “You did?” Maya looks genuinely intrigued. “How could you not know?”

  I proceed to tell her a short version of my story—how I was adopted at an early age and how going on TV supersized my powers and nearly got me executed by the Council.

  “So you don’t have any idea who your biological parents are?” Maya’s eyes are touchingly full of empathy.

  “Nope. But I’m trying to find out,” I say, and then tell her how Fluffster might’ve known my parents, but his amnesia isn’t letting him recall who they were.

  “Perhaps I can help?” Maya looks at me shyly. “With your pet, I mean.”

  “That would be great.” I look her diminutive form up and down with unabashed curiosity. “How?”

  “Well,” she says, her confidence quickly evaporating. “I’ve never met a domovoi, but I can usually use my power to figure out to whom something or someone belongs.”

  “That’s an interesting idea.” I scratch the top of my head. “It’s funny. Though I’ve pretended to have your power during my performances, I’m not used to thinking of it as real yet.”

  “How can you pretend to do what I do?” she asks, her eyes growing wide again.

  “It’s a classic effect in mentalism and is usually referred to as pseudo-psychometry. I can show you a demonstration, but I’d need a group of people first,” I say. “Do you have to go straight home or c
an you swing by my place and do your thing with my chinchilla? I can feed you dinner, and if my roommates are home, I can show my version of psychometry.”

  “My parents expect me to have Sunday night dinner with them,” Maya says, barely hiding her disappointment. “How about I just swing by to help with your domovoi, and take a raincheck on hanging out?”

  “Deal,” I say. “Now let me text my roommate to see if he will feed me.”

  Maya smiles, and we both take out our phones.

  Turning mine back on, I’m shocked to find dozens of messages from work.

  The latest one from Nero is short and sweet.

  Call me back. Immediately.

  “I’m sorry,” I say to Maya. “I’ve got to call work.”

  “Of course,” Maya says, nodding quickly. “It must be so cool to have an adult job.”

  “Arguable,” I say and dial Nero’s number in video conference mode.

  Nero is in his midtown office when he picks up—so at least he’s not making people work on the weekend without suffering himself. He’s got a scratchy-looking stubble on his face, and his blue-gray eyes look weary; he must’ve stared at screens for twenty hours straight.

  “Ah. Finally. It’s the busy bee,” he says in a voice that brings to mind a tyrannosaurus eating a grizzly. “I’m so glad you finally decided to grace us with your attention.”

  I redden, but not from his teasing. A memory of last night sneaks into my brain, and I recall thinking about those broad shoulders while holding a vibrating Copperfield between my legs.

  Maya peeks at my phone, puts her hand outside the camera view, and gives me two huge thumbs up.

  I cover the mic and hiss, “That’s my boss, Nero.” Removing my hand and catching Nero’s gaze, I say, “I was at Orientation.” In my periphery, I see Maya’s eyes threatening to jump out of their sockets. “You’re the one who gave me the card to arrange Orientation,” I tell Nero. “In fact, next to me is one of the students I met today, so please don’t say anything you wouldn’t want her to overhear.”

  “You’re needed at the office,” he says in a flat tone. “The reason for the emergency isn’t public knowledge, so I do appreciate the heads-up about our lack of privacy.”

  A bunch of retorts flit though my mind. They range from simple ones, like “it’s Sunday” to complex ones, like “I’d rather get my teeth drilled by drunk elephants than research more stocks.”

  Unfortunately, everything that comes to mind would get me fired, so I keep trying to think of some brilliant yet inoffensive excuse. Preferably one that would also be true, since Nero is a freaking polygraph man.

  “So that’s settled then,” he says tersely. “See you soon.”

  He hangs up.

  I stare at my phone.

  He didn’t even give me a chance to make a snide remark.

  The nerve of that guy.

  “Was that Nero Gorin?” Maya asks in a hushed whisper.

  “Yeah,” I say, still pissed at him. “In the flesh. Or phone or whatever.”

  “Nero is your boss?” she clarifies in a tone I’d use to say something like, “Elvis is your fairy godmother?”

  I nod. “What’s so special about him anyway? Maybe you can tell me that?”

  She covers her mouth dramatically. “My mom said he’s the most dangerous Cognizant in New York. Maybe even in the world.”

  “That’s very specific,” I say and pause at the noise of the train stopping and the doors screeching open. “Did your mom say anything else?”

  “He’s definitely the richest Cognizant on the planet,” she says. “And they say he made upirs go extinct.” At my questioning look, she explains, “Upir is a vicious type of Cognizant that’s like a vampire, only without even a hint of a conscience and with a hunger that was insatiable even if they fed. They caused a lot of problems in Eastern Europe, and according to what I’ve heard, Nero made them all disappear.”

  “Stand clear of the closing doors,” says the train conductor in an automated voice.

  A sense of dread suddenly overcomes me.

  I wouldn’t have expected rumors about Nero to have such an effect on me.

  Then I spot a blur of movement outside and quickly realize that the dread sensation has nothing to do with Nero, and everything to do with a huge orc that boards the train in the last second before the doors slide shut.

  He’s even bigger than the orcs I met earlier—so massively tall he has to hunch in order not to hit his head on the ceiling of the train car. His right hand is behind his back, and he’s covered in makeup that barely disguises the green hue of his skin.

  “Pretend like you don’t know me,” I urgently whisper to stunned-silent Maya. “Stare at your phone and do not look up.”

  The orc takes a menacing step in my direction.

  Maya’s hands are shaking, but she puts her phone in front of her face and does as instructed.

  I curse myself for not putting the bullets back into my gun.

  Could I load and shoot before the orc knows what hit him?

  Doesn’t seem likely, but it’s worth a try.

  My left hand goes into my pocket to get the bullet as my right one snakes into the bag.

  “Take those hands out of there, or I’ll rip them off,” the orc says and moves his hand from behind his back.

  His gargantuan gun seems redundant with all those muscles, but that doesn’t stop him from pointing the thing at my head.

  My stomach takes a dive, but I pull my hands out as ordered.

  It’s not like I would’ve made it anyway.

  “Now.” The orc’s ugly face twists into the eeriest smile I’ve ever seen. “Give me all your money or die.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  This is a robbery?

  I’m so confused I momentarily forget to be scared.

  Why would this orc decide to mug me? Do they even use dollars on the world he’s secretly from? Isn’t Chester—or whoever—paying him to kill me? Maybe the pay isn’t so good?

  Or is he saying this because of Maya’s presence? Maybe he would’ve just killed me, but because of a witness, he’s trying to make my murder look like a mugging gone wrong. Perhaps whoever hired these orcs to kill me told them to make my death look like an accident—hence the whole pushing me into the harbor (though the rescue doesn’t add up), throwing a brick at my head, trying to ram a car into me…

  If this theory is true, I have to make sure this mugging goes as smoothly as muggings can go and—

  “I said, ‘Give me your money,’” he snarls and gestures with his cannon-like gun.

  “I have to put my hand back into the bag to get my wallet,” I tell him, doing my best to not sound challenging.

  His brows furrow for a moment. “Do it slowly.”

  I get inside the bag and curse myself for taking out those bullets again. If the gun was loaded, I could’ve risked shooting him through the bag. As is, I grab my wallet and slowly take it out.

  At one point in my life, I had fantasized about getting mugged—though not exactly like this.

  Tommy Wonder, one of the greatest magicians, has a routine called the Ring, the Watch, and the Wallet. In that effect, he tells a story about how he was mugged, and as he speaks, he removes the watch from his wrist, the ring from his finger, and the money from his wallet—and puts it all into an envelope. Then he shows the envelope empty and everything returned to its original place.

  I fantasized about doing something like that if I were ever mugged myself, but such an effect requires preparation. I also didn’t anticipate how scary a real mugging would be—though I guess this mugging isn’t real, because as I established earlier, it makes no sense for an orc to rob me.

  “Not that slowly,” the orc says after he gets tired of the glacial movement of my wallet-clutching hand.

  I rush to get the wallet out and open it.

  Crap.

  Why did I bring so much cash with me today?

  Taking out the entire four hundred a
nd sixty-five dollars, I hand them to the “mugger.”

  He stuffs the cash into his pocket and looks at Maya, as though noticing her for the first time. His forehead furrows in the orc equivalent of a thoughtful expression. The mental gymnastics he’s doing must be strenuous because he’s almost sweating with the effort.

  “You there.” He points his weapon at trembling Maya. “Give me your money too.”

  “Oh, come on,” I can’t help blurting out. “Chester isn’t paying you to mess with her.”

  The gun points back at my head, and the look of complete incomprehension on the orc’s face makes me wonder if Chester isn’t behind all this after all. It’s either that, or this orc is a surprisingly good actor.

  “What did you just say?” He stares at me threateningly as Maya shrinks back against one of the seats.

  I keep my mouth shut, and he turns to her again, prodding her shoulder with his gun.

  “Your money, I said,” he snarls as she whimpers.

  “Hey, leave her alone!” I can’t watch this for a second longer. “You were hired to bother me, not her.”

  This time, my words seem to light up a big, green lightbulb above his head. “What?” he growls and advances toward me. “Say that again.”

  Self-preservation kicks in, and I instinctively back away.

  The orc leaps for me with a speed that’s shocking for his size.

  In a split second, he grabs my upper arm, his huge paw nearly crushing my shoulder socket.

  Damn, he’s strong. My shoulder feels like someone stuck me into a hydraulic press.

  “Let her go!” Maya screams hysterically. “Here is all my money.”

  I open my eyes. When did I close them?

  Maya is holding out a little pink wallet and a few scrunched-up dollar bills.

  The orc lets go of my arm and snatches the cash, his sausage-like fingers looking like a CGI effect next to Maya’s tiny palm.

  “Close your eyes and count to a thousand out loud,” he orders, his gun pointing first at me, then at Maya, then back again.

  “Please don’t kill us,” Maya whispers, her eyes closed so tightly her whole face twists with the effort.

  “Shut it,” he barks.

  I close my eyes, my whole body numb.

  Here comes the Cognizant afterlife.