by Dena Christy
Portia crossed her arms and Lyssa moved forward. Portia would not let her out of this, so she might as well get it over with.
She took a deep breath and marched up the wooden steps. She knocked on the door and a husky female voice bid her to enter.
Lyssa opened the door and ducked her head as she went inside. A quick look around showed her that this place looked exactly like what she expected a fortune teller’s caravan to look like. The only light came from pillar candles placed around the room and their glow highlighted the large table in the center of the room. It was covered with a velvet cloth and had a crystal ball in the center.
“Come in. I don’t bite.” The woman beckoned her forward with a hand covered in many rings. A dozen silver bangles tinkled with the motion of her hand. Lyssa came forward and sat across from her.
The woman certainly looked the part. Her midnight hair spilled out from under the scarlet scarf she wore tied on top of her head. Lyssa was willing to bet this woman never had to wear the highest level of sunblock available, and there wasn’t a single freckle on her dusky skin.
The woman raised a dark eyebrow and Lyssa’s cheeks heated as she looked down at her hands. It was almost like the woman could see inside her mind with her jet colored eyes. Which was ridiculous. It must all be part of the show. She'd probably perfected that look in the mirror years ago.
“Once you cross my palm with silver, we can begin.” The woman held out her hand, and Lyssa placed Portia’s money on it. The fortune teller’s rings flashed as she spirited the money away. “What kind of reading would you like? I can scry in the crystal ball, read tarot or perhaps do a rune reading? What about a palm reading?”
Portia hadn’t told her what to choose. Lyssa was under the impression that the fortune teller would say a dark stranger was in her future and she could be on her way. She hadn’t expected to pick the manner in which the woman conned her.
“I don’t know. Which one would be best?”
The woman tilted her head and studied her for a minute. “Runes would be best for you.”
She stood and moved the crystal ball over to a table sitting against the wall. Beside it was an old wooden box. The woman brought it back and placed it on the table with reverence.
The box’s hinges creaked when the fortune teller opened the lid and drew out a drawstring bag. She gave it a shake and spilled the contents on the table. The jewels in her rings winked in the candlelight as she waved her palms over the symbol covered pieces of wood.
“You haven’t had an easy time in your life. The runes tell me you’ve known loss.”
A generic statement. Most people had lost someone by the time they reached her age.
Just enjoy it. Portia had paid for this with the best intentions. She wanted to give her something to think about besides Kevin. It may not be her thing, but she should at least make an effort to have fun with it.
“What else do they say?” She looked down at the runes on the table. They might be for show, but they were pretty.
“I see a man from your past clouding your present. He worries you, doesn’t he?”
Was she talking about Kevin? Her pulse fluttered for a second. How could she know about him? Lyssa hadn’t told her anything about herself. Maybe the fortune teller was good a reading people. She had been concerned about Kevin following her here and her worry must have shown on her face. Perhaps the fortune teller had picked up on it. Or Portia had set all this up to lend authenticity to the show. That had to be it.
The fortune teller gave her a gentle smile when Lyssa didn’t answer her. “You don’t believe. It doesn’t matter. I only know what the ruins tell me. You’re right to be worried about him. He will cause trouble for you before he’s finished.”
Lyssa swallowed. Portia would not want to her to hear something like this. She could not be the source of the fortune teller’s knowledge of Kevin. Great. She knew about him somehow and if she was right, the restraining order would do nothing.
She shoved the fear away. There was no way she knew about Kevin. She must be reading her still, and making guesses that went along with the theme of what this reading would be about.
“What about my future? Is there something good coming at least?” She wanted to hear something positive. Something that would take the sour taste out of her mouth.
The woman stared down at the ruins. Her olive skinned brow wrinkled. “Strange.”
“What is it?” Lyssa clutched edge of the table as she swept a nervous tongue over her lips. She didn't want to hear the word strange. She wanted something positive. Surely to God this woman could read that in her face.
“I’m only getting impressions, nothing concrete. I’m having difficulty interpreting what the runes are telling me.” She swept the runes up in her hand and put them back in the bag. “I’m not getting a clear picture at all.”
She returned the runes to the box and closed the lid.
Was that it? She wasn’t going to tell her? Or was this a con to get more money? If she crossed the woman’s palm with more silver would her future become clear?
“Can you tell me what you saw?” Could she give her something worth paying twenty bucks for? Stuff she already knew wasn’t going to cut it.
The fortune teller looked at her for a few seconds. She pursed her lips as if engaged in an internal debate. “All I saw was a dragon.”
2
Lyssa shook her head as she pulled the fortune teller’s door shut and walked down the steps.
“That was a colossal waste of time. You should be sorry for throwing away twenty bucks.”
Silence answered her back and her head shot up as she looked around. The leaves rustled and played peekaboo with the sunlight struggling to penetrate the crowd of trees. Dim light and a cool breeze were her only company.
“Portia?”
There was no sign of her and Lyssa swallowed. Where was she? She said she would wait for her here. She hadn't been in the caravan that long, had she?
A glance at her naked wrist told her nothing, and she cursed Portia’s desire for an anachronism free day. Who cared if she wore a wrist watch. It wasn’t like there were Renaissance fair police. If anyone had a problem with her having a time piece on her they needed to get a life.
She took a cautious step away from the caravan and the trees loomed over her. This place had been spooky enough when Portia had been with her and now that she alone was the gooseflesh raised up on her arms.
“Stop it.” Her voice boomed around her and only made her feel more alone. “Enough.”
She was not going to freak out, not here and not now. There was nothing to be afraid of. She was going to calmly wait for Portia and stop being such a timid mouse.
When had she become the kind of person who was afraid to leave her house? She’d had an active life, and went out and tried new things all the time. At least she had until Kevin came along.
“Don’t think about him.”
With that muttered admonishment, she hugged her arms around her middle and rocked back and forth on her heels. Wherever she was, Portia better hurry up because she wasn’t going to wait here forever. It had been Portia's idea to come here in the first place. If she was going to go off and do her own thing, then Lyssa was going to wait for her by the car.
The snap of a twig to her left sounded like a crash, and she hugged her arms tighter around herself as she swung her head around.
“Portia?”
No answer. Her eyes tried to penetrate the shadows clinging to the trees near where the sound had come from. There was something there, but she couldn’t make out what it was. She blinked several times, trying to clear away the shadowy figure her imagination wanted to conjure. She was sure there was someone there, but didn’t she always think that lately?
Another shiver skated down her spine as a scent came to her on the breeze stirring around her. She would swear it smelled like Kevin’s cologne, which he always wore too much of.
Her stomach turned sour and s
he couldn’t hug herself any tighter. She was vulnerable out here in the trees. She needed to find Portia and she fought the urge to bolt out of the woods like a scared rabbit.
Lyssa walked away from the clearing as fast as she could. It was only when she was out in the sunshine that her heart slowed its frantic pace. The world of the fair around her seemed so normal. Her last moments in the clearing seemed like a bad dream in comparison.
Had she imagined it all? Had listening to the fortune teller talk about Kevin, even in the vaguest of terms, sent her imagination into overdrive?
She didn’t think so, but lately she thought she saw him around every corner. He invaded her dreams at night, and she was getting sick to death of seeing his face. What she wouldn’t give to relax and not think about Kevin for once.
She scanned the crowd, but could see no sign of Portia. She wouldn’t feel safe until she was reunited with her friend. If Kevin was here, she didn’t think he would hurt Portia, but she hadn’t thought he would stalk her when she broke up with him either.
She walked forward into the crowd and the skin on the back of her neck crawled. She could feel eyes on her, she was certain of it.
The panic she’d battled earlier came back, but she didn’t look to see if Kevin was behind her. It was cowardly, but if she checked and he wasn’t there it meant the paranoia was getting the better of her. If he was there, then he really had followed her. She was damned no matter what she did.
She turned her head to the right, and out of the corner of her eye she saw a man that could be him. What was she going to do? Turn and confront him, cause a scene that might only make things worse? Calling the police was out, since she’d left her cellphone in Portia’s car. If only there was a way she could show Kevin she had moved on.
So this was Rickman’s notion of an alternative to strippers? Andor stood at the side of what was supposed to be a medieval fair and shook his head. This looked nothing like a medieval fair, and the people running it were perpetrating a fraud on all in attendance. They did not appear to mind if the way they looked was any indication. He did not think he had ever seen such a brightly colored, gaudy bunch in his life, but at least it was better than watching women strip for money.
“Are you sure this is meant to be a medieval fair? It does not look like any fair I have attended.”
“Do you have to suck the fun out of everything? Strippers aren’t good enough for you, and I bring you to a place where you might be more comfortable and you want to shit on that too?”
Andor sighed. He was being too hard on his minion. Rickman was trying to help him, and while this was not exactly what he had imagined, it was nice to get out of the house.
He was also much more comfortable in the clothes he was wearing, which were authentic medieval clothing. Rickman had apprised him of where they were going and told him that he should dress the part. He had put on the clothing he had fallen asleep in six hundred years ago. He wore them when he wanted to move about with the villagers in his human form. They were peasant clothes, the finest that money could buy.
“What do you suggest I do?” This was new territory for him and he hoped Rickman had a plan.
“Walk around, mingle with people, smile and be friendly. The point is to see if there are any women here that attract you.” Rickman stepped away from him with an eager look on his face.
A short stab of panic lanced Andor, and he grabbed his minion by the back of the collar. He tugged him back, and Rickman struggled for a moment. He eventually saw the futility of it and stayed where he was.
“Where do you think you are going?” There were a lot more people here than he was used to. The fairs he had attended centuries ago had not been as crowded as this. The populous at the time had been decimated by plague.
“You have to look for a woman to talk to, and it will be easier if you don’t have a wingman. I am stuffing my face with chimichangas. I’ll come find you later.”
Rickman grabbed Andor’s wrist and lifted his hand away from the back of his collar. Andor let it drop to his side as Rickman walked away, leaving him standing there alone. He had no notion of what a wing man or a chimichanga was. Most of the time he was certain that Rickman did not use real words when he talked to him. Half of what he said made no sense.
There was nothing for it but to walk amongst the people and see if he could strike up a conversation with someone.
He walked forward and scanned the crowd. There were so many people here. What did one say to a stranger in this time so they were not afraid? In his time communities were rather close knit and strangers made people wary.
He spied a small wooden building meant to look like a tavern, and the sign out front indicated that they sold beverages. Perhaps it would be easier for him once he had a tankard of ale to settle his nerves. Fortunately he had the green paper so he could go get a drink and observe the crowd for a while before he ventured to talk to someone.
Once he had purchased his ale in a plastic cup, he sat down at a table that had been set up outside. From his vantage point he could easily see the people milling about the fair grounds. There were a number of women here, dressed in various costumes but as his eyes scanned the crowd, he didn’t see anyone that he wanted to talk to.
What would he talk about? He was up to date on current events, but Rickman had assured him that such topics were boring. It would be much easier if he could take what he wanted. In his time women were not fussy, especially since he was clean, wealthy and not riddled with disease or a deformity. What more could a woman want?
The sheen of something red caught his eye and he turned his attention toward it. His breath caught for a moment when he saw her. The red was her hair glinting in the sun, and as she turned in his direction, he swallowed when he saw how the creamy flesh of her full breasts filled the white shirt she wore. Her waist was tiny, her hips full, and if she danced in front of him he knew she would have the perfect amount of jiggle.
What stopped him cold was the look of distress on her face. She looked to the left and right and appeared to be trying to blend in with the crowd. A woman with fiery hair and skin the color of cream would not blend in. He could not see the color of her eyes from here, but he was willing to wager that they were the color of emeralds or perhaps jade. He shoved his chair back. He had found the woman he wanted to talk to.
A shadow fell across him, and he looked up to see a woman dressed similarly to the woman he had just seen. Unlike the redhead, this one looked strangely familiar. He could not place where he had seen her, but he was certain that it would come to him in a moment.
“Can I help you?” He stood with every intention of walking away from her, but she put her hand on his arm to halt him.
He did not want to talk to her since he had seen the woman he wanted to introduce himself to. This one had blonde hair that did not look at all natural, and far too much paint on her face. She was also more slender than he preferred, but she had those strange round breasts that Rickman told him were counterfeit.
“Would you be interested in buying a thirsty girl a drink, handsome?” She fluttered eyelashes at him that were caked with a black substance, and pouted her lips. They looked strange too. It appeared she had drawn them on with red paint but had gone outside the natural line of her lips. He shifted to the side, hoping to see if the redhead was still there.
The blonde shifted too and made it so he could not see anyone but her. Andor let out a sigh and directed his attention to her.
“I have no interest in buying you a drink.” Normally he would not be rude to a woman, but this one was too forward for his liking. She had been rude first, expecting him to buy her a drink just because she pushed herself into his path. She should have waited for him to offer.
“Excuse me? Any man would be lucky to buy me a drink.” She crossed her arms over her chest and swung her head so her blonde hair flipped over her shoulder. Something about her movement triggered a memory, and he knew where he had seen her before.
“I know you. It took me a moment to recognize you with your clothes on. You are one of the strippers Rickman took me to see.”
Her face turned red and her mouth opened and closed like a landed fish. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I am certain it is you. I remember you were the one my minion favored. He stuffed a lot of money into the tiny bits of string you used to cover your bottom. Your name is Chastity, is it not?” Her face turned redder, and for a moment he thought perhaps he had offended her. “Was I not supposed to recognize you? I will not tell anyone here what it is you do for a living. Rickman says most strippers are putting themselves through school. I have my doubts, but only you would know your true motives for taking your clothes off for money.”
Chastity let out a screech, swept his cup up in her hand and threw the contents at him. He jumped back when the cold liquid hit him. What the hell had he done to deserve that?
“Screw you, jerk.” Her voice hit a tone that grated on his ears, and she turned on her heel and stalked away. At least he had gotten her out of his way.
He scanned the crowd for the redhead, but could not see her anywhere. Unfortunately, his conversation with Chastity had distracted his attention long enough for him to lose track of her. Now his shirt was wet and he smelled like a brew house. Perhaps this whole notion of meeting a woman here was not meant to be. Talking to Chastity had shown him that women found speaking with him offensive.
He sighed as he walked away from the tables and went in search of Rickman. Hopefully he was done with his chimichangas because Andor was ready to return home. He moved through the crowd, but there was no sign of his minion.
A hand clutched his arm, and he turned out of reflex to see who would dare to put their hands on him. There was no threat that he could see, and to his surprise it was a woman who clutched at him.
