The Fortune Teller's Daughter

by Diane Wood

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Other Books by Diane Wood

  About the Author

  Dedication

  Acknowledgment

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  Bella Books

  Copyright © 2014 by Diane Wood

  Bella Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 10543

  Tallahassee, FL 32302

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  First Bella Books Edition 2014

  eBook released 2014

  Editor: Medora MacDougall

  Cover Designer: Linda Callaghan

  ISBN: 978-1-59493-393-6

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Other Books by Diane Wood

  Web of Obsessions

  About the Author

  Diane Wood was raised by an English mother and Scottish father between New Zealand, England, Scotland and Australia. Leaving home just after her fifteenth birthday, she fled to far North Western Australia where, by falsifying her birth certificate and qualifications, she won a position with an outback mining company. Returning to the UK as a seventeen-year-old, Diane worked on the London buses, joined the Army, got kicked out of the Army for being a lesbian, joined the Prison Service and spent many years enjoying the gay life in London—before returning to Australia. Losing both parents within weeks of each other as a teenager and years later, her brother to murder, Diane found an outlet in writing, and shortly after her brother’s death began the process of writing her first novel, Web of Obsessions, which was published in 2013.

  Diane now lives on the Central Coast of New South Wales with her partner of thirty-one years, and is working toward the magical day when she can retire to full-time writing.

  Dedication

  To our beloved friends, Gerry and Anne

  Your incredible generosity will stay in our hearts forever

  Now, during this, the worst of times,

  this book is dedicated to you and your battle

  Fight the Fight

  And always know that the force of our Love is with you

  Acknowledgment

  To my ever supportive and ever loving Barb, who is there for me every step of the way—not just in my writing, but in all things that happen around it. I cannot thank you enough.

  A special thanks to my editor, Medora MacDougall. You challenged me to do things differently, and because of your efforts the book is much improved. Best of all, I learned so much from you. My gratitude also to all at Bella—you took my dream and made it real, and now you’re doing it again.

  To all of those friends and readers who bought my first novel, Web of Obsessions—thank you for your feedback and support, and especially to Terry who bought multiple copies, gave them to her friends and then organised a BBQ where we could all meet. With support like that, how could I not keep on writing?

  Prologue

  Already nervous, Christine swallowed hard as she watched Nathalie Duncan push open the wrought-iron gate and step back into the shadows—at the same time motioning for her to lead the way. She hesitated, trepidation causing her heart to skip a beat and her large green eyes to widen in alarm. Her every instinct screamed for her to leave. Yet her youthful innocence made her want to please.

  “It’s okay, Chris,” Nat murmured, looking into the vine-and tree-covered walkway. “It’s dark, but it’s okay.”

  “I don’t know, Nat,” she whispered. “This is a bit weird. Why do we have to do this?”

  “Because Mother wants to meet you,” the dark girl responded automatically. “She’s insisting on meeting you. Please, Christine…for me?” Desperation flowed from intense gray eyes.

  Nodding reluctantly, Christine ducked to avoid overhanging branches as a hideous shriek rent the air. Screaming, she turned to flee, and crashed wildly into her girlfriend.

  “Shit,” mumbled Nat, hurriedly grabbing Christine’s hand. “It’s only a cat.”

  “Jesus,” Chris hissed, angrily, a shiver passing down her spine. “Can’t we just do it another time?”

  Without replying, Nat used her free hand to hammer with the old-fashioned knocker.

  “I thought you lived here. Don’t you have a key?”

  “I do,” she replied with a shrug, reaching into the pocket of her jacket. “But Mother likes me to knock first.” Pulling out a set of keys, she undid first one lock and then a second. Pushing the door with her elbow and stepping into the hallway, she indicated for Christine to join her.

  Peering into the dimness, Chris felt overwhelmed. Having a lover, and a female one at that, was peculiar enough at her age without this strange ritual that Nat was insisting on.

  To their right a large wooden staircase disappeared upward, and to the left the gloom of the corridor stretched endlessly before them. Moving down the hall, they made their way in single file toward another heavy wooden door. The light filtering underneath it appeared to be the only light in the house, and it occurred to Christine that it was strange that Nat hadn’t turned on a hall light. Then she felt the warmth of Nat’s hand touch her back, guiding her firmly forward.

  Nathalie knocked lightly before pushing open the door. It looked like a door that would creak on rusty hinges. Instead it opened smoothly and silently. The light in the room was dim, but compared to the darkness in the hallway it appeared comforting. The room was empty except for several poodles sitting motionless—watching—their black eyes tracking every movement—their silence unnerving.

  “Mother must be in the sunroom,” Nathalie said, glancing around the room but making no comment about the dogs.

  Suppressing a shudder, Christine looked around. The room had an open fireplace but no fire, and it felt even colder than outside. The furniture was old-fashioned but of good quality, and the wallpaper appeared colorless and mottled. She couldn’t tell whether that was because of the way the light reflected from the two heavily covered lampshades or whether it really was stained and old.

  Wordlessly, Nathalie guided Christine toward a door at the far end of the room. Still the dogs didn’t move or make a sound—not that Christine would have heard them over the frantic pounding of her heart. Looking at Nathalie’s face, she was concerned to see the iciness reflected back at her. Nat was every bit as scared as she was. This realization only worried her more.

  Again Nathalie knocked lightly before pushing the door open. This room seemed even more dimly lit than the one they were leaving, but as Christine stepped down the single step into the room, it at least felt to her somewhat warmer.

  “Hello, Mother,” greeted Nat quietly into the large room. “I’ve brought Christine to meet you.”

  Squinting into the dimness, Christine made out the figure of a woman sitting at what
appeared to be a card table. Her body was bent over the table, and the single bar electric heater at her feet cast an eerie red glow over her lower body.

  “Welcome, my dear,” replied the woman without looking up. “It’s so nice to have you to my home. Do come in.” The voice was low and smooth and the welcome almost sensual as the woman continued to look at the cards spread before her.

  As Nathalie pushed her forward, Christine glanced around the room. It was quite a narrow room, but a long one and it opened out beyond where Nathalie’s mother sat. All the windows were heavily curtained and every piece of furniture had something on it—books, charts, Tarot cards, crystals, candles and still more books.

  Originally the room would have been a parlor, where years ago the ladies of the house entertained their guests in privacy. Now it was being used as a living room and study. Someone needed to replace the lightbulbs in the mock chandelier that hung directly over the card table. Its four small bulbs made everything in the room look dull and dingy. Swallowing a feeling of dread, Christine took a step toward Nathalie’s mother.

  Only now did the woman begin to rise from her table.

  At first she thought that Nat’s mother was very old and thin, but clearly the light had played tricks, because as she stood to receive the introduction, the woman before her appeared young, slim and stunningly beautiful.

  “So pleased to meet you,” the woman gushed, moving forward. “The cards are very auspicious for today’s meeting,” she said, indicating the spread of Tarot cards on the table beside her. Then, taking the surprised girl into her arms, she gave her a lingering—and very un-motherly—kiss.

  The intimacy and passion of it took Christine aback, the overwhelming attractiveness and sensuality of this woman and the feel of her body against her own leaving her aroused and disgusted all at once. This was her lover’s mother. This was all wrong.

  “Pleased to meet you,” she mumbled, trying to pull her eyes away from the intensity of the woman’s gaze. Could the woman read her mind, sense her arousal? Suddenly Chris knew that she could—and that she was enjoying it. Her emotions in overdrive, Chris managed a glance toward Nathalie, expecting to see embarrassment or a look of apology. All she saw was open resentment aimed squarely at her mother. This time when she focused back on Nat’s mother she saw triumph reflected in her eyes. Oddly she felt flattered by the attention.

  “Can we move into the lounge?” Nat inquired quietly. “It would be more comfortable.”

  “No, I think the parlor will be fine,” stated her mother, casting an impatient look at her. “I’d have to move my dogs if we used that room, and besides it’s too formal.”

  Moving away from Christine, the woman began to walk toward the rear of the room, showing them both to an old-fashioned living area. The back part of the room was as packed with furniture and books as the study was, but here at least the seats were empty—as if awaiting the arrival of guests.

  “Nathalie, do make us some coffee, won’t you?” her mother demanded, gesturing toward a rear door.

  For a moment Nathalie didn’t move, her eyes flicking between Christine and her mother, her reluctance to leave obvious.

  The hesitation hadn’t gone unnoticed.

  Glancing toward her daughter, her mother insisted, “Now, Nathalie. Goodness, girl, we’ll all die of thirst waiting for you.” The voice was soft and gentle and at odds with the intensity of the demand.

  Panic at being left alone with this strange woman flooded Chris, and she looked pleadingly at Nat, but her friend’s focus was on her mother. Christine’s heart sank as Nathalie turned and disappeared through the dark brown door.

  “So, you’re Nathalie’s newest girlfriend?” the woman stated, sitting down in a rigid-backed chair and gesturing toward the ancient green sofa. “You’re fourteen too, I presume? I must say that you’re not like her usual friends.”

  Still embarrassed from the kiss and unsure what to say, Christine made a production of settling herself into her seat. As she did so, she took the opportunity to look around the room. It was as ill-lit as the others, and although there was a small lamp on a covered coffee table not far from them, most of the light seemed to come from the strange-looking chandelier near the card table. Suddenly she felt small and very much out of her depth.

  “Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Duncan,” she said timidly. “Nathalie has spoken about you often.”

  “Oh, I doubt that, my dear,” she challenged. Her eyes were flat and lifeless. “I truly don’t think Nathalie is very fond of me. But then that’s a mother’s lot isn’t it? Raising children, only to have them argue or rebel at the first opportunity.”

  The words held a hint of annoyance, but then she smiled, and the tension dissolved—to be replaced by a feeling of warm acceptance. It was as if a potent drug had just been released into the atmosphere, heightening Christine’s awareness of her surroundings and of the attraction and fear she felt toward her lover’s mother. Overwhelmed by guilt and confusion, Christine dragged her eyes away and again began looking around the room.

  Every wall was covered in prints or paintings of esoteric beings—goblins, witches, angels, leprechauns, anything representing that other world. Nathalie had told her that her mother was heavily involved in the occult and that she read the fortunes of the wealthy for a living, but nothing had prepared Christine for this house or the feelings Nat’s mother would evoke. “Your house is very interesting, Mrs. Duncan,” she lied, desperate to break the silence. “Nathalie told me you’re interested in the occult.”

  “Oh, not just interested, my dear,” declared the woman with that flirtatious smile. “I live the occult and it lives through me.” Then, pausing to adjust her long flowing skirt, she said, “But please, call me Charlotte…and my surname is Silver. I was never married to Nathalie’s father. He only stayed around long enough to put his name on her birth certificate.”

  Something about the way she spoke reminded Christine of her grandparents, yet the woman couldn’t have been more than about thirty-four, and she looked even younger. Her body was slim and supple, and although she gave the impression of being a “dark” woman, her coloring was actually very fair. Even as Christine tried to evaluate what it was about Charlotte that fascinated her so much, it occurred to her that her assessment hadn’t gone unnoticed. The woman’s smile had become blatantly sexual and her eyes deliciously inviting.

  As Christine struggled to hide the blush spreading across her face, Nathalie entered the room with a tray in her hands. For a second she seemed to hesitate and Christine noted the flash of anger in her eyes and how the smooth dark skin crinkled around her mouth. She appeared tense and worried, but her eyes didn’t meet those of either Christine or her mother. Instead she busied herself playing hostess. Had she sensed the electricity between them?

  Laying the tray on a table, Nathalie handed her mother a black coffee and offered a plate of chocolate biscuits. Taking one with an acknowledging nod, Charlotte watched as Nathalie handed Christine her cup, extended the biscuits and then took a seat beside her.

  “I hope Mother hasn’t been asking too many awkward questions while I was gone,” Nathalie said without any hint of humor. “You know what mothers can be like.”

  “Well, it isn’t every day that a mother gets to meet her daughter’s lover, is it now, Christine?” Then addressing Nathalie, “You are lovers, aren’t you, darling?” she asked pointedly.

  “Yes, Mother, we are,” answered Nathalie quietly, glancing in Christine’s direction. “But really that’s our business.”

  “Oh, of course it is, my darling, of course it is,” she murmured. “But you know how fascinated I am by anything perverse.”

  Stunned, Christine looked toward Nathalie, expecting her to be embarrassed or angry.

  Instead she found Nathalie smiling at her mother, as if proud that she was doing something that had made her mother sit up and take notice.

  For just an instant, Christine could see a likeness between mother and daugh
ter. It wasn’t a physical thing because Nat’s athletic darkness was in complete contrast to her mother’s delicate fairness. It was more in the strange challenging look that each wore and the coldness in their eyes. It sent a twinge of fear through her, as, with a start, she realized how little she truly knew about Nathalie Duncan.

  * * *

  They’d met at school a few months earlier, when Christine had moved to Sydney’s inner city with her mother and older sister. It wasn’t that they’d wanted to leave their large suburban home, but when her father had died, leaving them few resources, her mother had decided they needed a smaller, cheaper place that was closer to her work.

  It had been traumatic for them all, but more so for a fourteen-year-old already suffering the disturbance of her emerging sexuality. For the longest time she made no effort to connect with anyone at her new school, but eventually her looks attracted a few. Still she was the outsider, groups and cliques having already formed in the earlier years of high school.

  Then she’d met Nathalie. She had immediately been affected by the power of the strange dark girl with the very short hair. At times she seemed to blend perfectly into her surroundings, but at other times it was impossible not to notice her. In class she answered questions only when directly asked, but she always got them right, and when it came to tests or exams Nathalie never failed to earn top marks. Her classmates were in awe of her—but also envious, curious and discreetly disdainful.

  The very strangeness of Nathalie attracted Christine and made her want to know more.

  Theirs was a multiethnic school, yet Nathalie didn’t seem to fit within any of the obvious social or racial groups. Her hair was black and spiky, her eyes were the lightest gray and she had skin the color of coffee latte, but her race was a complete mystery. At first she’d appeared to Christine as confident and aloof, but gradually it occurred to her that this was simply the way Nathalie dealt with being different.