Antebellum Awakening (The Network Series #2)(62)

“Oh!” she cried several minutes later in front of a shop. “That’s just the one. Look, Michelle. That one would match your dress! Henrietta will be so happy.”

Camille hurried Michelle inside, leaving me out on the street. The castle was prison enough for me; I couldn’t fathom finding anything in the stuffy, over-perfumed shops that I’d want more than a brownie from the gypsies.

But the anxiety in my chest tripled now that I stood alone in the heart of Chatham City. Perhaps coming here hadn’t been the best idea. Chocolate, I decided, ignoring the tense magic. Chocolate will make this terrible mood all better.

The gypsy markets began one street over, and I peered at them through the whip of carriages and horses legs speeding past. No one would know me there, and if anyone recognized my face, they wouldn’t care. A small group of gypsies gathered in a circle, laughing and dancing with a careless disregard I envied. When I turned and gazed in the shop window, Camille had her back to me, ten different ribbons already in her hands.

Knowing I’d have time to run over, buy a treat, and come back before Camille finished, I dodged across the street. A gang of young witches nearly ran me over as they kicked a ball down the road, oblivious to the heavy traffic.

Like my friend Jackie from Miss Mabel’s, the gypsies had skin the color of caramel and hot chocolate. Their bright yellow, red, and orange silk robes were a far cry from the earthy greens and blacks I normally wore. Most of them made their living as Diviners or merchants, selling lustrous beads, gowns, and headdresses on the streets of Chatham. Their wares were expensive and garish, but strangely fascinating.

I wandered amongst the hastily constructed stalls, running my fingers over the jewelry and scarves. Some of the beads were as big as broaches. A Diviner girl with a green dot just above her right eyebrow smiled at me, making her tattoo crinkle.

“Ya like?” she asked, pointing to a broad, metallic necklace piece of gold laced with multi-colored gems. Her husky Chatham accent sounded off-kilter in comparison with the usual heavy tones of the gypsies.

“It’s very pretty,” I said. Her gaze grew troubled when we made eye contact. She took a step back, suddenly wary.

“Go,” she cried, jerking her head. “Leave!”

I obeyed but cast an uneasy glance over my shoulder as I went. Her accusing eyes followed me until I was out of sight down the way. A tent made from layers of bright green fabric caught my attention. It smelled like fresh cotton. When I peered inside, a hand shot out from between the folds of silk and grabbed my wrist. I gasped but didn’t pull away.

The wrinkled face of an old woman came into view. Her deep brown eyes appeared nearly as black as her thick hair. Wires of white ran through the tight, small curls. A flowing robe of lavender and mustard silk, stained with old sweat marks, clung to her ancient body. Candles with emerald flames burned inside the tent. My breath caught.

A Diviner.

“I pull your cards,” she said, with the clacking accent and incomplete sentences of the gypsy dialect. “Stay.”

“No.” I pulled my arm from her soft hand. My last experience with Divination at the hands of my friend Jackie, a would-be Diviner at Miss Mabel’s, had left a bad taste in my mouth. If Jackie, with her amateur skill, could detect the darkness in my heart, what would stop an experienced Diviner? Perhaps this old lady already had, just like the gypsy that demanded I leave.

“Oooh,” she crooned, her lips forming a small o. “Fear. Anxiety.”

She reached up and tapped a finger over my heart. It seemed to ping inside me like a door knocker, stirring the magic. I swallowed.

“Yes,” I said. “I don’t want to know my paths.”

The Diviner frowned.

“No?”

“No.”

Her eyebrows crashed together.

“Blind!” she whispered, but it was a sharp accusation. “You choose blindness. Fool. Fools choose blindness.”

I shifted back a step.

“I’m no fool,” I insisted, but it came out with less conviction than I’d hoped.

“Ya look at sky,” she said, motioning up with her finger and taking a deep breath through her nose, “when snakes at ya feet. Ya see? The cards say.”

My stomach lurched when I saw three cards displayed in her hand, taken from the top of the deck. The raven, the High Priestess, and the fool. Three of the cards Jackie had drawn over five months ago.

Death, mourning, and denial.

The air in the tent suddenly seemed hot and overbearing. The powers woke inside me with a roar of fear, making my fingertips tingle. The green flames of the candles flared with a gust of violent wind. The Diviner stood up, terror in her eyes that battled my own.

“Betrayer! The power in ya heart!” she screeched. “Go from us, betrayer! Go!”

Her squawks rang out through the air and I stumbled back, nearly upsetting the entire tent.

“Nan!” a voice called out. A girl rushed into the tent. “Nan, calm down.”

The horrified cries ceased and the candles died down. The girl spoke in the gypsy language, soothing her grandmother with the warm cadence of their words. Forgotten, I turned to go when I caught a glimpse of the girl’s face.

“Jackie?” I whispered.

She whirled around. Her eyes widened in disbelief when she took me in.

“Bianca?”