The Evolution of Mara Dyer (25 page)

“How was the ride?” I asked.

Joseph lifted his chin and shrugged. “It was okay.”

“He was very brave,” Noah said. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

The four of us meandered until Joseph stopped us and pointed up. A huge menacing clown face towered over the entrance to a garishly painted building.

“Hall of Mirrors! Yes!”

No.

Daniel must have noticed my unease because he put his arm around Joseph’s shoulder. “I got this,” he said to Noah and me. “You guys have fun.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Joseph called back, and the crowd swallowed them up.

A slightly wicked smile appeared on Noah’s lips. My favorite. “It seems we’re on our own,” he said.

It did. “It does.”

“What shall we do with this newfound freedom?”

The twinkling lights accented the angles of his high cheekbones. Noah’s chestnut hair was a tousled, gorgeous mess.

I’m sure we can think of something, I thought. I was about to say so when I heard a voice behind us.

“Would the young lovers like their fortunes told?”

We turned to find a woman wearing the traditional costume: long and flowy printed skirt, check. Peasant blouse, check. Wavy black hair spilling out of a head wrap, check. Too much makeup, check. Regulation gold hoop earrings, check.

“I think we’ll pass,” I said to Noah. No need to tempt fate. “Unless you want to?”

He shook his head. “Thanks anyway,” he told her as we headed away.

“You must not go out there,” she called out after me.

I felt a rush of familiarity as her words tickled the back of my mind.

“What did you just say?” I’d heard those words before.

The fortune-teller peered at me with guarded eyes, her expression mysterious. “Come with me and I will explain.”

Noah sighed. “Look—”

“It’s okay,” I said, glancing up at him. “I want to go.”

Noah raised an eyebrow, his expression darkly amused. “As you wish,” he said to me, and we began to walk.

We followed the woman as she wove a path through the people to a small striped tent. She held the flap open; there were twinkle lights and crystals, flocked tablecloths and hanging tapestries. They adorned the little space without irony. Noah and I stepped in.

The fortune-teller shook her head at Noah. “You may wait outside,” she said to him. “My daughter will show you where. Miranda!” she called.

A sullen-looking girl with a pink streak in her hair appeared from behind a beaded curtain.

“Please offer this young man some tea. Show him where to sit.”

The girl, who was about thirteen or fourteen, seemed like she was about to roll her eyes until she noticed Noah; the long line of him leaning carelessly against the frame, the slight sarcastic smile on his perfect mouth. Her demeanor changed instantly and she drew herself up.

“Come on,” she said to him, and tipped her head toward the curtain.

He looked to me.

“I’ll be okay,” I said, nodding. “Go.”

Once they were gone, the fortune-teller gestured to a plastic folding chair beside a round card table that was
swathed in cheap fabric. I sat. There was a deck of cards in front of me. Tarot, I presumed.

“Money first,” she said, and held out her hand.

Of course. I reached into my pocket and withdrew her fee. She tucked the cash into the folds of her skirt and then stared at me for a beat, like she was expecting something else.

I had no idea what. When she didn’t stop staring, I said, “So do I cut the deck, Miss . . .”

“Madam.”

“Madam . . . what?”

“Madam Rose.”

“Madam Rose,” I said with mock seriousness. I glanced up at a crystal ball sitting on a shelf. “Is the pseudonym thing a requirement too?”

Her expression was grave. “There is power in a name.”

The words filled my heart with ice. They echoed in my mind but in someone else’s voice. I blinked, and shook my head to clear it.

“Do you have a question?” she asked, breaking the silence.

I swallowed and refocused on Madam Rose. “What do you mean?”

“A question you seek an answer to.”

A bitter smile twisted my lips. I had tons of questions. All I
had
were questions.
What’s happening to me? What am I?
“I have lots of questions,” I finally said.

“Think carefully,” she warned. “If you ask the wrong questions,
you will get the wrong answers.” Then she nodded at the deck.

I reached for it but paused before my fingers made contact. My heart thundered against my ribs.

Madam Rose noticed my hesitation and dipped her head, catching my eyes. “I can do a different type of reading, if you like.”

“Different how?”

“Give me your hands,” she said. I reluctantly placed mine in hers, palm up. She shook her head and her earrings swung with the movement; she flipped my hands over, palm down. Then she rolled her neck, her long hair draping her face like a veil. She said nothing. The silence stretched on uncomfortably.

“How long—”

“Hush,” she hissed. The fortune-teller drew her head up and examined my hands. She studied them for a few moments, then closed her heavily shadowed eyes.

I sat there while she held my hands and waited—for what, I didn’t know. After another length of time, I don’t know how long, her red lips parted. Her eyelids twitched. She tilted her head slightly up and to the left, her forehead creased in concentration. Her fingers twitched around mine and then tightened. I was getting freaked out and I nearly pulled away, but before I could, her eyes flew open.

“You must leave him.” Her words cut the air.

A few seconds passed before I found my voice. “What are you talking about?”

“The boy with the gray eyes. The one outside.”

“Why?” I asked warily.

“The boy is destined for greatness, but with you, he is in danger. You are linked, the two of you. You must leave him. This is what I have seen.”

I grew frustrated. “Is he in danger
because
of me?”

“He will die before his time with you by his side, unless you let him go. Fate or chance? Coincidence or destiny? I cannot say.” Her voice had turned soft.

Soft and sad.

A fist closed around my heart. I tried to let him go once before. It didn’t work.

“I can’t,” was all I said to her, and quietly.

“Then you will love him to ruins,” she said, and let my hands go.

39

S
HE WITHDREW THE CASH FROM HER POCKET AND
offered it back to me. “I cannot take this from you, and you must not tell him what I said.”

“That’s convenient,” I muttered under my breath.

“If you leave him, tell him,” she said with a shrug, “by all means. But only if you let him go. If he knows of his destiny and the two of you remain together, it will seal his fate.” She gestured to the door.

I didn’t move. “That’s it?”

“I cannot help you further,” she said.

My nostrils flared. “You didn’t help at all.” My voice was sharp, but then it thinned. “Isn’t there something I can do?”

She crossed the small space and stood by the door. “Yes. There is something you can do. You can let him go. If you truly love him, you will let him go.”

My throat tightened as I looked at her. Then I marched out of the tent.

Noah was waiting outside and matched my pace as I stomped down the dirt path.

“Bad news?” he asked, clearly amused.

I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and kept walking.

“Wait,” he said, reaching for my hand and spinning me around. “Are you crying?”

I pulled away. “No.”

“Stop,” Noah said, and stood in the path. I hurried along and increased my pace to a jog. Before I knew it I was running.

We were nearly back by the Hall of Mirrors when Noah caught up with me. I felt a hand on my shoulder and whirled around.

“Mara,” he said softly. “Why are you running from me?”

And that undid me. The tears came faster than I could wipe them away. Noah took my hand and pulled me behind one of the game booths, then wrapped me in his arms. He stroked my hair.

“What did she say?”

“I can’t tell you,” I said between quiet sobs.

“But it’s the reason you’re crying, yes?”

I nodded into his soft shirt. He felt so solid beneath my cheek. I didn’t want to let go.

But Noah took a slight step back, pulling away, and tilted my face up with his hand. “This is going to sound mean, but I don’t mean it that way.”

“Just say it.” I sniffed.

“You’re gullible, Mara,” he said quietly, and his voice was kind. “An easy mark. A few weeks ago it was hypnosis and Santeria. Now it’s possession and tarot.”

“She didn’t do a tarot reading.”

Noah sighed and dipped his head. “It doesn’t matter what she did. What matters is what you
believe
. And you’re highly suggestible—you hear something offhand and suddenly you think it’s an all-embracing explanation.”

I glared at him, but there was no heat behind it. “At least I’m trying to find one.”

Noah’s eyes closed. “I’ve been trying to find one for years, Mara. It hasn’t led me anywhere. Look,” he said as he opened his eyes, taking my hand and lacing his long fingers through mine. “We’ll go straight back to her and I’ll double her money to admit the truth and she’ll tell you she made the whole thing up. To put on a good show. I’m not letting some con artist upset you this way.”

“She didn’t take my money,” I said quietly. “She didn’t have anything to gain by lying.”

“You never know what another person stands to gain or lose by anything.” He pulled me back onto the path. “Let’s go.”

When we made it back to her tent, a sign was hung over the entrance that said
BACK IN ONE HOUR.
Noah ignored it and pushed the flap open.

The fortune-teller’s daughter sat in a small overstuffed armchair reading a magazine. There was a Ouija board on the table in front of her. I looked away.

“Where’s your mother, Miranda?” Noah’s eyes roamed the small tent.

The girl cracked her gum and looked at me. She blew a fat pink bubble, then sucked it back into her mouth. “She got you good, huh?”

Noah arched an eyebrow at me.

“What do you mean?” I asked her.

“You bought her Madam Rose crap?” she asked me. “Look, her real name is Roslyn Ferretti and she’s from Babylon, Long Island. You’d get better predictions from a Magic Eight Ball,” she said to me. Then turned back to her magazine.

Noah tilted the page down with one finger. “Where can we find her?”

Miranda shrugged. “Getting high probably, behind The Screaming Dead Man.”

“Thanks,” Noah said, and we left the tent. He held my
hand and walked like he knew where we were going. “See?” he said gently. “It isn’t real.”

I didn’t respond. I didn’t trust my voice.

An intimidatingly tall tower rose in front of us, right next to the Ferris wheel. A small car ascended slowly into the air; I assumed it would eventually fall in one drop. We hooked back behind the ride, searching for the woman as we walked. Noah led me around a patch of dirt; we wandered until it became grass and then, finally, we saw her.

Madam Rose, aka Roslyn Ferretti, was sitting perched on a small rock, the hem of her skirt pooled at her feet. Smoking a joint, just as her daughter predicted.

“Hey,” Noah called out.

The woman coughed and hastily moved her hand behind her back. Her eyes were bloodshot and unfocused. When she recognized me, she shook her head. “I already gave you your money back.”

“Why did you say those things?” I asked quietly.

Her eyes roamed over the two of us. She lifted the cigarette back to her mouth and inhaled deeply. “Because they were true,” she then said, exhaling the words in a cloud of cloying smoke. Her eyes began to close.

Noah snapped his fingers in her face. She pushed his hand away. “Listen closely,” he said. “I’ll give you a hundred dollars to admit you made it up.”

She looked at me then, her eyes suddenly sharp. “Did you tell him?”

I opened my mouth to insist that I didn’t, but Noah spoke before I had the chance.

“A thousand,” he said darkly.

She gave him a long look. “I can’t take your money.”

“Don’t fuck with me,” Noah said. “We know you’re a fraud, Roslyn, so please do yourself a favor and admit it.”

Her head dropped, and she shook it. “That girl, I swear.”

“Roslyn.”

She lolled her head back, like this was some kind of giant inconvenience. “He paid me, okay?”

The hair rose on the back of my neck. Noah and I exchanged a glance.

“Who paid you?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Some guy.”

“What did he look like?” Noah pushed.

“Tall. Dark. Handsome.” She smiled, and tried to take another puff. Noah plucked the joint from her fingers and held it in front of him, just out of her reach.

“Be specific,” he said.

She shrugged lazily. “He had an accident.”

“An accident?” Noah asked. “A limp? A prosthetic limb? What?”

“Talked funny.”

Noah rolled his eyes. “An accent. Right. What sort of accent?”

“Foreign,” she said thickly, and began to giggle.