just an angry red sky,” Lauren murmured.
Heidi groaned. “Oh, Lord, we haven’t even gotten to the fortune teller yet, and she’s talking about poetic doom.”
“It’s just strange,” Lauren said.
“Is there anything weird in the wind?” Heidi teased.
“As a matter of fact, it’s gotten a bit cooler,” Lauren said.
“Thank God,” Deanna breathed.
“You know, we could just go have another drink,” Lauren suggested.
Heidi giggled. “The guy is gone. Let’s go.”
Lauren let out a sigh of impatience. “Just remember, you two wanted to do this. I’ll do whatever you want, but I want it on record that I’m against such silliness.”
“This trip is all about silliness,” Heidi reminded her. “I’m going to get married. No more wild weekendss with the girls. No more adventurous vacations. I mean, Barry is great, and he’d never care if I wanted a few days away with you guys, but…well, you know. And I guarantee you he’s going to have one of those wild bachelor parties with strippers, and his idiot brother is going to make sure he has a lap dance—”
”I’ll be happy to get you a lap dance,” Lauren said.
Heidi laughled. “I don’t want a lap dance. Now humor me, slave,” she told Lauren.
“I’m all humor,” Lauren muttered. “Let’s go.”
As they approached the woman, Lauren decided that she must look as on edge as she felt. Either that or she had talked herself into some kind of ridiculous paranoia, because it seemed as if the woman frowned when she saw them, as if she looked worried. Still, Lauren couldn’t help noticing the strength of her features, and she wondered if she dared ask to do a sketch of her at some point.
There was no nameplate, nothing like Madame X or Madame Zenia or any other cliché, on her table. She rose, stretching out an elegant arm and offering a slender hand with elegantly polished nails. “Hello,” she said simply.
“Hi,” Heidi said cheerfully.
The woman stared at Heidi gravely. “You seek the future?”
“Absolutely,” Heidi said, introducing herself. “I’m Heidi Weiss, and I’m about to be married. I’d love some advice.”
The woman nodded, but her expression said that she read in Heidi’s polite words the simple fact that she didn’t really believe in what she was doing. It was all for fun.
“I’m Deanna Marin,” Deanna said, stepping forward. “And this is Lauren Crow.”
The woman arched a brow slightly, studying Lauren. “Crow?”
“I’ve been told that my great-grandfather was Cherokee,” Lauren said, taking the woman’s hand. There was strength in her grip. It offered a strange assurance.
“I, too, have Cherokee blood. We have the same green eyes.”
“So we do,” Lauren agreed, though she wasn’t sure green eyes came from the Cherokee part of her background.
“You’re tall…five-ten?”
“Around there. Another grandfather was from the Orkney Islands. A big tall guy, so I was told. Some Norse, some Scots.”
“Ah, and thus you are redheaded.”
“I like to think auburn.”
The woman smiled. Lauren had to admit, she liked her, but more than ever, she didn’t want a reading, didn’t want to know what the future supposedly held. She wanted to ask the woman to have a drink with them, instead.
“I like to think I am not turning gray. I’m Susan,” the woman said.
Heidi started to giggle. “I’m so sorry,” she apologized quickly. “It’s just so…normal.”
Susan offered a slight smile in return. “Life is normal, the cycle of life is normal, the air we breathe is normal. So many things are normal, including much that we don’t understand yet.”
“You have a beautiful face,” Lauren heard herself blurt out.
Susan inclined her head slightly, acknowledging the compliment. When she lifted her eyes again, she smiled. “You’re artists?”
“I’m a graphic designer, actually,” Deanna said. “Heidi and Lauren can draw anything in the world, though. They’re fabulous.”
“And you’d like to sketch me?” Susan asked, looking at Lauren.
“I’d love to.”
“That’s not why we’re here, though,” Heidi said.
“Ah, yes, the future,” Susan said. She lifted her hands. “What will it be? Would you like a reading of your palm? Or shall we see what’s in the cards? And then, of course, there is always the crystal ball.”
“We should each do something different,” Deanna suggested.
“Tarot cards,” Heidi said.
“I’ll take a palm reading,” Deanna determined.
Lauren shrugged. “Crystal ball.”
Susan nodded, indicating several small fold-up chairs inside the tent. “Lauren, you are welcome to sketch. I’ll begin with the bride.”
Lauren always carried a small sketch pad in her handbag, but she wondered how Susan knew that, and she was slightly disturbed. Or slightly more disturbed, if she were being honest Then she told herself that Susan already knew they were artists. Guessing that she carried a sketch pad was just a logical assumption. No doubt most people who did this kind of thing for a living learned how to assess people, how to read a great deal in a few words and intuit where to go from there.
Deanna had unfolded the little wooden chairs. She sat on one side of Heidi, while Lauren backed her chair away a bit and took out her sketchbook. As she sat, watching Susan instruct Heidi on how to choose her cards, she could hear the sounds around them. Music in the distance, coming from the bars. People talking, then stopping to ooh and aah at the artwork available on the street. Across from them, near the Cathedral, a lone flutist had set down his cap, and now he performed a plaintive and beautiful tune.
She looked up at the sky. Clouds still rode heavy over the moon, like a red curtain in the air.
She studied Susan. The woman was soft spoken. Elegant. Not at all what she had expected. Her pencil moved over the paper. She drew the lines first, then filled in the shades and shadows. Finally she added background, the greenery around the Square, the sidewalk, the tent, the statue of Andrew Jackson rising far behind Susan’s back.
“Ugh! What does that mean?” Heidi asked, drawing Lauren’s attention to the table, where Heidi had turned up a card with a skeleton.
“It’s…death,
