Read Online Death Springs Eternal: The Rift Book III by Robert J. Duperre, Jesse David Young - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Robert J. Duperre, Jesse David Young
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canvas covering the sides appeared brown and torn, as if it’d been left out on the beach for too long. There was an entrance in the front, a gap in the fabric covered with strings of beads that clattered with each gust of wind. Turning her back on her sister and Julie, Kyra hopped over the concrete divider. Sand poured over the sides of her flats, grinding against her feet. She took a step forward and spotted a makeshift wooden sign affixed to a stake just outside the entrance. Madame Rhodan , it said.
“Hey guys, lookit this,” she said, but no one answered. She glanced to her left and saw Stacey and Julie walking away from her, leaving her behind. After an instant of panic, Kyra shrugged off her fear. They were only a few feet away from the parking lot. She’d meet up with them in a few minutes, right after she satisfied her curiosity.
Though she usually loved the feel of the sand between her toes, as she crept across the beach it felt intrusive, unwelcome. Everything around her seemed strange—the breeze was too sharp, the waves crashed too hard, the moon above shone too brightly. The tiny voice of the survivor within her — the voice that would grow to prominence when she got older — whispered warnings into her brain. Kyra ignored it and kept moving. The twinkling light coming from inside the tent was too much for her young mind to ignore.
She stood outside the entrance and listened to the hushed tones coming from within. It sounded like a whispered conversation, and Kyra felt shame warm her neck at the thought of eavesdropping on adult banter. Instead of trying to make out what they were saying, she leaned forward, swept the curtain of beads aside, and entered the tent.
The cramped interior was well-lit by a gas lantern that hung from the wooden beam supporting the structure’s roof. Kyra stared at the assortment of posters hanging from the walls. Madame Rhodan! one of them said, beneath an illustration of an old woman wearing red robes, whose eyes glowed a brilliant yellow. Soothsayer! Psychic! She’ll tell you your future, if that is what you want to hear! A fake skinned chicken and a collection of papier-mâché skulls dangled from strings between the posters. The skulls stared down at her with their creepy, empty eyes.
A circular table sat in the center of the sandy floor, so large that there was barely enough room to fit anything else in there besides the three chairs around it. Vines were carved into the legs of the table, snaking up and over the surface. Kyra felt a chill come over her.
“Ahem.”
Startled by the sound, Kyra glanced up to see a woman hovering by an opened flap at the rear end of the tent, bathed in shadows. The woman then stepped into the lantern’s light. She was old and very thin, with tufts of white hair sprouting from beneath an unseasonable wool cap. Her nose, face, and neck were all exaggeratedly long, making her look more bird than woman. She wore a blue dress and held a deck of cards in her hands. A cigarette dangled from her lips.
“Uh, Ma’am?” said Kyra, timidly.
“Yeah, kid,” Madame Rhodan replied. “Why’re you here?” Her voice was gruff yet sane, and years of smoking were made known by the rumble in her throat when she exhaled.
“I dunno,” replied Kyra. She could barely hear herself speak. “I just saw the tent and came over. Julie and Stacey didn’t come, though. They’re…”
“Self-centered,” said Madame Rhodan with a wave of her hand. “Most big sisters are.”
“Uh, I guess so.”
“No. It is so. Trust me, little girl. That’s exactly what they are.”
The bird lady’s lips curled into a cynical grin. She pulled out a chair, sat at the table, and began flipping the cards between her fingers the same way coins fell through one of those zigzagging piggybanks. Then, without warning, she slammed the cards down on the table. Kyra let out a little yelp as she jumped backward.
“So, little girl,” she said with curt aggression,
“Hey guys, lookit this,” she said, but no one answered. She glanced to her left and saw Stacey and Julie walking away from her, leaving her behind. After an instant of panic, Kyra shrugged off her fear. They were only a few feet away from the parking lot. She’d meet up with them in a few minutes, right after she satisfied her curiosity.
Though she usually loved the feel of the sand between her toes, as she crept across the beach it felt intrusive, unwelcome. Everything around her seemed strange—the breeze was too sharp, the waves crashed too hard, the moon above shone too brightly. The tiny voice of the survivor within her — the voice that would grow to prominence when she got older — whispered warnings into her brain. Kyra ignored it and kept moving. The twinkling light coming from inside the tent was too much for her young mind to ignore.
She stood outside the entrance and listened to the hushed tones coming from within. It sounded like a whispered conversation, and Kyra felt shame warm her neck at the thought of eavesdropping on adult banter. Instead of trying to make out what they were saying, she leaned forward, swept the curtain of beads aside, and entered the tent.
The cramped interior was well-lit by a gas lantern that hung from the wooden beam supporting the structure’s roof. Kyra stared at the assortment of posters hanging from the walls. Madame Rhodan! one of them said, beneath an illustration of an old woman wearing red robes, whose eyes glowed a brilliant yellow. Soothsayer! Psychic! She’ll tell you your future, if that is what you want to hear! A fake skinned chicken and a collection of papier-mâché skulls dangled from strings between the posters. The skulls stared down at her with their creepy, empty eyes.
A circular table sat in the center of the sandy floor, so large that there was barely enough room to fit anything else in there besides the three chairs around it. Vines were carved into the legs of the table, snaking up and over the surface. Kyra felt a chill come over her.
“Ahem.”
Startled by the sound, Kyra glanced up to see a woman hovering by an opened flap at the rear end of the tent, bathed in shadows. The woman then stepped into the lantern’s light. She was old and very thin, with tufts of white hair sprouting from beneath an unseasonable wool cap. Her nose, face, and neck were all exaggeratedly long, making her look more bird than woman. She wore a blue dress and held a deck of cards in her hands. A cigarette dangled from her lips.
“Uh, Ma’am?” said Kyra, timidly.
“Yeah, kid,” Madame Rhodan replied. “Why’re you here?” Her voice was gruff yet sane, and years of smoking were made known by the rumble in her throat when she exhaled.
“I dunno,” replied Kyra. She could barely hear herself speak. “I just saw the tent and came over. Julie and Stacey didn’t come, though. They’re…”
“Self-centered,” said Madame Rhodan with a wave of her hand. “Most big sisters are.”
“Uh, I guess so.”
“No. It is so. Trust me, little girl. That’s exactly what they are.”
The bird lady’s lips curled into a cynical grin. She pulled out a chair, sat at the table, and began flipping the cards between her fingers the same way coins fell through one of those zigzagging piggybanks. Then, without warning, she slammed the cards down on the table. Kyra let out a little yelp as she jumped backward.
“So, little girl,” she said with curt aggression,
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