Varnie, I’m Amelia. I have an appointment. I’ve brought my friends—I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course, dearie.” Madame opened the door wide and ushered us into the house.
Amelia bounded in with no hesitation; Donny and I, however, had to silently dare each other inside with our eyes. The first room we encountered—the living room, I supposed—was filled with moving cartons in various states of packing or unpacking. I couldn’t be sure which.
Madame led us into another area of the house through a beaded doorway. This room was considerably less transitory than the other. I had to credit Donny for yesterday’s observation; it did have a circus tent feel to it. Fabric was draped artfully across the ceiling, billowing in shades of purple and red. White lights stretched around the perimeter of the room like stars against the dark wall. In the center of it all, a small table covered in blue velvet held an iridescent crystal ball. It was nearly the size of a basketball and rested on a pewter holder.
Donny released an exasperated sigh. “The only thing missing from this big top is the amazing fire-eating dog woman,” she said under her breath.
The ambience was excessive, but it wasn’t off-putting. I rubbed her arm, reminding her to behave. We were here for Ame. She nodded, probably recalling all the times we’d accompanied her on boy-scavenging expeditions that really didn’t interest us.
Madame Varnie sat Ame in one chair and brought another to the table. I saw another chair against the wall and helped myself. We crowded around the small table, with Ame between Donny and me and Madame across from us.
“Miss Amelia, what type of divination are you most comfortable with? We can do tarot or the crystal ball … or I can just read your hand,” Madame Varnie stated in her falsetto.
I could feel Donny grimace at her fake voice even if I couldn’t see it. The tension in the small room ratcheted up. Even if Madame was not a true psychic, she must have felt the disdain coming at her across the table.
“Cards, maybe?” Ame answered.
I shuddered. The images on tarot cards always frightened me. Even Amelia’s Hello Kitty deck. She tried to read our futures with them sometimes, but had to use a book to look up the meaning of each card. By the time we were half done, none of it made sense to anyone and we resorted to eating chocolate and painting our nails for the rest of the evening.
Madame Varnie did not have a reference book. “What is most on your mind, Amelia?” Madame began shuffling the deck, the sound of it making my toes curl. I don’t know why I hated the cards so much.
“You’re the psychic,” Donny blurted out. “ You tell us what’s on her mind.”
“Donny!” Ame shouted. “You’re being rude.”
“I’m sorry. I just don’t buy this. Mrs. Doubtfire here is going to ask you leading questions and then you’ll be so impressed when he comes up with profound insights into your character.”
I was embarrassed for Ame. This was important to her, but Donny was a raging guard dog when it came to protecting us. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do for us, and I couldn’t count the times I’d relied on her saying the things I just couldn’t work up the courage to utter myself.
Ame gasped a protest, but the psychic only smiled. “It’s all right, Amelia. Your friend only has your best interest in mind. We should all be so lucky to have someone so valiant on our side.”
Donny crossed her arms in front of her defiantly. Madame Varnie sat back and removed the turban from his head, revealing the messy blond spikes he’d hidden beneath it. He couldn’t have been more than twenty, but it was hard to tell under the makeup.
In his own voice, a hundred octaves lower than “Madame’s,” he spoke directly to Donny. “A lot of my clients like the show. They wouldn’t take a guy like me seriously—they need the theatrics and the entertainment value. They don’t want to know I
“Of course, dearie.” Madame opened the door wide and ushered us into the house.
Amelia bounded in with no hesitation; Donny and I, however, had to silently dare each other inside with our eyes. The first room we encountered—the living room, I supposed—was filled with moving cartons in various states of packing or unpacking. I couldn’t be sure which.
Madame led us into another area of the house through a beaded doorway. This room was considerably less transitory than the other. I had to credit Donny for yesterday’s observation; it did have a circus tent feel to it. Fabric was draped artfully across the ceiling, billowing in shades of purple and red. White lights stretched around the perimeter of the room like stars against the dark wall. In the center of it all, a small table covered in blue velvet held an iridescent crystal ball. It was nearly the size of a basketball and rested on a pewter holder.
Donny released an exasperated sigh. “The only thing missing from this big top is the amazing fire-eating dog woman,” she said under her breath.
The ambience was excessive, but it wasn’t off-putting. I rubbed her arm, reminding her to behave. We were here for Ame. She nodded, probably recalling all the times we’d accompanied her on boy-scavenging expeditions that really didn’t interest us.
Madame Varnie sat Ame in one chair and brought another to the table. I saw another chair against the wall and helped myself. We crowded around the small table, with Ame between Donny and me and Madame across from us.
“Miss Amelia, what type of divination are you most comfortable with? We can do tarot or the crystal ball … or I can just read your hand,” Madame Varnie stated in her falsetto.
I could feel Donny grimace at her fake voice even if I couldn’t see it. The tension in the small room ratcheted up. Even if Madame was not a true psychic, she must have felt the disdain coming at her across the table.
“Cards, maybe?” Ame answered.
I shuddered. The images on tarot cards always frightened me. Even Amelia’s Hello Kitty deck. She tried to read our futures with them sometimes, but had to use a book to look up the meaning of each card. By the time we were half done, none of it made sense to anyone and we resorted to eating chocolate and painting our nails for the rest of the evening.
Madame Varnie did not have a reference book. “What is most on your mind, Amelia?” Madame began shuffling the deck, the sound of it making my toes curl. I don’t know why I hated the cards so much.
“You’re the psychic,” Donny blurted out. “ You tell us what’s on her mind.”
“Donny!” Ame shouted. “You’re being rude.”
“I’m sorry. I just don’t buy this. Mrs. Doubtfire here is going to ask you leading questions and then you’ll be so impressed when he comes up with profound insights into your character.”
I was embarrassed for Ame. This was important to her, but Donny was a raging guard dog when it came to protecting us. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do for us, and I couldn’t count the times I’d relied on her saying the things I just couldn’t work up the courage to utter myself.
Ame gasped a protest, but the psychic only smiled. “It’s all right, Amelia. Your friend only has your best interest in mind. We should all be so lucky to have someone so valiant on our side.”
Donny crossed her arms in front of her defiantly. Madame Varnie sat back and removed the turban from his head, revealing the messy blond spikes he’d hidden beneath it. He couldn’t have been more than twenty, but it was hard to tell under the makeup.
In his own voice, a hundred octaves lower than “Madame’s,” he spoke directly to Donny. “A lot of my clients like the show. They wouldn’t take a guy like me seriously—they need the theatrics and the entertainment value. They don’t want to know I
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