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said gravely. Then she offered to do a card reading.
    Laurel’s first inclination was to politely decline. She remembered the time Honor dragged her to a New Age convention in exchange for a camping trip. Utterly cynical, Laurel had cast a cold eye on the crystal-gazers, aura seers, and rainbow therapists. When her twin consulted a fortune-teller about her love life, Laurel quickly spotted the sleight of hand. Laying the gilded deck facedown on the table, the man had made a sly motion with his finger, pointing to a certain card. Oblivious to the subliminal suggestion, Honor duly chose it.
    The King of Hearts.
    “You’ll marry a royal with red hair, rich and handsome,” the fortune-teller pronounced fulsomely.
    Honor had looked all flushed and happy.
    Laurel had snorted.
    “I can’t believe you believe that.”
    Sandy’s deck was similarly gilded but the cards were frayed and obviously very old.
    “Th’ Gypsy Oracle,” she explained. “Maw great-grandmother’s cards. ’Alf Romany, ’alf Welsh. Ah’ve th’ gift o’ the Seeght thro’ hur.”
    “Born at Stonehenge,” Fionn whispered to Laurel, in case she had any doubts about Sandy’s credentials.
    Laurel had already decided to hear the reading, reflecting wryly to herself that “ act as if you believe ” was beginning to apply to more things than expected.
    The four suits of Sandy’s deck were unique: clubs had been replaced with triple spirals, spades were stone daggers, diamonds were crystals of amethyst, and hearts were made of gold. The distinctive features of the kings and queens expressed the nature of their suits. The royal hearts appeared passionate and full of laughter. The spiral couple were lofty and serene. The amethyst pair showed strength and willfulness, while the king and queen of daggers were cold and aloof.
    As instructed, Laurel chose seven cards at random and laid them facedown.
    Turning them over one by one, Sandy’s eyes widened.
    “Weel done! They’s nut ah small un. A pa’rful spread!”
    Laurel gazed down at the kings, queens, and aces. A good hand for poker, but what else could it mean?
    “Th’ Queen o’ Hearts,” Sandy began. “Yon fair-haired woman be ye. She tha’ acts fur love. Thar’in lies her power. Then cooms th’Ace o’ Hearts.” Her eyes darkened. “’Tis the severed heart. Yer heart be wounded as Fionn say. An’ this be the cause. Th’Ace o’ th’ Dagger. The knife tha’ cuts th’ thread o’ life. It wur Death as had broken yer heart.”
    Laurel’s face paled. She had been ready to hear nonsense, or at the best something vague, but this was too close to the mark.
    Sandy stopped when she saw her distress. Fionn looked sympathetic.
    “Please go on,” said Laurel.
    She would hear what had to be heard. Like the bus ride itself, the journey was beyond her control She was already on the way, there was no turning back.
    “Now th’ King o’ Daggers,” Sandy continued softly. “He be th’ Dark Knife. The flaysome bane o’ light. ’Ware him, for he be yer enemy. Thar beside him, th’ King o’ Spirals. The Hidden Lord. The Enchanter. He stands in th’ shadow o’ the Dark One, his prisoner perchance.”
    Everyone on the bus had grown quiet. Only the engine rumbled and roared, as if they were deep in the belly of a beast that prowled the dark roads. Sandy touched the last two cards with awe.
    “Th’ Ace o’ Spirals. Th’ eyes o’ th’ White Goddess. All reversals an’ fresh ortherings an’ pa’rful transformations. Th’ Wheel o’ Fate. Then cooms at th’ end, outa th’ vortex, th’ last king, th’ last card. The King o’ Hearts. Burnin’ wi’ light an’ red-gold fire, th’ power tha’ binds th’ worlds together. Love is all.”
    The young woman stopped speaking. Pale and exhausted, she closed her eyes, absently rubbing the center of her forehead. When she opened them again, she smiled at Laurel, but there was confusion in her look. Even as she uttered the final prophecy, it