Read Online The Turning Tides (Marina's Tales) by Derrolyn Anderson - Free Book Online
Authors: Derrolyn Anderson
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now… Bespoke shoes are all the rage in New York…”
I waved goodbye to my father, who watched us file out with amusement, finally slumping back down and closing his eyes.
We got to the garage, and Evie insisted I drive the Phantom convertible. We drove along the city streets, and she turned to me at a stoplight , “He seems depressed, doesn’t he?”
I nodded my agreement, “I suppose i t’s understandable after everything he’s been through.”
I could feel Evie’s frustration. She wasn’t accustomed to her muse powers failing her , and had always been able to solve every problem she put her mind to. She was still looking for the silver lining of this latest cloud to be revealed to her ; I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I had no faith in its existence.
I’d learned that fate was capricious. I planned to make my own luck.
Evie directed me where to drive, and when she had me pull up in front of a familiar pink stucco house I turned to her with a baleful glare.
“What fresh hell is this?” I asked.
She looked at me reproachfully, “Just for a minute… Fatima’s been pestering me to bring you to see her all week. She doesn’t want to do a reading. She told me she only needs to give you a message.”
“Why not tell you?”
“She said she must deliver it personally.”
“I’m not sure I want to hear any more of her messages,” I said, eyeing the house uneasily.
“She said she only needed a minute– She asked me to send you in alone.”
I sighed with resignation. If I refused to go in I’d never hear the end of it from Evie. Maybe Fatima had some worthwhile information about her last prediction… Maybe she wanted to take it back.
I stepped out into the breezy autumn afternoon, brushing the hair from my eyes. I felt like I was marching into a lion’s den as I headed into Fatima’s lair, opening the shrieking iron gates that led into her secluded courtyard. I could feel the eyes of the strange little garden gnomes that populated the lush ferns watching me. I wondered if they could smell fear, and I laughed out loud for letting my imagination run away with me.
I stared back defiantly at the eyeball amulet that stood guard over the black door, steeling myself to knock. A small woman wrapped in a terrycloth bathrobe opened up.
“Uhm, I’m here to see Madame Fatima,” I told her.
“This way,” she motioned for me to enter. She shuffled along in a large pair of fuzzy pink slippers. I followed her past the dimly lit reception area, but instead of going down the hall to the mirrored room she led me through a door into a brightly lit kitchen.
“Can I get you a cup of coffee?” she asked.
“No thanks,” I replied, looking around the room. A cookie jar shaped like a pig smiled up at me from the counter, next to canisters marked “flour”, “sugar” and “tea”. The refrigerator was covered with children’s drawings, held up with magnets topped with plastic fruits and vegetables.
“Have a seat,” the little woman said, turning to stir a pot of tomato sauce bubbling on the stove. When she joined me at the table I got a good look at her.
I gasped, “Fatima?”
“You can call me Rosa,” she said. She didn’t roll her r’s at all.
It was her large black eyes that gave her away, for they were exactly the same, but her hair was down and loose, and without the elaborate costume and dim lighting she could pass as your average suburban housewife. In the bright light of day, without the incense and candles, she didn’t seem forbidding at all.
“So it’s all an act?”
“No.” She regarded me solemnly with her large familiar eyes, “I was born with a veil over my face. I have the gift.”
“What?”
“I come from a long line of Sicilian women , women born with the second sight. My mother had it, and my grandmother before her.”
“So why all the smoke and mirrors then?”
“Some people need the razzle dazzle,” she explained, twirling her wrist in the air
I waved goodbye to my father, who watched us file out with amusement, finally slumping back down and closing his eyes.
We got to the garage, and Evie insisted I drive the Phantom convertible. We drove along the city streets, and she turned to me at a stoplight , “He seems depressed, doesn’t he?”
I nodded my agreement, “I suppose i t’s understandable after everything he’s been through.”
I could feel Evie’s frustration. She wasn’t accustomed to her muse powers failing her , and had always been able to solve every problem she put her mind to. She was still looking for the silver lining of this latest cloud to be revealed to her ; I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I had no faith in its existence.
I’d learned that fate was capricious. I planned to make my own luck.
Evie directed me where to drive, and when she had me pull up in front of a familiar pink stucco house I turned to her with a baleful glare.
“What fresh hell is this?” I asked.
She looked at me reproachfully, “Just for a minute… Fatima’s been pestering me to bring you to see her all week. She doesn’t want to do a reading. She told me she only needs to give you a message.”
“Why not tell you?”
“She said she must deliver it personally.”
“I’m not sure I want to hear any more of her messages,” I said, eyeing the house uneasily.
“She said she only needed a minute– She asked me to send you in alone.”
I sighed with resignation. If I refused to go in I’d never hear the end of it from Evie. Maybe Fatima had some worthwhile information about her last prediction… Maybe she wanted to take it back.
I stepped out into the breezy autumn afternoon, brushing the hair from my eyes. I felt like I was marching into a lion’s den as I headed into Fatima’s lair, opening the shrieking iron gates that led into her secluded courtyard. I could feel the eyes of the strange little garden gnomes that populated the lush ferns watching me. I wondered if they could smell fear, and I laughed out loud for letting my imagination run away with me.
I stared back defiantly at the eyeball amulet that stood guard over the black door, steeling myself to knock. A small woman wrapped in a terrycloth bathrobe opened up.
“Uhm, I’m here to see Madame Fatima,” I told her.
“This way,” she motioned for me to enter. She shuffled along in a large pair of fuzzy pink slippers. I followed her past the dimly lit reception area, but instead of going down the hall to the mirrored room she led me through a door into a brightly lit kitchen.
“Can I get you a cup of coffee?” she asked.
“No thanks,” I replied, looking around the room. A cookie jar shaped like a pig smiled up at me from the counter, next to canisters marked “flour”, “sugar” and “tea”. The refrigerator was covered with children’s drawings, held up with magnets topped with plastic fruits and vegetables.
“Have a seat,” the little woman said, turning to stir a pot of tomato sauce bubbling on the stove. When she joined me at the table I got a good look at her.
I gasped, “Fatima?”
“You can call me Rosa,” she said. She didn’t roll her r’s at all.
It was her large black eyes that gave her away, for they were exactly the same, but her hair was down and loose, and without the elaborate costume and dim lighting she could pass as your average suburban housewife. In the bright light of day, without the incense and candles, she didn’t seem forbidding at all.
“So it’s all an act?”
“No.” She regarded me solemnly with her large familiar eyes, “I was born with a veil over my face. I have the gift.”
“What?”
“I come from a long line of Sicilian women , women born with the second sight. My mother had it, and my grandmother before her.”
“So why all the smoke and mirrors then?”
“Some people need the razzle dazzle,” she explained, twirling her wrist in the air
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