Fortunes Fool

by Gale, Eva; D'Arc, Bianca; Kent, Cassidy; March, Selah

  "It's okay, babies." She ushered the two kittens into the tiny bathroom of her one-bedroom apartment. "Be quiet now, Heckle and Jeckle. One wrong move and you'll get all three of us kicked out."

  Miranda padded to the door in her writing attire: rubber flip-flops and a ratty green-and-white striped bathrobe. She pulled her dark, frizzy mass of hair into a ponytail in a futile effort to look presentable.

  "Yes?" Expecting to see her landlord, Mr. Levinsky, she opened the door. She found herself talking to no one in particular, much to her relief. With a shrug, she almost closed the door, until she noticed the envelope taped to the frame. The outside had been boldly stamped THIRD NOTICE. "Damnit," she muttered as she slumped down onto her futon. Things had gone quite well for Miranda until just lately. Only six months ago, a mid-level agent had taken an interest in her romance novels and managed to garner her a two-book deal. At the time, a seventhousand-dollar advance had sounded like a lot of money.

  After a few rent checks and some major repair work to her Ford Fiesta, not much remained except a few measly dollars stashed in an old vase beneath her sink.

  Not to mention, the same said agent had almost guaranteed her an outstanding advance if she could come up with a third book proposal within thirty days. "They're really looking for something different. Something vibrant and sexy that will knock their socks off," he had said. If she could hit on that, she could say goodbye to her unpleasant landlord and unreliable car.

  Miranda knew an amazing cash-cow story was in her somewhere, but unpaid utilities and hungry cats proved to be quite distracting.

  "Speaking of which…" She went to the pitiful shelving unit that she called a pantry in search of a can or two of cat food. After zeroing in on her prey, she peeled back the canisters and set them down on the kitchen floor.

  After she let Heckle and Jeckle loose from the bathroom, Miranda decided she was somewhat famished, as well. A quick inventory of the fridge indicated she would find no help there. A bottle of vodka in the freezer and a long-neglected carton of Chinese takeout mocked her appetite and drove her to get dressed and face the world. If the township of Elmhaven could be called "the world." The little slice of Americana boasted one main street, surprisingly not called Main Street, but rather New Elm Street. A small park covered the expanse between the row of shops there and Miranda's apartment building. Although the skies were quite clear, she borrowed a five from her hoarded rainy day money and set off across the park.

  The first leaves of October had just begun to fall, sprinkling the carpet of greenish grass with its autumnal decoration. Miranda sighed and wound her nubby orange scarf around her neck once more for good measure, each of her strides swooshing leaves in either direction. She absolutely loved this time of year, but the prospect of poverty and writer's block made it difficult to enjoy the simpler pleasures of life.

  Some time ago, she had resolved to suck it up and get a part-time job. Miranda had adamantly hoped the advance would be enough to allow her to write for a day-job, but she wasn't too proud to admit defeat, if only for a little while. Problem was, none of the quaint little shops along New Elm Street ever seemed to be hiring. With such a small town, and therefore a small population, not much changed, including retail staff.

  "No use dwelling on it," she said aloud, her thoughts moving to what she would buy with her cash. A meatball sub from the café next to town hall, maybe?"Mmm…"

  Her path through the park passed several old wooden benches re painted a brilliant cherry red. Miranda often stopped to idle awhile on one of them, sometimes bringing along a notebook to jot down plotlines that popped into her head. Today, there was no time for that, not with her stomach rumbling.

  "Excuse me, miss…" A faint voice called to her from a bench by the sidewalk. Miranda came closer, curious about its owner.

  "Here, dear, excuse me." An ancient old woman sat on the bench, surrounded by a multitude of old shopping bags. She leaned on a cane, a headscarf tied beneath her chin. Two blind, milk-pale blue eyes were set deep in her papery face. "Could you spare some change? I'm quite hungry."

  Miranda almost left with a polite shake of her head. Then she thought about her own grandmother, an elderly lady just like this woman, except safe and sound in the attic room of Miranda's parents' house, rather than begging for quarters in a cold, New England park.

  She slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out the five. Placing the bill in the old lady's outstretched palm, Miranda found her wrist suddenly grasped by the woman's other hand.

  "Thank you, dear. I have only one thing to give you in return. Such a kindness, after all, deserves another." She patted the bench beside her, the smile on her lips somehow reaching her sightless eyes. "Sit beside me for a moment and I will read your fortune."

  Miranda raised an eyebrow, but sat hastily. After all, this could prove to be excellent fodder for her next story. "You can read my palm?" she asked.

  The old woman laughed. "I used to be able to read a great many other things—tea leaves, spheres, cards. Now I save my gift for very important purposes. But palms…palms I can still read."

  Miranda flushed. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to doubt your abilities."

  "No need to ask my forgiveness, child, your aura tells me your intentions are good." The woman looked up at the sky as she pulled Miranda's palm into her lap and fell silent for several minutes, the rustle of wind through the trees above the only audible sound. She ran her index finger over the tender skin of Miranda's palm, the various bumps and ridges, and the fingers one by one, until she stopped at the ring finger.

  "Nope, still not married." Miranda rolled her eyes. "No matter how hard Mom pushes."

  The woman dropped her empty gaze from the sky and down to Miranda. "You're a writer."

  Miranda's mouth gaped open and she nodded. The old woman gave her a knowing smile. "You write wonderful stories of romance and adventure." "If only you worked for Random House," Miranda quipped. The woman fingered the crease at the top of Miranda's palm, lost in

  thought. "And yet, your heart line tells me you've never been in love." Her pulse pounded at the statement's intimate nature. "Mom put you

  up to this, didn't she?" she deadpanned. "Shh. Your fate is now. See this line?" The woman pointed to a long line down the center of her palm. "It shows when you make choices and when your fate chooses events for you." She began to hum softly, intermittently between pronouncements.

  "A new opportunity finds you very soon. A tremendous adventure will sweep you up…and, just like in your stories, you will meet a man. He is not without power, but has lost something he needs to regain. You help him to find it." A smirk flickered across the old lady's face. "And he helps you in return." * * * * Moments later, Miranda was on her way again. She may have been five bucks lighter, but that loss caused an inexplicable buoyancy in her step. My fate is now. She ambled past the shops and restaurants of New Elm Street, a vague idea forming for her proposal. Then she saw the shop on the corner of New Elm and Oakhaven.

  Farra's Fortunes, a newly painted sign read. 20% off all Cheiromancy, Cartomancy, and Crystallomancy services.

  It couldn't be just a coincidence, Miranda realized. She needed a job, she'd just had her fortune read, and this could be the beginning of the adventure that would kick-start her proposal. Although no Help Wanted sign hung in the window, she felt confident they might just need her.

  A jingling doorbell announced Miranda's entrance into the shop, the stale warmth of the musty establishment providing some relief from the chill of the outdoors. The shop smelled odd. Mothballs, ink, and a strange, bleach scent. A faint whiff of incense floated above all of these odors in a fragrance that was only slightly more pleasing. She wrinkled her nose. Patchouli, maybe? Miranda took an unofficial tour of Farra's Fortunes, small as the place was. An old Tiffany lamp hung low over a small table in the corner. A decaying, midnight blue velvet cloth draped its surface, upon which sat a small black box. She noticed the figurines on the shelves and the displa
y cases of various essential oils and incense holders, all covered in a layer of dust.

  "Doesn't seem like this place gets much action," Miranda muttered. "Strange, in a location so close to Salem."

  "I thought the same thing, myself." A petite, elderly woman emerged from behind a curtain covering the doorway to a back room. "I picked this spot myself, but we haven't gotten many visitors yet, I'm afraid."

  The doleful expression on the woman's tiny face made Miranda light up with compassion. She looked like a kindly grandmother whose batch of chocolate chip cookies had just burned. "There probably aren't too many people in Elmhaven who know what cheiromancy is," she said, indicating the sign out front. "Maybe you just need a little help with promotions."

  The woman giggled, pressing a hand to her mouth. "That's the last thing we need. We like to keep our clientele selective. Word of mouth, you know." Miranda raised an eyebrow. "I guess. So, you're Farra?" "Goodness, no!" The old woman smiled and looked about the store.

  "Farra was my grandmother. You can call me Edith." "Pleasure to meet you, Edith." Miranda extended her hand for a shake, surprised to find the woman's shake was a hearty one despite her frail appearance. "I came to inquire about a job." Edith eyed Miranda from head to toe. "You have the gift, do you?" Miranda's mouth twitched to the side, as was her habit when about to lie. "Yep. I sure do." After all, if the bag lady in the park could have it, why couldn't she?

  Edith smiled sweetly. "I'm sorry, dear. You may have the gift, but you just don't have the look. People come here expecting the whole shebang, and you certainly don't look like any of my Gypsy ancestors."

  Miranda thought about that for a moment. There had to be some way of convincing the woman. She whipped her scarf out and wrapped it around her head. When the fabric was tied at the back of her neck, Miranda made sure to display the gold hoops of her earrings. She closed her eyes and whirled her hands over an imaginary crystal ball, faking her best Gypsy accent.

  "Though you have not yet experienced love, I sense that you will find it this year with a dark, handsome man." Miranda opened her eyes and searched Edith's face for a reaction.

  She must have seen some merit in the performance, for the woman's skeptical expression warmed to a mischievous grin. "It appears you do have the gift. Let's see if we can hone it with a bit of on-the-job training." Miranda smiled at the nice old lady's offer. Completed book proposal, here I come.

  * * * * Matthew Archer lifted the binoculars to his eyes and zoomed in for a closer look at the brunette. He gasped, not expecting the powerful allure of her eyes, or that spark of fire he hadn't seen in a woman since who-knew-when. She wasn't a beauty by any means, but his groin automatically tightened in response to her brilliant smile. The way her long, curly mane bounced when she moved her head, the way her smooth milky skin led to a nice set of...

  His imagination took off like a runaway horse and his mind filled with images of himself fingering those thick brown locks, then roughly fisting a handful, all the while losing himself in the blaze of desire flaming within the depths of her eyes.

  Get a hold of yourself, Archer. Now's not the time to think with your dick.

  He groaned in disgust at the momentary weakness and chalked it up to a non-existent love life since his break up with Carrie three months ago. Their relationship had subsisted on the mutual grounds of filling each other's physical needs. He'd been perfectly content until she'd told him he was too cold inside.

  What the hell did that mean? Too cold inside? Okay, maybe his love life had fallen to second place in the race for his attention, but his work was his life. There could never be anything that beat the adrenaline rush of a good chase, or finding hidden clues to close a case.

  Jeez, what was with women and their need for love? Carrie had thrown him for a loop. Archer's frown deepened and his irritation transferred to the woman on the other side of his binoculars. She had just induced a longing he had been damned good at repressing until now.

  How could he find himself attracted to someone as mousy as her? He'd seen a lot of desperate types come through Farra's Fortunes, but this one beat all. Maybe if the woman wasn't bundled up in all that mess she might have a chance of landing a man. Instead, she was putting all her faith in a fraudulent fortuneteller who would blind her with promises of God-knows-what.

  Archer reached for the coffee cup and took a long swallow, his eyes never leaving the scene unfolding before him. One minute the woman was speaking to the elderly shopkeeper and the next she had pulled the raggedy material from her neck and wrapped it around her head like a makeshift turban.

  "Well, I'll be…" He nearly crushed the paper cup, slamming it back in its holder. "She's a member of the club." Archer frowned, disappointed to discover the brunette was involved in such shady dealings. She didn't look the part, but these days you never could tell.

  Damn shame. Archer liked it better when he thought she was a patron, yet his odd attraction for her wasn't doused by the revelation. His interest was only further piqued, and he wanted to know what had led her to this criminal route.

  Archer's jaw clenched in annoyance when he thought about the enjoyment the woman was having at ruining the lives of others. He could only imagine what schemes the two of them were cooking up in there. The way the brunette rehearsed her psychic mumbo-jumbo further incensed him. He knew the locals would no doubt buy the act with a sincere face like hers.

  As long as Archer was back in town, he wasn't about to let some crooks take hard earned money out of the hands of the good citizens of Elmhaven. Not if he could help it.

  One thing was for sure, he couldn't believe his luck at stumbling across the counterfeiting operations in connection with the case his team had been trying to bust for months. Even more unbelievable was that the main players had been nestled in the sleepy town of Elmhaven, of all places. He just needed to pinpoint who the ringleader actually was.

  Archer felt like letting out a howl of excitement. Christ, he was born and raised just two blocks from the main street and nothing like this had ever happened in Mayberry! The timing couldn't have been better. Maybe leaving Jersey after his suspension from the bureau wasn't a completely fucked up mess after all.

  Now, if only he could get his hands on some shred of proof. This would be the proof he needed to hammer the last nail in the coffin and put this bitch to bed. A smug smile of satisfaction formed on his lips. He couldn't wait to see the captain's face when he forked over the evidence and single-handedly uncovered the mastermind of the counterfeiting ring. Archer would surely get reinstated and be back on the streets doing what he did best in no time at all. Bite me, Cap'n Jack! Archer's adrenaline shot up, elated by the unofficial undercover work. The elation wore off as day turned to night and still they chatted away. Just when he thought the night might drag on forever, the two women broke from their deep discussion and exchanged information. He adjusted the lens, but couldn't get a good look at the paper handed to the brunette. A few minutes later the mousy broad left the shop.

  His lips curled in disgust at the devious elation etched on her youthful face as she walked. Women were a conniving lot, and this one looked to be one he'd enjoy apprehending. Archer threw the binoculars on the passenger seat and turned the ignition on to follow her.

  He knew it would be too risky to try to bust the operation alone, but he figured he'd gather enough evidence and then call in for backup. It wasn't like he was breaking any rules.

  Archer's suspension was a damn joke, and everyone in the office knew it. The captain had a vendetta against him ever since he'd found out Archer had been sleeping with his daughter. In reality, did anyone really give a shit if he roughed up some drug dealer who didn't give a fuck who he hurt?

  Sure, he followed rules, but he didn't see anything wrong in obtaining information his own way. Besides, the dealer had a reputation for seducing kids who'd been kicked around by the system. Some of the runners were often neglected latchkeys who craved love. Anyone paying them the least bit of attent
ion had their loyalty.

  Matt always had a soft spot for outcasts, and he made it his duty to help as many of these kids as possible to discover a better path than their current one. It was bad enough to hear the statistics on these youths robbed of their childhood. Hell, he'd seen his fair share of young victims face-to-face, so it wasn't tough to exact a bit of revenge on those deserving of it. Someone had to protect these kids and it might as well be him.

  Matt slowed the car down, and pulled into an empty parking space. The woman had sprinted across the path and he got out to follow her on foot. Somewhere along the way his eyes took notice of the sway of her hips and her long, lean legs as she walked through the streets at a hasty pace.

  Focus, Archer. Matt wondered if it was the full moon playing tricks on him, because his sudden libido wasn't relenting. He tried his best to avoid admiring her backside and focused instead on the ugly battered shoes. The only problem was that his eyes managed to take an interest in her sexy ankles and the curve and slender shape of hercalves in the sheer skirt.

  He didn't know how long he shadowed her, but relief washed over him when she finally rounded a corner and took a short cut through a vacant alley. Matt hoped the night would end with more details than it began. Something tangible would make the last few weeks of excruciating boredom worthwhile.

  The woman slowed her pace to glance over her shoulder, and Matt ducked into the shadows to avoid being discovered. The brunette stopped in front of a dilapidated apartment building, marred by cracked concrete and protected by bent metal bars over the windows. Not the finest section of town by any means, but he figured a woman with an unlawful background would want to hole up in a place like this.

  Matt watched her unlock the aging gate and scurry in like a cat afraid of her own shadow. Her actions would have been endearing if she had been anybody else. The gate banged shut behind her and he let out a curse, knowing he wouldn't easily make it in that way. With a sigh, he considered waiting it out. Over his dead body. Matt's mind kicked into overdrive and he scanned the rows of windows, hoping to figure out which apartment was hers. Minutes ticked by before his gaze locked onto a shadow stumbling around in a darkened room before a flicker of light glowed within. A dim glow cascaded into several more and brought light to the darkness. Why the hell wasn't she flipping on the lights? Ah, candles. Little Miss Gypsy intrigued him more each minute. After a bit of shuffling, her figure emerged and stopped in front of the open window. A smile touched his lips as he glimpsed the familiar mass of curls.