by Landra Graf
“Ten years,” the woman’s voice rasped. Her head rose from the table, the hood of her cloak falling backward, eyes unfocused. “Ten years. Upon such time passing, you will find a prick to bring harm to the world.”
Immaturity reigned as the jock snorted. “I’ve never been known to do that.”
“Hush, you idiot. She’s not talking about that.” Emma reached behind her friend to swat him on the arm. “What do you mean prick?”
“A needle…and then a great sickness will be upon us. Beware! This path cannot be altered.”
The woman’s head pitched forward again, and Rose snatched her hand back. Jason cradled her against him, comforting her, and, just like that, the fun and games were over.
Emma dealt with the look of fear on her friend’s face in the best possible way—with humor. “Gotcha.”
“Baby, you okay?”
Instead of answering her boyfriend, Rose forced a chuckle. “Senior year practical joke…. Huh, Em?”
“Tricked you good, didn’t I?” Of course, she’d never do anything like that, but she’d protected her friend many times before, and another small lie made no difference.
“Yep, you got me. Let’s go ride the Ferris wheel.” Thank goodness she was a ray of sunshine and hope and could never stay down for long.
“All for it, babe.” Jason helped his girl out of her seat and through the hanging beads. He gave Emma a look implying they’d be talking later.
One last glance at Mrs. Wiggs. A chill stole over her as the woman pointed a bony finger at her friend’s retreating backside and hissed, “Sickness.”
She turned away with half a mind to tell her father about how his janitor had acted toward them. Fortunes weren’t supposed to give people nightmares. They were supposed to display happy expectations, or at least fake them.