by Renee George
Ruth grinned at me. “Come on. It will be fun.”
Famous last words. Ugh. I think the fact that Ruth had drunk three glasses of champagne at the VIP table at Reno’s Queens of the Desert drag show had a lot to do with her push to walk on the wild side. “It’s after midnight. I’m usually in bed by now.”
“Oh, Sunny,” Chavvah said. “I remember when you used to close down the bars in San Diego.”
“I was much younger and a lot less tired.” Being a mommy was the most awesome thing I’d ever done, but two energetic therianthrope babies took a lot out of me. “Can’t I skip this one thing?”
“No.”
“But--”
She held up her hand and cut me off. “I get to do anything I want this weekend.”
“You’re cruel, Chav.”
“You bet your sweet bippy.” She didn’t look the slightest bit guilty. “Besides, I didn’t make the rules. You did.”
“I can’t believe you’re throwing my own words back in my face,” I whined. “Just you wait until you have kids.”
This time Ruth held up a hand. “I’ve got nine children, Sunny Trimmel. You don’t see me crying about being tired.”
I frowned, because what else could I do. Ruth does have nine kids, and Linus, her youngest, to put it nicely, is rambunctious. “Well, you three are therianthropes. I’m just a mere human.”
Willy snorted again.
I narrowed my gaze at her. “That’s not attractive, you know.”
“Brady doesn't seem to mind none.”
I grinned. “Do tell?”
“No!” Chav and Ruth said in unison. They did not share my same interest in getting all the juicy details.
Chav held out her hand to me. I sighed and took it, all the while grumbling about the unfairness of it all as she dragged me into the fortune teller’s lair. The set-up was cliché—round table with two high-back chairs, a long, purple tablecloth with the hem rumpled on the circular throw rug, big all-seeing eyes on various objects and wall-hangings, black velvet curtains, strings of fairy lights, and the freaking place smelled like patchouli. Ugh. The scent reminded me of my childhood.
“It looks like Madame Fraudison is out. We should go,” I said to the others.
Ruth gave me a stern look. “Now, Sunny. Quit being a spoilsport.”
“I am Madame Tennison,” a woman said as she swept the black curtain aside. “I feel a strong aura, a powerful presence in you ladies. Please,” she gestured to the chair nearest us, “who shall I read first?” Her pale blue eyes framed by thick, dark lashes twinkled as she flashed a wide, ruby-lipped grin.
I pushed Chavvah ahead of me. “One of the brides-to-be should go first.”
My BFF glared at me then she turned a smile to the fortune teller. “I’d love to go first.”
After Chav sat down, Madame Tennison took the seat on the side. “What is your name?”
“You’re the psychic,” I muttered. “Don’t you know?”
The fortune teller raised a brow at me. “My gift is more abstract. I get images, not words.”
“Uh huh.”
“Chavvah Trimmel,” Chav said. “Excuse Sunny. She’s not usually this cranky.”
I stuck my tongue out. Chav and the charlatan ignored me.
“I don’t mind,” the con-woman said. “I am used to nay-sayers. Can I have your palm, Chavvah?”
“Sure.” Chav extended her hand. The fortune teller brushed her finger over a thick scar at Chav’s wrist. My friend winced. It was a souvenir of a terrible time in her life, and I didn’t like the fortune teller bringing attention to it.
Madame Tennison closed her eyes. “You have suffered much in the past.”
“You are a regular Sherlock Holmes,” I said. Anyone could have guessed that revelation.
“Hush now,” Ruth admonished. “We’re trying to have a good time here, Sunny. Why are you so intent on ruining it?” She blinked her big doe eyes at me and waited for my answer. It was a move I was certain she’d perfected on her multiple children to great effect.
Apparently, it worked on her friends as well.
I filled with guilt. Ruth had never been out of Missouri, and I really was acting like a buzz-kill. And worst of all, I didn’t know why. I’d just had a terrible feeling all evening, and I couldn’t shake it. The weighty foreboding had soured my mood. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to relax.”
Madame Tennison continued her schtick with Chavvah. “I see a great loss in your past.” She met Chav’s gaze. “A parent.” She shook her head. “No. A sibling. A brother?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. She’s reading your face, Chav. It’s a lucky guess.”
The con-woman narrowed her gaze at me, then back to Chav. “A hunting accident? Such a terrible shame.” With a flickering glance, she gave me a nee-ner-nee-ner stare.
“Fine, even a blind squirrel finds a nut every now and then,” I said, borrowing a euphemism from a possum shifter I knew back home.
Willy put her hand on my shoulder. I looked down at the fiery redhead.
“Maybe you should wait outside, Sunny,” she said.
“No, I’ll behave.”
Willy snorted. “That’ll be the day.”
Madame Tennison was drawing a line across Chav’s palm. “I see a handsome man. A wolfish demeanor.”
My eyes widened. Humans—aside from myself—weren’t aware of therianthropes or lycanthropes, so having the fortune teller describe Chav’s werewolf fiancé, Billy Bob Smith, as wolfish, was just a little too on the nose. I saw a tug of a smile at the corner of the fortune teller’s lips. I got a horrible feeling she knew more about us than she should.
The foreboding intensified. “Chav, get up.” I tried to walk toward her and stumbled. My lips were numb and hard to move. “Don’t let her touch you.”
I forced my arm up and threw myself on the table. Chav jumped back with a startled yelp as I grabbed Madame Tennison and my vision fuzzed.
A large bear stands over me. I yelp and roll away. They can’t know I’m back. Not yet. So how... Wait. The bear isn’t moving. And, gruesomely, it is missing a large chunk of its head.
Nooooooooooooo! I’m in goddess-damned West Virginia. That fucking Hildy has probably already called Baba Yaga to haul my ass off to jail. Shit-damn-fairy nuts-and-honeybadger-stinkpits.
I throw my hands up. Sparks fly from my fingertips as I zap the bear in the jewels.
My power is back. All is not lost.
...And that was the last of the vision I remembered before I awoke in a ditch on a lonely stretch of road.
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