Ruth is inside with her back to me, lighting incense and wafting the smoke.
‘Sorry I’m late.’
She turns around and for a moment I wonder if it’s the same person. There are tiny plaits in her hair and a band of red is painted across her eyes and nose. She wears a long skirt and a white blouse with a brown leather corset over it. An ornate broach with two ravens is pinned on her lapel, the chain hooked to the other side. It reminds me of the jewellery I used to make and I have a sudden pang of homesickness. When our things arrive from London, my jewellery stuff is the first thing I’m going to unpack.
‘Wow, you look amazing,’ I tell her.
‘Ah, go on with you.’
It’s not just Ruth who’s had a makeover; the room looks different too. The oak table is covered with a black cloth and has been moved to one side, along with the armchairs. Shiny gold material hangs to my left, creating a separate area. Ruth pulls the curtains to reveal two armchairs, a table with flickering lanterns and a vintage alarm clock.
‘I’ve set you up in here. Don’t forget to keep an eye on the time. Each reading lasts twenty minutes. Sandrine will take the money on the door and let people in, so you don’t have to worry about that.’ Ruth gestures to take my coat and I shrug out of it, feeling exposed. She hangs it over the back of a chair. ‘Right, I think we’re all set. There’s water under the table. If you need anything just give me a shout. I’m not far away.’
Heat prickles up my neck. She’s so close, she’ll be able to hear everything I say. She’ll know if I clam up or trip over my words. ‘Don’t people want privacy?’ I ask.
Ruth frowns. ‘Once we’re both talking, it’s easy to zone out. Customers will be too busy listening to you to notice anyone else in the room. I’m sure you’ve noticed that yourself at events.’
She gives me a quizzical look and I shift my weight to the other foot. The girl from the big top, who must be Sandrine, pokes her head in the door, still wearing a feathered mask over her eyes. She waves and I smile, grateful for the interruption. Lying always makes me feel uncomfortable. I’ve never worked with the public or done anything like this. It can only be a matter of time until I’m found out. Sandrine takes a compact mirror from her cloak pocket and applies a fresh slick of red lipstick, then blows herself a kiss. ‘Ready when you are. Bonne chance.’
Ruth mouths good luck, then steps away and closes the curtains behind her.
I drop into an armchair and wipe my palms on my jeans. I don’t feel ready for this. I should have asked Ruth more questions. What if I run out of things to say? What if I get people who treat it as a joke, or what if they don’t like what I tell them? Worse, I realise that I don’t actually want to know strangers’ secrets. I’ve spent months trying to avoid touching people’s clothes, not wanting to get close, and now I have to use my gift to give them advice.
I reach under the table for some water and my hands shake as I unscrew the lid. I take several big gulps and nearly choke. Two shiny black shoes stand before me. I look up and see a man with shoulder-length red hair, brushed back from his forehead. A smile edges across his face, and though he’s not conventionally handsome, there is something charmingly attractive about him. He must have come in while I was getting the water, though I don’t know how I didn’t see him.
He points at a chair. ‘May I?’
I cough and splutter, then wipe my chin. ‘Sorry, yes. Please do.’
He wears a long green coat, which he sweeps under him as he sits. ‘Thank you. It’s so nice to be offered a seat at the table. No one wants to force their way inside when they can be extended a proper invitation.’
I smile and try to place his accent. He doesn’t sound English, yet I don’t think he’s Norwegian either. He fixes me with a lopsided grin and I notice his lips are marked with tiny scars. His amber eyes glitter with mischief as he leans forward and searches my face. ‘So how does this work?’ He looks over his shoulder then whispers, ‘Would you like the shirt off my back, or my trousers perhaps?’
Just my luck to get a weirdo as my first client. I glance at the curtain, thankful Ruth is on the other side. I can hear her talking about the Devil card and saying to be wary of false perceptions. He nods in her direction. ‘She’s right, you know. Not everyone is who they appear to be.’
I narrow my eyes, trying to get the measure of him, when something odd happens. At first my brain can’t understand what I am seeing. His appearance shifts. Almost imperceptibly, the way the sea goes light and then dark when a cloud passes overhead. His top lip becomes a little thinner, his eyes a slightly darker shade and set deeper in his skull, his hair a little more receding. Subtle differences that on their own would go unnoticed, but together are impossible to ignore.
I’m so tired I’m imagining things – either that, or the flickering lamplight is playing tricks on me. I drop my gaze and clench my jaw, determined to stay in control. ‘If you can lay your hand on the table, please.’
He smiles and extends his left arm.
I touch his coat sleeve but there’s nothing. It’s blank. Swallowing my panic, I try again. There has to be some image or memory; some kind of impression. I tug at the material with my mind. Nothing.
He laughs and an image pops into my head. He’s standing before a crowd of shadowy faces. At first I think they’re sleeping with their eyes open, but then I realise that they don’t have eyes. He sweeps his hand across them, bathing them in green light, then turns and grasps the head of a sleeping wolf. Green flames flicker around it and the creature howls. There is something nightmarish about it and I pull my hand away.
‘You didn’t hold onto it, did you? You let it go.’
His voice is low and edged with accusation. I glance at his face, realising he was projecting an image for me to catch. A flicker of panic flames inside me. Who is this man? It’s like he’s trying to provoke me or test me. Refusing to be intimidated, I touch his sleeve again. This time I close my eyes and sense shifting sands and waves on a beach, and then I see a net. It’s like he wants to draw people in and catch them. Not necessarily to hurt them, just to tangle them up. It’s a game he plays.
‘I think you like playing tricks on people. You enjoy toying with them, sometimes a little too much.’
He thumps the table and guffaws, then wags a finger at me. ‘You’re good! But then I knew you would be. He wouldn’t have chosen you otherwise.’
‘Who’s chosen me? Oskar, you mean?’
He gets up and steps towards the curtain, then glances back with a twisted grin. ‘This is going to be such fun!’
I stare after him, my pulse racing. When he doesn’t return, my shoulders drop and I let out a sigh. A fly buzzes around my ear – strange in winter – and I knock it away. Something the man said sounded familiar. Not everyone is who they appear to be . . .
I turn the conversation over in my mind but beneath every word is a crawling mass of insects. Nothing feels certain, there are only shifting sands, a sense of not being on steady ground. I frown, wary of letting my imagination run away with me. I guess there are always going to be a few odd customers, especially at a circus. I’m sure he didn’t mean to frighten me. I take a sip of water and the fly buzzes around the room and lands on the bottle. It crawls across the surface and goes inside and I look away. No matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right. There was something chilling about the way the man smiled at me. Why do I have the feeling he knows something I don’t?