The bottom read “15. The Puppeteer.”
“Many will seek to manipulate you. They will see your youth, your energy, and will want to twist it to their own needs and desires.” Maggie wrinkled her nose, her already creased face bunching up in more lines and crags. It was clear that she was disgusted by that card. “They will tempt you with things you think you want. They come with terrible costs.”
“Great. Sounds like a blast.” Cora shook her head. This was all nonsense. But hey, whatever. It was free.
Maggie rolled her eyes. She flipped the next card. “13. The Clown.”
Cora made a face. “What’s with Baron Samedi in the clown wig?”
“Oh? You know your voodoo loa, do you?” Maggie chuckled.
“I know my classic James Bond movies.” Cora peered down at the card. The figure wore a baggy outfit that was entirely black and white, with puffy white buttons running down the front. He held a bug-eyed rubber chicken in one hand, and a bloody knife in the other. But what had struck her was that the paint on the man’s face wasn’t like that of a normal clown. It was painted like a skull, in black and white. His eyes were just a black void where the sockets would be. “And this one is supposed to mean…what…death?” Cora shot the old woman a raised eyebrow.
“Indeed.” The old woman picked up the card and looked at it with a fond smile. “But not in the way that you think. All things die. But it is not tragedy. It is only that way if we cannot accept that things end.” She placed the card back on the pile. “You will suffer a great loss. An enormous loss. But if you do not see it for what it is—as a new beginning—it will destroy you.”
Cora watched the woman oddly. She was certain that was the kind of warning that could be attributed to the loss of a loved one or a flat tire. Fortunes were always super vague so anything could be what they were referencing. “I promise I won’t forget to feed my fish.”
The woman chuckled. “Cynical. Sarcastic. You’ll do well.” She flipped over the fourth card. It was a huge, smiling man, a long whip coiled in the air around him, as if ready to strike. His clothing was all black, greens, golds, and creams, and offset the darker tone of his skin. A top hat made him look towering. He was thickly built, but not fat.
“4. The Ringmaster.”
Like she couldn’t have guessed.
But it was upside down from the other ones. “What’s that mean? It being upside down?”
“Aaah, it means it’s inverted, dear Cora. It allows us to see the darker side of the cards. Here, what should be a magnanimous leader is a tyrant. He is the rusted shackles of power that have long since ceased to be useful. They must be shattered. A new power must come to bear. But in all coups, whenever power is first overthrown, there is chaos.”
For once, Cora had no smartass comment. She just shrugged uselessly. Maggie turned over the fifth and last card.
It was a painting of the huge tower in the center of Harrow Faire. It stretched up with its white painted walls and array of lightbulbs. It glowed against a night sky. Around its base were the tents she recognized from outside, and a Ferris wheel in the background. “21. The Faire.”
Maggie let out a rush of air. “The end. The cycle finishes. The story that begins with the Contortionist ends with the Faire, only to begin again. And to begin anew. All things are reborn. And you must be ready for when it happens. It will be your choice whether you look to the horizon, or if you let yourself wallow in failure and stagnation.”
“Lady, all I am is failure and stagnation.” Cora snickered. “My life is already a disappointment. You’re not warning me against much.”
Maggie hummed thoughtfully. “So you think. But listen to my words, Ms. Cora Glass, and remember them. They’ll make sense later when you start believing what is happening to you.”
“What’s happening to me is that you guys have a very clever system of using facial recognition and Google to figure out who I am, and to play weird games with me for…reasons, I don’t know.” She reached into her bag, and pulling out her small money clip, pulled out a twenty and put it on the table. “Here.”
“The reading was free.” That didn’t stop Maggie from reaching over the table to take the money, however.
“It’s a tip. I don’t know. Thanks. I guess.” Cora pushed up from the chair and headed for the exit. “Good luck with your next patrons. Good night.”
“Sleep well, Cora. I’ll see you soon. May your dreams be quiet.”
What an odd-ass thing to say to someone.
What an odd-ass night.
What an odd-ass carnival in general.
Cora shook her head and left without another word. Emily was waiting for her, leaning against a railing, munching on some cotton candy they had gotten from a stall about an hour earlier.
It really was better stale. But Emily must be bored to tears, so she wouldn’t judge her for opening the package. Cora tucked her hands in her pockets, glad to find she still had everything she came with. “Sorry about that.”
“Anything interesting?” Emily asked as they resumed walking toward the exit.
“Just vague mumbo-jumbo. But I still have all my belongings, so I’ll call it a win.” Cora shrugged and reached for the bag of cotton candy. She pulled off a handful and handed it back to Emily. At least it was “blue” flavored, which was her preference. Red was supposed to be cherry, green was sour apple—which was just awful—and blue was…she could never quite figure it out. It just tasted like “blue.” Raspberry, maybe?
But blue was tasty. She didn’t even mind how it stuck to her fingers. It was cotton candy. That was the point. Nobody bought it to look dignified.
“Any texts from Trent?” Emily asked.
Cora checked her phone. Nothing. She shook her head and slipped it back into her pocket. “We should probably just head out. He took his own car, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Emily sounded deflated. Cora slung an arm around her friend and hugged her as they walked, trying to cheer her up. It worked, insomuch as it put a smile on the girl’s face. “I don’t think I’ve eaten this much sugar in years.”
“Eh, fuck it. Life’s short, right?” Cora pulled off another section of the spun-sugar substance. The shit really was a disaster, but it was a tasty, amazing disaster. “It’s not like we’re eating this every day.”
“That’s good enough of an excuse for me.” Emily laughed. “I think if I ate this every day, my life would be much shorter than it should be.”
They made their way toward the exit gate and the turnstiles that counted people in reverse. Mostly to stop people going in the exit and not paying their fee. Which was silly because it wasn’t like they weren’t super easy to jump over. But the two creepy clowns in full face masks standing at each side of the exit gate would have been enough to scare her off as a teenager.
They stood there like statues, and for the longest time, Cora assumed they were just that. That they were props set up to scare off people looking to sneak inside. But when they both turned to look at her—and only her—she froze.
“Ooh, I hate clowns!” Emily hugged Cora’s arm and hid half behind her. “I don’t like them. Why’re they looking at us?”