Between the Land and the Sea - By Derrolyn Anderson Page 0,77
little eyes watching me, and I decided against ordering seafood. I found myself daydreaming about swimming amongst them, spinning around and under the pink coral.
Evie commissioned Cruz to make her a gown for a New Year’s Eve ball she’d be attending when she wintered in Switzerland. It would be loaded with European high society and “simply everyone” would be there. They chattered away with their heads together, dreaming up the design and color scheme, making sketches on napkins. I was lost in my thoughts of mermaids and their mysteries, wondering if Lue Khang’s theory about water spirits could possibly be true.
“Earth to Marina!” Cruz interrupted my musings, waving a hand before my eyes. “Won’t that be a blast?”
“What?” I asked, coming back to reality.
“I’ve made plans to visit Madame Fatima,” Evie announced. “We’re all going to have a reading of the future! I see a beautiful gown in mine,” she winked at Cruz.
We picked up the car from the valet and drove to the outskirts of the city. Evie directed us to a quiet residential neighborhood, where we parked in front of a small pink stucco house. We passed through a wrought iron gate and entered a courtyard built around an ornate rococo fountain, green with moss. Strange little garden gnomes peeked out from behind lush ferns that lined the pathway, ending at a small black door with an evil eye amulet mounted over it.
Evie’s penchant for visiting psychics, palm readers and new age spiritualists had taken us all over the city, but this was one of the more unusual locations she’d dragged me out to. I knew one thing for sure; Madame Fatima was simply the flavor of the month.
The three of us were led into a dimly lit sitting room by a small, elaborately dressed woman.
The first thing that struck me about Madame Fatima were her large, deeply set eyes. Glittering like polished onyx, they struck me as ancient and reptilian. Those arresting eyes were set in a face that was stoic, unmoving and unreadable. She could have been carved from stone. The overall effect was startling, and I found myself wondering where she came from, and when.
The lighting in the room added to the general aura of other-worldliness. Lamps were draped with lacy black scarves, and the pungent scent of cloves and pepper hung in the air. Fatima motioned for us to sit on a narrow Victorian couch upholstered in a rich brocade.
She must be taking Evie for a lot of money, I thought. Dad and I had never approved of Evie’s passion for the occult, but it made her happy when someone claimed to put her in touch with her late husband, and it usually seemed harmless enough. My father had schooled me in the scientific method, and counseled me to be skeptical about her various supernatural beliefs. I wondered how a man like him could have found himself married to a mermaid.
Fatima chose to do Evie’s reading first, leading her into some inner sanctum down the hallway. Cruz looked at me, wide eyed and clearly spooked, and I laughed so suddenly I snorted.
“Oh come on,” I said between giggles. “What do you think she’s gonna say?” I crossed my eyes at him, mimicking one of Evie’s past favorites, “You vill be reech and famous.” We both dissolved into a fit of giggles. Evie returned with a satisfied air about her, and plunked down next to me. Fatima beckoned for Cruz to follow her.
“Fatima is different, ” Evie said in a hushed tone, “She has the gift.” When Cruz returned after his reading he looked serious but calm, “I’d believe her,” he whispered with conviction. I flashed him an irritated look and took my turn. Fatima led me down a narrow hall into a darkened octagonal room lined with thin strips of mirrored tile. There was a candle flickering in the middle of a small table, and the ceiling was draped with deep purple velvet. It felt like the inside of a tent except for the fractured reflections on the surrounding walls. I took one of the two seats at the table and Fatima sat opposite me.
She inspected me carefully, and I wondered how much Evie had already told her about me.
She touched the black lace of her collar and sucked in a sharp breath.
“Put your hands on the table, palms facing up,” she commanded in a sonorous droning voice. I sighed and complied, eager to get it over with. She looked across the table at