you and the missus here. . .”
“He does not speak,” Madame Tibor told Brand while she kept up her shuffle, looking him in the eyes. Her hands and fingers danced a cat’s cradle around the deck of cards as she spoke.
“Men from hills and men from towns. You say. . .feuding, yes? They are feuding when my András was boy. He tells his father where town men are hiding. They are all killed. Then town men capture my András. He is only boy, so they let him live. Take his tongue.”
The gypsy woman finished and pulled a card. She gave it to Brand. He lets it rest on his palm, looking from the husband, András, to Madame Tibor.
“You are important, Mitchell Brand. This card. Pantheon Tower. House of Gods. See?”
Brand flicked his eyes at the card in his hand and felt his gaze trapped by the picture. A black pillar stood over a cityscape against two skies. To one side of the pillar, the city sat beneath a golden sun and a sickle moon, both orbs casting a glow onto the buildings below. On the other side, the image of the city flickered in and out of focus on the card. Buildings grew and shrank in place, as if the city were being constructed and demolished on the surface of the card in Brand’s palm.
“Where gods live, power lives. You are powerful man, Mitchell Brand. Very powerful.”
Brand smirked, trying to keep his head. But the dancing image on the card spun his eyes into orbit. He felt like his mind might follow and he pried his gaze out of the card, giving himself a moment of clarity. Around him, the room swelled with laughter and conversation. He stared at the gypsy woman and her silent husband. Madame Tibor drew a second card and gasped as she saw it. András changed his expression, too, widening his eyes in shock. This made his gaunt face look even more skeletal as the skin stretched over his high cheekbones. Madame Tibor placed the card face up in Brand’s palm, laying it crossways over the first card.
“Changeling,” she breathed out in a hush. Brand’s eyes went to the card and he saw a creature of every imaginable type all stitched together. It had a man’s hands, with extra long fingers ending in claws and talons. These were attached to a feathered arm on one side and a bear’s furry arm on the other. The torso was lengthened, with a ribcage like a great cat. The thing had the haunches and legs of a goat on one side and a horse on the other. The head was a real winner though, with the beak and eyes of a raven, the ears of a rodent, and a snake-like neck.
Brand felt himself falling into the card, but Madame Tibor’s voice anchored him in the room. “This is problem. This card never good, but especially not good for you, Mitchell Brand. Man of power crossed by Changeling is man under threat.”
“Threat of what?” He hadn’t meant to say anything, but his tongue had different ideas about who was in charge.
“We see,” Madame Tibor said and drew a third card. When she saw the card, the gypsy threw her head back and bunched her face up in a spasm of agony. András reacted with a speed and strength Brand hardly expected from the man. Madame Tibor slumped to one side and her husband had his arms around her before she dropped to the floor. He held her upright until she was steady and kept one arm wrapped around her as she placed the third card on Brand’s palm. He relaxed when his eyes took in the image. Whatever spell the gypsy had cast on him was broken. On the card was a simple image, one that Brand was more than familiar with. He’d seen enough death in his life to know it on sight, even in an archaic and fanciful illustration like the one he held in his palm.
“Like I thought,” he let himself say between worried lips. Then he broke out laughing and slid the cards together and pitched them back into Madame Tibor’s hands.
“That’s a good act, sister,” Brand said as he turned away. Looking over his shoulder he smiled and waved, then let his face go stony. “Keep it. I’m not
“He does not speak,” Madame Tibor told Brand while she kept up her shuffle, looking him in the eyes. Her hands and fingers danced a cat’s cradle around the deck of cards as she spoke.
“Men from hills and men from towns. You say. . .feuding, yes? They are feuding when my András was boy. He tells his father where town men are hiding. They are all killed. Then town men capture my András. He is only boy, so they let him live. Take his tongue.”
The gypsy woman finished and pulled a card. She gave it to Brand. He lets it rest on his palm, looking from the husband, András, to Madame Tibor.
“You are important, Mitchell Brand. This card. Pantheon Tower. House of Gods. See?”
Brand flicked his eyes at the card in his hand and felt his gaze trapped by the picture. A black pillar stood over a cityscape against two skies. To one side of the pillar, the city sat beneath a golden sun and a sickle moon, both orbs casting a glow onto the buildings below. On the other side, the image of the city flickered in and out of focus on the card. Buildings grew and shrank in place, as if the city were being constructed and demolished on the surface of the card in Brand’s palm.
“Where gods live, power lives. You are powerful man, Mitchell Brand. Very powerful.”
Brand smirked, trying to keep his head. But the dancing image on the card spun his eyes into orbit. He felt like his mind might follow and he pried his gaze out of the card, giving himself a moment of clarity. Around him, the room swelled with laughter and conversation. He stared at the gypsy woman and her silent husband. Madame Tibor drew a second card and gasped as she saw it. András changed his expression, too, widening his eyes in shock. This made his gaunt face look even more skeletal as the skin stretched over his high cheekbones. Madame Tibor placed the card face up in Brand’s palm, laying it crossways over the first card.
“Changeling,” she breathed out in a hush. Brand’s eyes went to the card and he saw a creature of every imaginable type all stitched together. It had a man’s hands, with extra long fingers ending in claws and talons. These were attached to a feathered arm on one side and a bear’s furry arm on the other. The torso was lengthened, with a ribcage like a great cat. The thing had the haunches and legs of a goat on one side and a horse on the other. The head was a real winner though, with the beak and eyes of a raven, the ears of a rodent, and a snake-like neck.
Brand felt himself falling into the card, but Madame Tibor’s voice anchored him in the room. “This is problem. This card never good, but especially not good for you, Mitchell Brand. Man of power crossed by Changeling is man under threat.”
“Threat of what?” He hadn’t meant to say anything, but his tongue had different ideas about who was in charge.
“We see,” Madame Tibor said and drew a third card. When she saw the card, the gypsy threw her head back and bunched her face up in a spasm of agony. András reacted with a speed and strength Brand hardly expected from the man. Madame Tibor slumped to one side and her husband had his arms around her before she dropped to the floor. He held her upright until she was steady and kept one arm wrapped around her as she placed the third card on Brand’s palm. He relaxed when his eyes took in the image. Whatever spell the gypsy had cast on him was broken. On the card was a simple image, one that Brand was more than familiar with. He’d seen enough death in his life to know it on sight, even in an archaic and fanciful illustration like the one he held in his palm.
“Like I thought,” he let himself say between worried lips. Then he broke out laughing and slid the cards together and pitched them back into Madame Tibor’s hands.
“That’s a good act, sister,” Brand said as he turned away. Looking over his shoulder he smiled and waved, then let his face go stony. “Keep it. I’m not
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