touched her skin, I saw . . . the past? Am I psychic?”
“That remains to be seen. We’ll have to test your powers before we paint your wagon.”
“My wagon?”
“Of course, love. We’ve been needful of a fortune-teller, and you’ve just saved me quite a bit of trouble in the hiring process. You’d think a true glancer would know when and where to show up for a job interview, but somehow the old bluffers never do.”
“You’re being awfully presumptuous,” I said.
“Fine,” he said with a chuckle. “We’ll do it your way. Madame Letitia Paisley Everett, I’m pleased to offer you employment as a fortune-teller in my caravan. Payment will be room, board, and two hundred coppers per annum. Would you care to accept, at least until you manage to gain control of interdimensional travel and return to your old world?”
I thought of the bunnies, the horses, the Coppers, theother, less gentlemanly Bludmen, and the huge, heavy world outside. I didn’t have a choice, but I appreciated his recognition that I needed to feel as if I had one.
“I graciously accept your offer, Mr. Stain,” I said with an awkward curtsy.
“But sir,” Mrs. Cleavers broke in, “what about Elvis?”
“We’ll have a chat,” he said darkly. His mouth quirked up in a cruel, heartless smile that reminded me of a pit full of sharpened stakes. Whatever he was to me, I was glad he was on my side.
“But first, let’s find some gloves,” he said, putting his smile away like a gunslinger holstering a pistol. “You were both lucky this time, but it shouldn’t happen again.”
Mrs. Cleavers opened another chest and brought me a pair of dove-gray gloves with pearl buttons. I could feel her holding herself away, trying to stay apart from me. I wondered what scared her more—the thought of touching me and feeling whatever had shocked her or of me touching her and seeing something else, whether the past or the future. I slipped on the gloves and stretched my fingers and shrugged my shoulders. My outfit was confining, and I couldn’t get away from feeling claustrophobic. And trapped.
“I’ve never been so covered up,” I said. “Is it always this way?”
“If you’re a smart little Pinky, yes,” said Criminy. “You’ll get used to it.”
He led me out the door and down the steps. People had finally started to appear around the wagons, and it was very hard not to stare, because they were very strange people doing very strange things.
Closest to us, a taut rope hung between two posts, anda bored young woman painted like a marionette was riding a unicycle back and forth. Her costume was made of lurid purple leather with yellow harlequin diamonds, laced at the neck, wrists, and ankles, with a flouncy leather tutu. With all that lacing, she had to be human. A Pinky, like me. Spotting us, she perked up.
“Good day, Master Stain,” she called. “Who’s the new girl?”
Criminy nodded politely but didn’t answer.
Underneath her tightrope stood a young man with a nest of wavy auburn hair, his blouse undone to show a hairless bird chest. A big-nosed puppet drooped around his neck on invisible strings. Several other puppets were strewn over a trunk nearby. The man’s gloves were scarlet, and he was so focused on the cyclist above that he didn’t even acknowledge us as we passed.
“He’s in love with her,” Criminy whispered, his breath tickling the curls that hung in the tender spot behind my ear. “He keeps hoping she’ll fall and break her neck, so that he can turn her without guilt and be her knight in shining armor.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. In the vampire stories I’d read, the vampire usually just did whatever he wanted and damn the consequences. There was an odd balance of power at play in this world, if the blood drinker spent his life gazing longingly at a bored girl on a unicycle.
The next car was an aquarium. Behind the thick, wavy glass, floating in crystal-blue water and framed by softly
“That remains to be seen. We’ll have to test your powers before we paint your wagon.”
“My wagon?”
“Of course, love. We’ve been needful of a fortune-teller, and you’ve just saved me quite a bit of trouble in the hiring process. You’d think a true glancer would know when and where to show up for a job interview, but somehow the old bluffers never do.”
“You’re being awfully presumptuous,” I said.
“Fine,” he said with a chuckle. “We’ll do it your way. Madame Letitia Paisley Everett, I’m pleased to offer you employment as a fortune-teller in my caravan. Payment will be room, board, and two hundred coppers per annum. Would you care to accept, at least until you manage to gain control of interdimensional travel and return to your old world?”
I thought of the bunnies, the horses, the Coppers, theother, less gentlemanly Bludmen, and the huge, heavy world outside. I didn’t have a choice, but I appreciated his recognition that I needed to feel as if I had one.
“I graciously accept your offer, Mr. Stain,” I said with an awkward curtsy.
“But sir,” Mrs. Cleavers broke in, “what about Elvis?”
“We’ll have a chat,” he said darkly. His mouth quirked up in a cruel, heartless smile that reminded me of a pit full of sharpened stakes. Whatever he was to me, I was glad he was on my side.
“But first, let’s find some gloves,” he said, putting his smile away like a gunslinger holstering a pistol. “You were both lucky this time, but it shouldn’t happen again.”
Mrs. Cleavers opened another chest and brought me a pair of dove-gray gloves with pearl buttons. I could feel her holding herself away, trying to stay apart from me. I wondered what scared her more—the thought of touching me and feeling whatever had shocked her or of me touching her and seeing something else, whether the past or the future. I slipped on the gloves and stretched my fingers and shrugged my shoulders. My outfit was confining, and I couldn’t get away from feeling claustrophobic. And trapped.
“I’ve never been so covered up,” I said. “Is it always this way?”
“If you’re a smart little Pinky, yes,” said Criminy. “You’ll get used to it.”
He led me out the door and down the steps. People had finally started to appear around the wagons, and it was very hard not to stare, because they were very strange people doing very strange things.
Closest to us, a taut rope hung between two posts, anda bored young woman painted like a marionette was riding a unicycle back and forth. Her costume was made of lurid purple leather with yellow harlequin diamonds, laced at the neck, wrists, and ankles, with a flouncy leather tutu. With all that lacing, she had to be human. A Pinky, like me. Spotting us, she perked up.
“Good day, Master Stain,” she called. “Who’s the new girl?”
Criminy nodded politely but didn’t answer.
Underneath her tightrope stood a young man with a nest of wavy auburn hair, his blouse undone to show a hairless bird chest. A big-nosed puppet drooped around his neck on invisible strings. Several other puppets were strewn over a trunk nearby. The man’s gloves were scarlet, and he was so focused on the cyclist above that he didn’t even acknowledge us as we passed.
“He’s in love with her,” Criminy whispered, his breath tickling the curls that hung in the tender spot behind my ear. “He keeps hoping she’ll fall and break her neck, so that he can turn her without guilt and be her knight in shining armor.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. In the vampire stories I’d read, the vampire usually just did whatever he wanted and damn the consequences. There was an odd balance of power at play in this world, if the blood drinker spent his life gazing longingly at a bored girl on a unicycle.
The next car was an aquarium. Behind the thick, wavy glass, floating in crystal-blue water and framed by softly
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