It Burns

We're walking aimlessly, it seems, when we come across a nondescript building in the midst of all the chaos. It's gray and squat, and the curtains over the windows are black and appear to be thick velvet or something of the like. The sign simply reads, "Fortunes Told," and instantly, I am excited. "Let's go!" I command Michelle, and begrudgingly, she follows me.

The inside of the building is just as plain as the outside was...at first. We walk into a small corridor and are forced to make a sharp right, and once we do, the interior of the place changes drastically.

Everything is swathed in dark material, and while it's clear from the hallway that the floors throughout the entire building are concrete, it is not visible here. There are three or four rugs covering every inch of available floor space, and none of them remotely match. One is paisley and another plain red, and when I look at the curtains, they are, as I suspected, a deep purple velvet.

A small cough interrupts our gaping at the strange room before we are even able to look around far enough to take in the corner, where she sits.

Her table is round, just like you always see in the movies, and a plain, black cloth covers it. There is a neat pile of cards on the surface, a few inches away from the most petite right hand I've ever seen. On her left hand is a kind of ridiculous bauble - it's so large that it doesn't sit correctly atop her finger, and it's a single piece of amethyst. Even from across the damn room, I can tell the damn thing is shimmering, and I wonder if it's possible that it is the reason the room is so dark aside from the few candles that are placed throughout it.

The woman, though, has me fighting the desire to simply stare, slack-jawed. She's tiny, to be sure, but her eyes are so pale, they almost appear to be colorless. Even from across the small room, in spite of the lighting, I can tell her eyes are heavily lined. Her lips are painted a blood red shade, and her head is wrapped in a turban-like set of cloths, covering her hair and part of her forehead. She wears a shawl over her shoulders, which stops me from being able to really see her clothes, but none of that is what makes me want to stare like a halfwit at this person sitting diagonally across from me.

She is astonishingly beautiful. And when I say that, I mean, Michelle Lillian Whittier has nothing on this bitch, and that's really saying something. There's something otherworldly about her, like she's from another time or place, and before I can manage a single word, Michelle takes my hand, squeezing it nervously, and the girl speaks.

"Well, sit down, please." Her voice is heavy with the same accent reflected in Kevin's, and it is as clear as a bell, ringing through the space of the room like a pleasant melody of sorts.

I'm convinced this woman is a witch or something, and for a moment, I second guess having my palm read or whatever the fuck it is she does.

But, Michelle pulls me forward, and before I know it, we're sitting before this darkly angelic creature, and she speaks again.

"I am Beatrice. Your names?" We answer her and she smiles serenely. I am struck by the way her porcelain skin is completely unmarred by laugh lines, flawlessly smooth. I wonder if she's somehow immortal, given her absolutely perfect skin, but then realize how ridiculous the thought is.

She focuses on me, and though I'm gazing down at the table, when her eyes land on me, I feel it. "You are not from here," she says matter-of-factly.

I lift my eyes to meet hers. I shake my head and feel my eyes widen just slightly as she nods almost imperceptibly.

"Give me your hand," she says softly to Michelle.

My best friend's hand is trembling as she extends it to the woman. Beatrice brings both of her petite hands to Michelle's and contours her four fingers along the the back of Michelle's hand. She is staring intently at the palm before her and begins to gently graze her thumbs along Michelle's skin. I watch as she smiles slowly and says, "Excellent. One moment, please."

She places the deck of cards before Michelle, and I feel a little bit like an idiot because it took her doing that to make me realize they are tarot cards. "Cut the deck anywhere you'd like, darling," Beatrice says.

As Michelle parts the deck, I realize that even sitting down, Beatrice is smaller than we are. It's almost like she notices that I've had this silent realization, because she flits her gaze to me, but then a troubled look appears in her eyes, and I am instantly confused, wondering what she could be thinking.

Beatrice refocuses on the two stacks of cards and then begins to flip them out, creating a line before her. She makes several pleasant humming noises, and as I listen to her, it hits me that none of the cacophony from outside is audible in her small building. We are sitting in absolute silence, and finally, she speaks again.

"Michelle, you will have a long life, filled with happiness and love. I see problems bearing children, initially, but rest assured that you will have a family. And this man, the one you are intended to be with, will come along soon. Be prepared for change - good change, but change nonetheless."

I can almost feel Michelle sigh in relief, and then Beatrice pauses, puts her cards back into a single pile, and places it on a small table to her right that is several inches shorter than the one she used to examine Michelle's palm. She picks up a fresh deck of cards and places it before me on the table.

I move to split the deck, but she shakes her head and grabs my hands with hers before I can reach forward. "Wait, Jennifer," she commands, and I feel some kind of chill overtake me at the mere sound of her words. They sound empty, hollow somehow.

Beatrice stares at my palm, and I watch as the carefully blank look on her face morphs slightly, finally becoming something akin to disbelief. "No," she murmurs, and somehow, I know better than to ask what's going on. It would seem...disrespectful or something, and besides, I am suddenly anxious without reason.

Well, "without reason," aside from the fact that a goddamn fortune teller just had a negative response while trying to read my life line.

"Cut the deck, Jennifer," Beatrice orders, and this time, her voice is full of foreboding. Suddenly, I don't want to touch the deck. I want it as far away from me as possible, and I want out of this stifling room. I want to get away from Michelle, away from Beatrice, away from New Orleans, but instead, I lift my hand and mechanically break the deck of cards into two uneven piles. Beatrice swallows hard before placing her hands on the two independent stacks of cards and then doling them out just as she did for Michelle.

The room is silent when she finishes, and I notice her hands are trembling. She stares at a single card in front of her, effaced with a knight of some sort who is riding a horse and carrying a black flag. "Jennifer, how old are you?" she asks in a hushed voice. It is barely above a whisper.

"Twenty-four," I reply.

She inhales sharply, and everything within me wants to ask what the fuck is going on, but I find further speech impossible.

Beatrice lifts her eyes to meet mine, and terror is running through them. "Leave town, Jennifer. Leave, and never come back. Your future is too dark if you remain here."

I stare at her, incredulous, and then stammer, "Wh-what? I'm visiting Michelle, I'm not going to..."

Beatrice cuts me off, her voice tremulous but somehow strong. "You must leave, Jennifer. Tonight. Now."

I shake my head, speechless in the face of this spritely woman banishing me from New Orleans. "Come on, B," Michelle says quietly, and as we stand together, I am overcome with a desire to know exactly what she saw.

"What did you see in those damn cards?" I ask, my voice louder than I intended.

Beatrice is quiet for a beat, and then she says, "You don't want to know, I can assure you. And it is so dark, I'd rather not repeat it. Please go back to Massachusetts."