Stepping out of the fog and over the threshold, all the tiny hairs on the back of Hotch's neck sprang to alarmed attention.
Prentiss felt the peculiar lifting, weightless sensation that made her want to rise to her toes and spread her arms. She quelled the impulse, shooting her Unit Chief a sidelong glance instead.
His head had lowered, neck jutting forward. His lips were slightly parted, respiration visibly increased. He was glowering. His whole aspect was that of a creature on alert.
The two agents paused, listening for sounds of occupancy. Quiet voices were coming from deep within the small shop.
"Hello! Anyone home?" Prentiss almost felt guilty for her sense of exhilaration when clearly Hotch was feeling dread. "Hello? Anyone?"
The soft, percussive rattling of the beaded curtain shielding Madame Sobrani's inner sanctum signaled an approach. Emily still had a light hold on Hotch's arm. When the proprietress of the parlor emerged, features craggy in the shadowed light, Prentiss felt his muscles stiffen beneath her touch. Keeping her eyes fixed on the fortuneteller, she moved her fingers in a subtle, stroking motion. The old woman's gaze focused on Emily's hand, making the agent realize her action…meant to soothe…was the same one she'd employ to reassure a family pet.
Prentiss stopped.
The hawkish visage of the Sobrani had both agents expecting to hear a harsh demand for them to explain their presence. She regarded them for a moment from eyes that were sunken in cavernous dark. She made a clicking sound in the back of her throat and advanced. She stood within inches of Hotch and spoke…
…in a warm, consoling tone that nonetheless made the Unit Chief's breath hitch in his chest.
"Poor boy…poor, struggling boy…you are destined to return. And I left you without hope last time. I did not know you were so close to the…well…no matter. Come through. This way." With deft fingers she disengaged Prentiss's hand from Hotch's arm. Exerting a firm grip on his wrist, the seer pulled him toward the alcove curtained by a waterfall of beads, heading back toward the room where she conducted her readings.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
The voices they'd heard when they'd first entered the shop resolved into a radio broadcast.
The juxtaposition of something as banal as an AM talk show against the incense-soaked shadows of Madame Sobrani's lair might have been jarring, but the language wasn't English. Prentiss's brows drew together. She leveled a curious gaze at their hostess.
"Hungarian. You're Hungarian."
"No. I am not." The fortuneteller waved a dismissive hand. "The radio show is." Emily was about to say more, but the Sobrani's sharp eye lit on her, arresting her words. "You understand many tongues, yes? Yet you are not of those places. But…do you know your own tongue?"
Prentiss blinked. "English. English is my native language."
The old woman blew out a phooffing noise of contempt. "You do not know. I thought as much. Sit." She motioned Prentiss toward a chair…the little table in the center of the room now had three…as though a company of two had been expected.
The Sobrani pushed Hotch into the chair beside Emily's. Grasping the Unit Chief's jaw, she looked into his eyes, peering deep. "I will talk to your friend first. She is…" Her lips lifted with unsettling humor. "…flighty. Be patient. Think with care of what you have already done in this life."
Hotch pressed his spine up against the back of his chair, but kept silent. He wondered if he smelled of Scotch and if this strange woman knew he wasn't quite up to his usual mental acuity. He decided he didn't care. After what he and Prentiss had experienced, he felt they both deserved some leeway when it came to judging how they were coping.
Bangle bracelets clacking like castanets, the seer switched off her radio and took a seat opposite her visitors. She turned piercing, black eyes on Emily. "So. Tell me your name and we will discuss your tongue."
"I told you: my native language is English." The Sobrani continued to stare at her. "And my name is Emily Prentiss."
"Ahhhh…" The fortuneteller nodded. "The two of you are not like your comrades. You are both so close to your spirit-pasts, your names have had little time to diverge. Little time for the distance humans crave from thinking themselves…animal."
Prentiss shook her head. "That makes no sense. What do you mean?"
"You two. Your names will be exactly what you are." The seer leaned back with a satisfied smile. " 'Emily' means eager. 'Prentiss' is a shortened trade name, and still retains the meaning…Apprentice. You are an eager apprentice. You dive into your work, your play, your life. You do not know boundaries or moderation. You are too new to humanity to live in a lesser fashion." Her eyes and voice softened. "You will enjoy your life despite its hardships."
"Okay." Emily nodded. "I can get behind that, I guess. But what's with all the talk about my native tongue? It's English. I learned others, but English is what my parents spoke and the first language I learned."
A long-suffering sigh preceded the Sobrani's answer. "Your words, like your name are from your father. But you draw your power from the line of women."
Prentiss drew in a sharp breath. The obsidian eyes before her were changing. The silvery tendrils she'd almost forgotten from last time danced across their darkness. The fortuneteller's voice became sonorous, melodic.
"Your mother's people…Slavic blood…names like 'Baladis'… 'Spalva'… 'Erglis'…the dove…the feather…the eagle…these live in your line…in your veins…these are the words of your true tongue…this is the language in which you dream…hawk-woman…your lineage is direct…your daughters will mourn their lost wings…just as you…still…do…"
Transfixed, Prentiss watched the shadow-play in the woman's misty eyes. When the old lids closed, she jolted from their spell. With feverish speed, she pulled out her phone…began typing the names the Sobrani had said, guessing at spellings as best she could.
She felt a frisson of irritation when Hotch's low, hoarse voice broke her concentration.
"Prentiss…"
The note of warning in his tone made her look over at him. The Unit Chief's eyes were steady, unblinking. It was a look she'd seen in the field. When no one knew what would happen. When unforeseen circumstances loomed. When all bets were off. Emily followed her leader's gaze.
Her breathing shallowed as adrenalin kicked in. Phone forgotten, her fingers spidered their way across the tabletop to take hold of Hotch's.
Madame Sobrani's face was expressionless.
Eyes of solid, molten silver stared out at them.