Chapter One
Moving Water
Shivering in the February air, I ducked into the booth. Cold air changed to dim warmth, and I wondered what I'd gotten myself into.
"The Carnival's in town this weekend, why don't you go?" Amy had said, pushing my jacket and a ten spot into my hand. She was very sweet, showing me out the door, but what I heard behind her words made my heart ache. What she had meant, but not said: get out of the house so I can work in peace, and stop oscillating between the computer and your pennywhistle, because you're driving me mad.
She couldn't see that I coped by playing non-tunes and writing bad poetry like she coped by cleaning and cooking. For identical twins, we were very different. She still lived at home because Dad couldn't take care of himself and Mom was, let's see, one year, two months, and three days in the ground. I lived at home because, at nineteen, I was a dissolute whelp who would neither pick a college major nor force herself to join the Army.
So it was with perverse pleasure that I had noticed where my feet had led me. 'Madame Alatar knows all and tells all', the sign in front had proclaimed. I snorted again, thinking of it, but the woman seated at the card table in front of me looked like no Carnival fortune-teller I had ever seen. She lacked the garish gypsy dress and jewelry. Also missing was the crystal ball, I had thought a prerequisite of her trade. Instead, she wore a blue caftan and bent over a silver bowl filled with clear water. It stood in bright contrast on the scarred surface of the table.
"Please, sit." Her voice was not the cackle I expected. It was soft, and deep for a woman's.
I sat carefully in the metal chair, and it wobbled treacherously. She pushed the basin toward me, which caused the water to stop moving. Odd, I thought. Even stranger, it did not reflect her stern face and straw-colored hair as she blew on the surface.
She looked up, and I expected her to make mention, at last, of crossing her palm with silver. Or green paper, as the case may be.
The water rippled only when she drew back, ebbing and flowing like no contained water should. As vague panic grew in my mind, she said, "Do not be afraid. See what may be seen in the Mirror."
The silvery bottom of the bowl winked up at me briefly before roiling, storm-gray clouds obscured it, moving under the smooth surface of the water.
"I see . . .thunderclouds, but nothing else." Not wanting to think about how odd even this was, I sat back and pressed the heels of my hands into my sandpapery eyes.
She gave a little laugh. "The storm is your heart, my child, for your path does not lie in this realm. Do not touch the water."
The last bit didn't make sense. Why would I want to touch that unnatural water? I removed my hands. The clouds were gone; the water was clear again. Clear and perfect. Perfect . . . .
'Do not touch the water.'
What did she mean, realm? In my realm, water didn't work like that.
'Do not touch the water.'
I wanted to, oh, I wanted to. A thirst grew inside me to know what it felt like. Was it cool or warm to the touch?
'Do not touch the water.'
I put out my right hand, and she smiled lightly, not going to stop me. My fingers hovered and then dropped. The liquid sheathed them before I pulled free, staring at my hand.
Mercury, or something like it, dripped onto the table. I wondered if she really had water in there. Reflexively, I raised my hand to my lips. It was water, pure, sweet, perfect water. The way it should taste, but never does. I would have drunk the basinful had not a blackness grown behind my eyes, wrapping my body. Slipping off the stool, I fell what seemed like a great distance onto a cushion of soft grass.
Her voice was in my mind, cloaking me like the darkness. 'So I was right, my child. Your path does not lie in this realm. You touched the water.'