Chapter Three

The Fortune Teller

It was Élodie's idea to visit the fortune teller.

Élodie collected tarot cards, obsessed over horoscopes, and tried to read people's tealeaves when she was bored. She believed in ghosts, and during Clementine's first week in the flat tried to convince them all to hold a séance. Clementine wasn't sure how much Élodie actually knew about these things and how much of it Élodie was inventing off the top of her head. The only thing that was certain was that Élodie bought into all of it.

The fortune teller was purely a tourist attraction. Clementine had seen it, the tiny, cramped shop stuffed into a cubbyhole between a dress shop and a tobacconist. The windows were boarded up, the wood painted black, and over the top the words Fortune Teller had been painted in gold. Underneath was the price.

There was nothing else on the shop front. It wasn't the most welcoming of buildings Clementine had ever seen. Besides, she'd never been interested in having her fortune told.

That was, until the day she was shopping with Élodie, Noémi and Sophie, and Élodie suddenly became entranced with the idea of getting their fortunes told.

They stood outside the shop for a full fifteen minutes, arguing over whether they would do it or not. Sophie immediately refused. "I don't buy into that shit," she told them grumpily. "I'm going back to the flat."

No one argued, because being around Sophie sometimes was the equivalent of being followed by a black raincloud. They waited for her to stomp off, and then the discussion resumed.

"I have work to do and it's not worth the money," Noémi said.

"She could tell us our future," Élodie responded, her eyes going very wide. "Come on! Please?"

"You can't really believe in this sort of thing," Noémi said. Noémi was very quiet, but practical; although a fan of fantasy novels, she had no real belief in any of it.

If it were possible, Élodie's eyes became even wider. "Why is it so ridiculous that I believe in it?"

"It's not ridiculous," Clementine said, trying to diffuse the situation. "You're allowed to believe in it if you want to."

"She's probably a fraud," Noémi pointed out.

"That's just rude. You can't say that," Élodie retorted, voice escalating in volume.

"Right, you two, calm down," Clementine said. "Noémi, I'll go in with Élodie, and you can wait outside, or go back to the flat."

Noémi rolled her eyes. "Not you, too," she said.

"It's just a bit of fun," Clementine said, with a shrug. That was something she was completely convinced of. "We won't be long."

"I'll go back to the flat," Noémi sighed. "I'll see you both later."

The door to the shop opened with an ominous creak. The first room was tiny, as cramped as it looked from the outside; the walls were painted a dark red, and there was one simple wooden bench to sit on. The main wall was occupied by a desk, which was unoccupied; behind the desk there was a door.

Élodie shut the door behind them and stepped up to the desk. She braced her hands on the edge and drummed her fingers on it. Clementine hovered behind her, uncertain of what was going to happen.

The door behind the desk opened, and a woman stepped out. She was tall and slender, with long, bright orange hair swept over one shoulder. Her pale blue eyes were staring and piercing; her lips were painted a blood red. There were too many rings on her fingers and bangles on her wrists to count. She wore a crocheted navy blue jumper over a black dress. There was a tangle of necklaces around her throat, chokers and chains and too many pendants.

"Can I help you?" she said, giving them a small smile.

"We'd like to have our fortunes read," Élodie said.

"Ah, not me," Clementine cut in. "I'm fine. I don't mind…"

"No one passes through my doors without having their fortunes read," the woman said, baring her teeth in some attempt at a smile. "Please, mademoiselle, I do insist."

"I don't have enough money on me," Clementine said. "But thank you."

"I'll do it free of charge," the woman said. "I do not do this job for the money. I do it to help people like you."

Élodie's face split in two with the size of her beam. Clementine internally groaned, wishing she'd wandered back to the flat with Noémi or Sophie.

"I'll do you first," the woman said to Élodie. "Come through."

Élodie walked around the desk and followed the woman through the door at the back. Clementine sank down onto the bench, crossing her legs. She fumbled in her satchel for Jean Prouvaire's book and began to reread one of his longer poems.

About ten minutes passed before Élodie emerged. There was a flush to her cheeks and a frown on her brow. "She charged me," Élodie pouted in a low voice. Then she said, "She said for you to go through."

The back room smelled like incense and perfume. The walls were draped with scarves of all different colours and sizes, and there was a small, round, polished table in the centre of the room. On one side was an overstuffed green chair, and the opposite that was a plain wooden one that the woman was sat on. The woman had her elbows braced on the table and her fingers linked together.

She was watching Clementine with a look in her eyes that reminded Clementine of a cat stalking its prey. "Sit down," the woman said.

"You're not going to charge me, are you?" Clementine said as she sank into the chair. "Because I genuinely haven't got the money on me right now."

"No charge," the woman said. "I charged your friend because she didn't need my services. You, on the other hand, need help. My name is Margaux. And your name is Clementine, am I right?"

Clementine narrowed her eyes with uncertainty. "How do you know my name?"

"Oh, I know things." The woman unclasped her hands and twisted one of her chunky rings around her finger. "I know a lot of things. Now, I tell people's fortunes by holding an object that has close emotional value to them. Do you have an object of that sort on your person?"

For a few moments, Clementine floundered, uncertain of what to suggest. Margaux sighed.

"Maybe I could have that book in your satchel?" she suggested.

"Book?" Clementine echoed.

"Yes," Margaux said slowly, as if talking to a very small child. "A collection of Aeschylus' plays, once owned by Jean Prouvaire?"

Clementine felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. "How – how do you know about that?" Clementine demanded.

"I know things," Margaux repeated. "The book, please."

Clementine retrieved the book from her bag and slid it across the table towards Margaux. She felt possessive as she did it. It was almost like she'd cut off her hand and was giving it to this strange woman.

The woman took hold of the book and held it so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Her eyes closed.

"It is as I expected," Margaux said in a breathy voice. "Yes, exactly as I thought."

Clementine cocked her head to one side. "As you thought? What is?"

Margaux's eyes flew open, pale blue meeting cow brown. "Your fate, Clementine Evans, is entwined directly with that of Jean Prouvaire's," Margaux announced. "The task ahead of you will be difficult, but it is one you must complete, for both of your sake's."

"What task?" Clementine felt like snatching the book away from Margaux. "What does that even mean?"

Margaux pushed the book back across the table and into Clementine's waiting hands. "That is all I will tell you for today," she said. "If you want to know more, come back another day."

Clementine dropped the book into her bag, but she didn't make any move to stand up. "My – fate? Is entwined with Jean Prouvaire's?" she echoed.

Margaux nodded. "Yes."

"Margaux, I don't understand what that means," Clementine said, leaning across the table.

"You're not supposed to right now." Margaux stood up and pushed a hand through her hair, bracelets jangling. "As I said, you can come to see me in a few days. Everything should have started to become clear to you by then."

And then Clementine was shown out of the back room, wondering what on earth had just happened.