Page 5 of Cackle

I wait for her to wish me well or offer me an aura cleanse or specifics about a short life line, something. But she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move. She remains in her chair with a look that’s equal parts sour and distressed. I can’t tell if she feels sorry for me, or if she’s about to chase me out of here with a vial of holy water and a crucifix.

I nod at her, muttering a quick thanks as I hurry away, out through the velvet curtain. On the other side, Nadia stands in front of one of the bookshelves with her hands on her hips.

She’s surprised to see me.

“That was fast,” she says. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. I’m shrouded in darkness.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing. Can we go?”

Nadia is fun, sweet and bubbly as Coca-Cola, but she’s not so happy-go-lucky she can’t tell when something’s wrong. She says, “Yeah, let’s go.”

As we turn to leave, I catch Atlas poking her head through the curtains. Her face is drained of color. It floats before the dark velvet like an ominous moon.

I look at Nadia, wide eyes asking, Are you seeing this?

She clutches my wrist as confirmation.

We bolt for the door. When we’re outside, we don’t slow down. We speed up. We don’t stop. We run for two blocks, until we’re out of breath.

“I mean,” she says, “really?”

“She looked at my hand like this,” I say, doing my best impression, “and then was like, ‘Happy birthday.’ ”

“So weird,” Nadia says.

“Yeah, happy birthday to me and my dark energy.”

“She told me I’m going to marry the love of my life at twenty-eight. That’s next year! I’m not even dating anyone I’m that into right now. She said his name won’t be his name—whatever that means. I’m going to have one son and move somewhere warm, like Florida or California.”

“Sounds nice. Except the Florida part.”

“What’s wrong with Florida?”

“Nothing,” I say. “Never mind.”

“I’m sorry,” she says. “That was supposed to be fun.”

“That’s okay,” I say. “Let’s just forget it ever happened.”

As we walk, I listen to the sound of her heels click-clacking on the gum-spotted city sidewalk. I listen to drunk strangers in loud conversation. I listen to the distant scream of sirens, the throbbing bass escaping from bars whenever the bouncers open the doors for shrill young girls in skintight dresses flashing their IDs.

The emotional scaffolding that I put up earlier today in preparation for this night out is beginning to come down. I feel old and sad and hopeless. The psychic didn’t help, but it’s not her fault. My future is dark.

Leaving the city after twelve years, leaving my apartment, the one I shared with Sam, my now ex-boyfriend but still best friend. I can’t afford to stay. I can barely afford to leave.

I had no choice but to take the teaching position upstate. I’m going to be living alone in a small town where I don’t know anyone. I had never even heard of Rowan before. When that psychic looked into my future, she probably saw a lot of streaming services and microwavable dinners and crying, and I don’t know . . . probably cats.

I guess I like cats all right.

“Don’t let her get to you,” Nadia says.

“It’s not that.”

“What is it?”