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Sam drew himself up to his full height, looking more insulted than Maggie had ever seen him. “I do not, Miss Cruthers, partake in devil worship.”

“You’d make a pretty poor minister if you did,” Theo observed.

Maggie bit on her lip to stop from laughing, both at Theo’s quip and at the growing outrage on Sam’s face. “It’s just a bit of fun, Reverend,” she said. “Nothing devilish about it.”

“I beg to differ,” Sam snapped, and Maggie drew back in surprise.

“Well,” she said, taking Theo’s beer from his hand and downing a sip before handing it back. “I’m not scared. I’m going to get a reading. I’ll report back.” She winked at Emmy and threaded her way towards the rowdy shouts, the horrified gasps, the uproarious laughter; towards the familiar sounds of an enthralled crowd.

The woman—who was pale and blonde, with not a single typical Roma feature—was settled into the far corner of the room, surrounded by simpering men and sneering women, all craning for a glimpse at her tarot deck. Maggie nudged her way through, knowing that the best way to get to the front of the line was to be rude enough to force your way in. She slid to a spot immediately next to the table, and the blue-eyed fortune teller looked at her incredulously. The handsome, raven-haired young man currently seated before her looked vaguely familiar, but was pallid and swallowing constantly; before him lay four cards, all right-side up and facing him: the four of cups, the wheel of fortune, the five of wands, and the five of pentacles. Maggie winced. Poor fellow. She cast him an encouraging smile as he slipped from the chair. She swooped in, settling herself on the vacated seat and giving the woman her most winning smile—Bridgers called it the Maggie Cruthers Special. The reader lifted one eyebrow (rather well, Maggie thought; clearly, she had a lot of practice) and cleared her throat.

“Hello, child. You wish to know your future?”

Her accent was dreadful. She sounded like a congested German woman who had learned English from a Scot. Even when Maggie had first begun, she had avoided accents; one could never be too aware of one’s weaknesses, and her attempts at anything besides her natural Chicago lilt wouldn’t fool someone with cotton in both ears.

“Indeed,” Maggie answered, feeling several pairs of eyes settle on her. “If you would be so good?”

The woman nodded, taking up her cards and shuffling the deck.

“What’s your name, madam?” Maggie asked. She was trying to put the fortune-teller at ease, but she couldn’t help the elation coursing through her, the thrill of deception that harmed no one and made you feel terribly clever.

The woman eyed her with open wariness. “You may call me Mother Rosa.”

“Mother Rosa” was easily five years younger than Maggie. “Well, Mother, can you glimpse into what’s to come? I’d be grateful.” Loose the Maggie Cruthers Special again.

Rosa smiled, a warm spread that crinkled her eyes. “Cut the deck into three sections,” she said, plopping the shuffled deck in front of Maggie, who did as she was asked. “Select one card from the two decks starting at your right hand and two cards from the final deck, then place them face up on the table.”

Maggie picked the top cards, setting them down as instructed. A gasp thrummed through the crowd—the death card sat to her left hand, upside down. She knew what it meant, of course, but the audience clearly thought the worst. Rotten luck, she mused, to select the most easily misconstrued card in the entire goddamn deck. To the left of the death card sat the four of wands, two dancers celebrating beneath a floral tent. Next, the ace of cups, followed by the nine of swords. The combination wasn’t, she reluctantly admitted to herself, very far off from her current situation, but that was the cleverness of spiritualism: you could always bend the show to cater to your audience.

“Ah, what an insightful layout!” Rosa beamed, her accent faltering on the insightful to betray a slight lisp. “Do not fear the death card; it does not always bring ill news.” She flashed a reassuring smile. Well done, Maggie thought. “It indicates change, perhaps a new beginning. It is inversed, as you see, which means you are reluctant to accept it.” Close enough. “The four of wands is one of home and safety. It is a celebratory card; you should be pleased.” She smoothly moved along, her long fingers tapping the ace of cups. “This card tells me you have very strong intuition, and that you are experiencing new feelings. You seem to be very in touch with them.” She winked. The mysterious fortune teller act was melting around her feet in a puddle, and Maggie almost felt bad for her. “And finally, the nine of swords. This is a very good card,” Rosa said, nodding to herself. It was not. “A very good card. You have chosen well.”

A silent, awkward beat passed. “Thank you. What does it mean?” Rosa paused, and Maggie felt a surge of empathy: she was blanking. Maggie raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps it’s related to … the new feelings?”

Something snapped in Rosa’s eyes and she nodded rapidly. “Yes, new … bad feelings. You’re anxious. It’s good,” she grappled, “because it’s good to … know … your feelings.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Maggie said. “What do they mean all together?” She felt vaguely like an instructor teaching a pupil the art of deception, only with an audience of confused, curious onlookers.

“Well …” Rosa stared down at the set, thinking. “You’re at a place of change, and you’re afraid of it, but you’re safe.” She flicked her gaze up at Maggie. “You’re safe. And you may feel flooded with new emotions, but you need to trust yourself and the people around you.” She tapped the four of wands. “You are surrounded by kind people.”

Maggie’s mouth felt dry. She forced a smile and silently slid a coin across the table. “Good job,” she mouthed, and Rosa blinked in surprise. Maggie withdrew from the table, carefully elbowing her way through the crowd, past Bridgers and Tom and Sam, past Theo and a bemused Emmy, and slid out the door, letting the winds sweep her home.

The apartment was typically quiet until the sun set, when the floorboards would move against each other and creak, the shutters banging open occasionally (even in low wind; more evidence of spiritual squatters), but the Independence Day storm thrashed branches against the walls and rattled the windows in their frames. The clock had just struck six when Tom and Bridgers returned home and paused outside her door without poking their heads in, and they shuffled around the kitchen now, with low murmurs and rattling dishes and the sharp, sudden clap of Tom’s laugh. She sank deeper into her bed, pulling the blankets over her head like a frightened child.

A tapping startled her into sitting upright. “Yes?” she croaked, surprised at her own voice. Perhaps she was taking this dramatic exit a bit too far.

Bridgers opened the door slightly. “Can I come in?”

“Of course.” She threw the blankets off, dropping her legs over the side of the bed and straightening her skirts.

The door opened fully, and he slid in, carefully closing it behind him. “Are you all right?”

Maggie shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be?” She was baiting him and she knew it. Opening a discussion of her problems had always been challenging for her, and over the years she and the boys had constructed a script for “When Magdalene Needs to Talk but Doesn’t Know How”.

“Well,” Bridgers said, drawing the word out as he seated himself on her bed, tucking one ankle under the opposite knee, “you ran out of the tavern into a windstorm and then locked yourself in your room like you’re dying of a wasting disease. This in and of itself is not unusual,” he continued, ignoring Maggie’s quiet protest, “but it is very unlike you to leave without giving Mr. Barrow big doe eyes, like this.” He demonstrated, and Maggie twisted her mouth into an exaggerated pout. “Don’t be like that, I’m only teasing. Really, what’s wrong?”

Maggie drew her knees up until they hit her chest. “Mother Rosa just unsettled me a bit. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten a reading.”

Bridgers leaned back on the bed, resting on his elbows. “Ah, yes. Mother Rosa. She did Tom after you left. Told him he was going to meet a very nice girl and make a great fortune that he was afraid of obtaining.”