“Nonsense. You’re not a bother at all, my dear. Now, how do you want to let the court know that you’ve returned?”
Not another word was said regarding Michael. Amaia wasn’t convinced Michael had simply reincarnated, but it was the best explanation given the evidence. She pretended all was well, but unease festered deep inside her. The eyes that haunted her had visited her in the flesh, and they would not be so easily deterred.
Chapter 11
Paris, February 1648, 1 year, 9 months later
Almost two years later, it was still there, always in the background: the constant hum of Michael’s energy. Eventually, Amaia had convinced herself that everything was fine. It could just be her imagination. Perhaps she’d felt it once and now thought she felt it everywhere. It was faint, but when she was still, she realized it never completely went away.
Life had resumed the usual pattern, almost as if they had never left Paris the first time. Amaia rekindled her affair with Cardinal Mazarin and her other regulars. Lawrence continued working on establishing matches between some of the bloodlines he had left when Zenas called them away to Vienna. They were back in Paris for as long as Amaia needed.
The streets bustled despite the falling snow. Amaia’s skin crawled from the crowd, but it was the only way to get to the theater. There was a play today at the H?tel de Bourgogne. She wouldn’t be watching, however. She’d be at a nearby inn. Whenever there was a show, foot traffic increased where she read fortunes.
Fortune-telling had become something of a hobby. She’d picked it up in Florence. An old woman used to read fortunes at the market. The reactions from her patrons had intrigued Amaia. Seeing the woman work had reminded her of a client in her mortal life who had taught her about palm reading. It seemed easy enough, so she had tried it one day and found she rather liked it. It was good practice for reading energies, and it gave her time to study the more interesting aspects of humanity. Tonight, she would attend a banquet at the Louvre Palace with a widowed count who was becoming a regular, but there was plenty of time to read fortunes under the guise of a gypsy before preparing. She found it best to keep busy.
“Your daughter will bear you many grandchildren if she marries this man. The union will be fruitful. Push for a quick marriage. She already carries his child.” Amaia spoke in a deep, melodious tone to the woman sitting in front of her.
“I knew it! That girl could never keep her legs together,” the plump woman shrilled.
“Once he knows, he will abandon her. She must marry him before he finds out.” Amaia delivered the advice the woman wanted. That was the key to gaining a good reputation. She always told the truth, as much as she could discern it, except when it was something the person didn’t want to hear. In this case, the woman already suspected her daughter of being pregnant and wanted her married before it began to show.
“Oh, I’ll make sure he marries her all right.” The woman left in a tizzy. The chair in front of Amaia didn’t sit empty for long before another woman took the place of the last. This one was thin and old with wrinkled skin hanging off her crooked frame.
“Payment first.” Amaia nodded to the bowl on the table where she collected her money. She had started out telling fortunes for free, but she’d noticed that people didn’t take her seriously. Charging marked her as a professional and not merely a crazy woman. She wasn’t sure why she cared.
The woman pulled out a coin and placed it in the tin.
“What is your question?” Amaia leaned forward, her elbows on the table, reaching out her hands. The lady responded by placing her hands in Amaia’s.
“I want to know if I’m going to die.” The woman’s voice was soft and hurried.
Amaia had to suppress her laughter. “We all die.”
“I know. But will it happen soon? A black wart appeared on my elbow. I think it is a curse. Will it kill me?” The lady was clearly very distressed, but at the same time, there was a lilt at the end of her question. She was one of those women who enjoyed stress. Perhaps she had a family at home who had begun to ignore her, and a grave illness would be just the thing to draw their attention.
Amaia made a show of studying the wart in question. Not only was it black, it had a curly black hair growing from it. “No, it will not kill you, but it will make you very sick if you do not take care of it. It is not a curse, but it is evil humors brought on by your family for not appreciating you. Their evil scorn has rested on you. You must pluck a hair from the head of every person who has wronged you and burn them. That will clear the humors, and your children will be more attentive.” Humans loved being able to take action, no matter how ridiculous, to solve their problems. It gave them a sense of control over their lives.