An intricate rug of black and gold covered the expanse of the tent floor, and while it did have a rather luxurious appearance, in reality, Mom had picked it up at a garage sale for a dime two years ago. The same with the velvet throw pillows that lined the edges of the tent.
A chandelier hung from the center of the tent above the table, lit with thin white candles. The table and chairs were a matching set, and actually were antiques that my mom had inherited from her mother. From what I understood, my grandma had conned them out of a rich woman she’d met at a flea market.
Most things in here were props, set up for mood, but the tarot cards and stones were real. Mom even had a crystal ball, though she almost never used it, because she said it rarely worked. She might take money from strangers for her gift, but my mom never lied about the things she saw. Or didn’t see.
Mom sat facing the door to the tent, her eyes focused on the cards in front of her. She still had a deck of cards in her hand—the images faded and worn from years of use—and she absently shuffled them.
The chairs across from her had two teenage girls sitting in them. Their backs were to me, so they didn’t notice me peeking in on their reading.
“You need to trust your heart.” Mom tapped a card in front of one of the girls. “That’s very clear. There’s going to be a change, and the outcome can be good or bad depending on how well you listen to your heart.”
“So should I break up with Dean?” the girl asked.
“I can’t say.” Mom shook her head. “But a change is needed.”
I let go of the curtain, letting it slide shut, and waited beside the tent until Mom had finished. My mom was always truthful about her visions, but what people wanted from her usually had less to do with fortunes and fates than it did therapy.
Most of the time, people just wanted someone to listen, and even when she didn’t have much to help them in the way of her gift, Mom was always happy to help.
Once the girls had finished their reading, thanking my mother profusely as they exited, I slid inside to see how she was doing.
“Sorry I wasn’t here before,” I said as she slid the cards back into a pile. “Do you need anything?”
She shuffled the cards and stared down at the rug. “You can get me aspirin and water.”
“The headaches are already starting? How many readings have you done?” I asked.
“That was my second one.” She motioned to the door, where the girls had just left. “But the first one was more intense.”
I frowned. “Mom.”
“I’m fine.” Mom looked up at me. The scarf wrapped around her head kept her dark hair out of her face, and her eyes were grave. “It’s the life that chose me, and it’s fine. Can you get me the water and pills before the next customer comes?”
“Yeah, sorry.” I gave her a contrite smile. “I’ll be back.”
8. the magician
I ran back to the campsite, once again using the hole in the fence since I couldn’t find the gate. I grabbed the water and aspirin from the trailer, but as I went to leave, I noticed the door to Gideon’s trailer was open and warm light was spilling out.
I went over and climbed up the metal steps to his door. He stood next to his desk, going over something among stacks and stacks of paperwork. Black suspenders hung down around his waist, and his shirt was off. His muscled torso was heavily tattooed, but my eyes were always drawn to the one on his back.
It angled from the side, going from above his hip toward his spine. The letters were wobbly and barely legible, but Gideon had been fighting it the whole time he’d gotten it. It was more of a brand than a tattoo. Gideon said they’d used the sharp end of a metal pipe, heating it over fire, then dipping it in ink, before they’d written the word “freak” into his flesh.
That had been his first tattoo, and the only one he’d gotten that he hadn’t wanted. He’d only been fifteen at the time, and three weeks later, he left England forever. He’d hoped it would be better in America for people like him, and when he found it wasn’t, he decided to make it better. That’s why he’d started this sideshow—to create a place where people who didn’t belong could belong.
I leaned against the doorframe. “Gideon?”
“Are people already showing up?” he asked without looking up at me.
“Yeah, but I wanted to talk to you about my mom.”
He looked up, concerned. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah … Well, no.” I shook my head. “She says she is, but all of this is really taking a toll on her.”
He grimaced, then scratched the back of his neck. “The break didn’t do anything for her?”
“Not really. She’s only just started, and the migraine is already setting in.”
“I would like her to quit as much as you would, but she won’t.” He sighed. “Not right now. We need the money, and she knows it. Maybe after this, if we get a big enough of a payday, she can take a break for a while.”
“I was thinking…” I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. “Maybe we could talk about me taking over for her.”