The Fortune Teller

I shouldn't be in the waiting room. The whole place just radiated a creepy vibe that I couldn't shake. Madame Nuri was a fortune teller who specialized in Tarot. Her shop smelled so strongly of incense, it made your head spin. Why the girls wanted to come here as part of the bachelorette celebration, I couldn't understood.

The beaded curtain (who has beaded curtains anymore?) rustled when the gypsy entered the room. She beckoned to us. Giggling and teetering drunkenly on her heels, Meghan, our bride-to-be surged forward. Madame spotted an easy mark and grinned wickedly, dollar signs in her eyes. The rest of the girls eagerly followed through the curtain to the back room.

I hung back at the entrance to the room, not wanting to draw the gypsy's attention. She began with an overly dramatic explanation of Tarot cards. Madame Nuri settled Meghan into a chair and began to read our future bride's fortune. The tale was a perfect con: the promise of a brilliant future, love, happiness, but a dark cloud on the horizon. Shadows of doubt hung over their future. For a special bargain price, she could book additional sessions to further explore the secrets of the universe.

Meghan was all too eager to turn over her AmEx, paying for ten sessions in advance. The other girls soon followed suit. For each of them, the gypsy's performance was stage-worthy. Their fortunes foretold almost exactly what they wanted to hear, but - for an additional fee, of course - they could delve into the darkness threatening to block out the light of their future happiness.

Through it all, I fought to remain quiet and not expose the gypsy for a fraud. But I couldn't hold back the snickers when the gypsy proclaimed Grace would be a hugely successful ballerina. Grace is the clumsiest of our group. She also lacks the athletic ability or body type necessary for ballet.

Don't think me bitchy. I know about these things. Many years ago, I had been a prima ballerina. A star of the stage, performing for royal families across the world. It was a Russian Czar who was ultimately my downfall, leading to the cursed existence I lead today. But we'll get to that later.

The gypsy turned on me, eyes blazing. Staring back at her black eyes, which widened with sudden understanding, I knew I had underestimated this woman. I took her for nothing more than a con, but she clearly had the talent.

"Old woman, if you want to survive this night, say nothing." I commanded silently. She inclined her head slightly, presumably in agreement. I didn't want to kill the gypsy, but preserving my secret was paramount if I wanted to stay in this city...

The gypsy motion for me to sit at her table. I had no interest in her reading my cards. "Watch yourself, gypsy." I cautioned wordlessly. Her face revealed nothing as she turned the cards. I knew enough about Tarot to see each card was worse than the next, revealing darkness, sorrow and death.

Instead of reading the cards, Madame reached for my hand. Turning it over, she began to examine my palm. "This here is your lifeline. You are destined to live to a very old age." Her eyes met mine briefly before returning to my hand. "But this, your love line, is short and broken. It seems you will be alone for much of your long life. You will have riches and fame, but love eludes you. You shall spend your time in the company of men - hmm...many men, it appears - and while they will give you pleasures of the flesh, their hearts remain their own."

My eyes hardened and I was about to issue another warning to the gypsy when she pushed back from the table. "A long life, alone?" I chided. "What kind of fortune is that?"

Madame Nuri lowered her voice so no one else could hear. "Yours, my child. What other future would a succubus have for the rest of eternity?"