The old woman held up a hand demanding silence, her gauzy sleeve almost trailing into the candle. I had a hard time not laughing, but Cherie was wearing what I recognized as her “church face,” somber and pious and overtly attentive. If she was allowed to talk she would likely have used big unfamiliar words and slathered her questions in tones of utmost respect. Why she would be this way for a dime store spiritualist like “Madame Zaharias” was beyond me.
“You have come with a question,” Madame said, her deep voice rising and falling in an unnatural way. I assumed this was to tell us that the messages were coming from the spirit world. “The answer lies within.” She waved her hand at the Tarot deck and the large crystal ball set before her on the scarf-draped table.
I wanted to ask how much all this would cost. Cherie was desperate. Personally, I was 99% sure the baby wasn’t mine.