Free Born of Corruption by Teri Brown Page A

without looking up.
    My face reddens. At least he didn’t catch me staring. What’s wrong with me, gawking at a stranger in the street like that! At sixteen, you’d think I’d be more experienced, especially considering how much time I spend around theaters. But most of the men I’ve known have hardly been the marrying type. I snort, thinking of Swineguard the Magnificent, One-Eyed Billy, and Lionel the Lobster Boy. Not the marrying type is an understatement.
    A tingling in my stomach distracts me from my thoughts. It grows more and more insistent, spreading to my chest and legs, and that’s when I know.
    It’s happening again.
    In public.
    Painful red stars erupt in front of my eyes and the world around me dims. I reach for a lamppost to steady myself, hoping no one on the busy street notices. The strong aroma of burned sugar plays around my nostrils. As always, the horror of my visions is served up with the sweet smell of a candy shop.
    My heart pounds in terrified expectation of what’s to come. The visions are never pretty images of happy endings. When I’m asleep, I can brush these episodes off as nightmares, even though I know better. When awake, I’m treated to the full, excruciating experience.
    I clutch at the lamppost as electric flashes, like a distant lightning storm, illuminate a series of pictures. Some are clear; others are obscured behind an impenetrable mist. A burst of light reveals a picture of me running down a dark street. I see empty warehouses flashing by as I run past. It’s so real; I feel the rasp of my breath and the sticky, crawly sensation of blood trickling down my cheek. The next image is of my mother’s face, her eyes wide with fear, her bow-shaped lips pinched with an effort not to scream. . . .
    “Excuse me, miss. Do you know you have a nickel sticking out of your ear?”
    The words break through the hammering in my head, and the darkness in my sight recedes as I whirl around. The vision is interrupted, but the horror at what I saw still swirls in my stomach. Then again, fear has been a part of my life as long as I can remember. Visions of the future aren’t the only psychical ability I’ve been “gifted” with.
    Nausea rises up in my throat. It takes several blinks before my eyesight returns to normal. My oblivious savior is a short, round man with a handlebar mustache and dark bowler hat. He is patiently awaiting my response. I swallow a couple of times before I can speak. “Pardon?” I tighten my grip on my shopping basket full of the produce and groceries I bought this morning. You can never be too careful.
    Around us, pedestrians go about their day with barely a glance. It takes something special to capture their attention, especially in this aspiring working class neighborhood of brownstone apartments and shops.
    Flashing a nubby-toothed smile, my companion reaches up and pulls a nickel out of my ear. A few steps away, a small boy in frayed knee pants, holding a sheaf of flyers, hoots with laughter.
    Understanding dawns, and the tension along my neck and shoulders loosens—I’ve been around stage promoters my whole life, and though they’re a shifty lot, they generally pose no immediate threat. Whatever the vision was about, it had nothing to do with this stubby bit of a man.
    “Thank you!” I tell him, taking the coin with my left hand. I make a show of switching my basket to the other hand and, with one fluid motion, reach my empty right hand up to the side of his head. “And do you realize you have an onion in yours?”
    I smile at the boy, whose mouth forms an O as I pull a long, thin green onion out of the man’s ear.
    The man’s eyes widen, then he grins in appreciation. I relax. Most male magicians resent girls who practice magic. Obviously, this little man isn’t one of them.
    “Wait! There’s more!” Not to be outdone, he reaches up and begins pulling brightly colored scarves out of my other ear. Around us, a small crowd forms, and excitement