Free Other Shepards by Adele Griffin Page B

can stop me. I feel the compulsive twinge of a gambler about to play a crucial stack of chips. Not only will Mom be furious, not only am I setting a bad example for my little sister, but somehow I feel that I have succumbed to the temptation of Annie, and I have become her accomplice just as Geneva has become mine.
    When I walk back into daylight I feel altered, and I do not know which is the braver act, wearing my new jacket or leaving my old one behind.
    “You look cool,” Geneva says. “I saw a hat in there I liked. Maybe this weekend we can come down here and get it.”
    “It’s far to walk.”
    “We could take the subway,” she says. “It’s easier to take a subway to a place you want to go than to somewhere boring. I like Soho. Annie’s right, no one pays attention to us. Ooh, look at that place—‘Miss Pia’s Psychic Readings and Advice.’” Geneva points across the street to a ground-level storefront. “I have money. I want a fortune.”
    “Go get one then,” Annie says. “But hurry. I can’t hang out all day.” When I look over at Annie, I notice that her hair is clumping around her shoulders and that her face and neck glow in the rich afternoon sunlight.
    “I know that shop,” she says.
    “It’s probably a ripoff.”
    “Only for skeptics,” Annie says in such a way that I can’t tell if she herself is a skeptic or not.
    We watch Geneva cross the street and slide through the door of the fortune teller’s shop. She reappears inside the glass picture window, now speaking with Miss Pia, a plump psychic who wears her hair in two braids.
    Geneva places some bills on the table between them, then seats herself in the curve-backed chair opposite Miss Pia.
    Annie watches, then strides across the street, paying no mind to the charging traffic. A cab driver honks and curses as I rush after her, and I raise my hand in meek apology. Despite her confident stories, I doubt that Annie was the most protective baby-sitter in the city.
    “I’m going on a trip,” Geneva announces, not turning around as we duck through the sateen curtains and into the psychic’s lair.
    “It’s late and Annie wants to go,” I whisper. A psychic is the last thing Geneva needs—someone to help her troll for nightmares and attach meaning to her ghostly visions. I only hope my sister doesn’t bring up her sightings of the mayor.
    “Shhh.” The woman puts her finger to her lips and regards me haughtily. “You’re creating negative energy.”
    “Sorry,” I say, taking a step back. I look over at Annie, who stands in the curtained shadows and stares down at her watch, tapping its face.
    “Your sister’s a doubter,” Miss Pia tattles on me to Geneva. “Remove yourself from this skepticalness so I can see your inner light clearer.” The back of Geneva’s head moves slightly, realigning herself outside the beam of my negative energy.
    Miss Pia leans forward to clutch Geneva’s palm, but germ-phobic Geneva snatches it away.
    “Can you read without holding?” she asks.
    Miss Pia pauses a moment, then recovers and nods. She drops her head, so close her eyelashes could kiss Geneva’s fingers. “Like I said, you are going on a journey,” she intones in a phony dramatic cadence. “You have been confused for a real long time. Which is from a problem. This problem is hard to see. I do not know where your journey takes you. Aha but wait. A man or a lady appears in your future. He maybe she holds three roses. One rose is for beauty. One is for chance. The last rose—”
    “She’s allergic to roses,” I grumble. Annie hiccups a laugh.
    “Come on!” Geneva exclaims, twisting in her chair to frown at us.
    “Who’s there?” the psychic asks, looking past Geneva.
    “Oh, they’re with me,” Geneva answers. “Go on, back to the fortune. What is the last rose for?”
    “Who’re you?” Miss Pia points at me.
    I look at Annie, who shrugs.
    “I’m Holland. Holland Shepard.”
    “Get outta here!” The Dracula