Free Dreams of Shreds and Tatters by Amanda Downum

than Alain.” She flinched as she said it. Liz knew better—bad as this was, it could be worse.
    “I wish I knew what to do,” Liz said, words muffled in tissue. If she’d been alone she might have sobbed. Instead she drew a deep breath, waiting for her heart to slow, for her stomach to stop its nauseous sway.
    “Me too.” Antja’s eyes closed, a weight of fear and fatigue visible for an instant beneath her careful poise.
    Liz lowered the tissue. The dizziness had passed, but the smell of blood and air freshener threatened her uneasy equilibrium. Something between fear and jealousy settled heavy in her stomach. She didn’t want anyone else to see Blake like this, didn’t want anyone else to risk that black abyss.
    “We can’t do much here but worry. Would— Would you like to get some coffee, or something to eat?”
    Antja hesitated, dark eyes veiling. Then she smiled. “Yes. I’d like that.”
    R AIN DRUMMED AGAINST Café Al Azrad’s red awnings and fell in shining ribbons to the sidewalk. On the patio, Rae huddled against the wind, but it crept in between the buttons of her coat, through the weave of her scarves, ran icy hands up her legs. But even freezing, she was glad to be out of the apartment.
    She shuffled her cards, concentrating on the bright colors of the suits, the flutter of glossy cardstock. The familiar motions soothed her, help clear the lingering cobwebs of paranoia. All week she’d startled at shadows, seen faceless strangers in crowds, felt people staring wherever she went. If she was going to go crazy cooped up in the apartment, she didn’t need to be crazy outside, too. But today the only thing giving her goosebumps was the cold.
    Shuffling kept her fingers warm, but she’d long given up on making any money today. No one wanted their fortune told in this weather. Even the inside of the café was nearly empty. The owner let her give readings on the patio, and sometimes Rabia or Noor gave her free coffee and baklava. The idea of something hot and sweet was tempting now, but her appetite still hadn’t returned.
    Cards slapped cold and slick between her fingers. The Tower and the Hanged Man surfaced every time she paused, but she couldn’t make sense of either of them.
    No one would tell her what happened at the cabin that night, only that Alain was dead and Blake was in the hospital and someone had warded their apartment to keep people from snooping. Something was spinning around her, circling in, but she didn’t know what it was. She glanced up, eastward, but saw only the sharp lines of skyscrapers and condos blurring in the haze.
    The door opened, shaking light across the glass, and a tall, darkhaired woman stepped out. “Tell your fortune?” Rae called, more on principle than out of any real hope. The woman turned and Rae flinched: angry, roiling colors surrounded her, crackling around her hands and jaw. The auras were worse than ever. Stephen was probably cutting the mania.
    The colors faded as the woman took a step closer, leaving only a cranky-looking stranger. Rae had seen her before, coming and going, talking to Rabia and Noor, but didn’t know her name.
    The woman frowned down at the cards. Her hair was cut in a blunt bob around a square jaw, baring the strong lines of her neck. Coat and sweater muffled her shoulders and folded arms, but her hands were hard and scarred. Not pretty, far too strong and arresting for pretty , but striking all the same; Rae wished she could ever look that strong.
    “Do you really believe in this stuff?” the woman asked, tapping one short, thick nail against the table.
    Rae had heard that question often enough. By now it was easy to smile instead of sighing or rolling her eyes. “It’s symbolism. You apply the meaning of the cards to your questions, and maybe they help you see things you wouldn’t have thought of. It’s not real magic.”
    “No. Real magic is nothing to fuck around with.”
    Rae had heard that before, too. Either from