Free Dreams of Shreds and Tatters by Amanda Downum Page A

concerned churchgoers worried about her soul, or from wannabe sorcerers convinced that they knew secrets no one else could fathom. Now she did sigh. “So I hear.” She glanced at the window and saw Rabia staring at them from behind the counter.
    The woman bared her teeth in what might have been a smile. “But you haven’t listened yet. I wouldn’t try too hard to look beneath the skin of the world. It’s ugly down there.” She turned away before Rae finished flinching.
    Rae grabbed for her cards like a security blanket, but her hands were shaking and she fumbled the deck. Cards sprayed across the damp table and sidewalk and she cursed. By the time she knelt to retrieve them, the woman had vanished down the sidewalk.
    Footsteps clicked on the pavement as she groped under the table for the Five of Cups, paused beside her. “Rae?”
    “Antja?” Rae caught her elbow on the metal chair as she straightened. Antja Schäfer always left her feeling awkward and clumsy—too much grace and poise and not enough left for anyone else.
    “Hello.” Antja paused by the table, a shorter girl beside her, shiny boutique shopping bags hanging from both their arms. For an instant Rae’s vision swam and there was a third shape beside Antja, a shadow where no shadow should be, but she blinked and it was gone.
    An awkward silence settled between them. “How have you been?” Antja finally asked.
    Confused, she wanted to say. Scared . She swallowed it for the stranger’s sake and settled for “Okay.” An unspoken considering hung in the air.
    “Will you be at the service?”
    “Of course.”
    The other woman shifted her weight and Antja blinked. “Excuse me. Rae, this is Liz. She’s a friend of Blake’s.”
    The woman stepped forward, raising a hand in greeting. Her cheeks were red, ash-blonde hair damp and wind-tangled beneath her stocking cap. Her eyes flickered toward the scattered cards and her chapped lips tightened. The Tower and the Hanged Man lay face up again.
    “Do you want your fortune told?” Rae asked, trying for a smile. It felt crooked on her face. Their eyes met and she felt that spinning sensation again.
    Liz’s answering smile looked just as strained. “Maybe some other time.”
    Antja waved, and the two of them stepped into the warmth and light of the café.
    Rae gathered her cards and wrapped them haphazardly in a silk scarf. Clouds scraped the rooftops, thick and swirling. Shadows lengthened. Time to go home. Behind the lowering sky the star was rising; its pull surged sharp in her blood.
    As she rose movement drew her eye, a flutter of black in the corner of her vision. Darkness gathered in a doorway across the street, thicker than the afternoon gloom. It flickered as she watched, from a low crouching shape to a tall gaunt figure leaning in the alcove. She couldn’t see its face, but she felt its attention.
    The deck carved lines in her palm as her hands clenched. She couldn’t see its face because it had none: no eyes, no nose, no mouth, just slick blackness. It had no aura, either. Or at least no colors—a nimbus of emptiness surrounded it, devouring any light that got too close.
    Rae stared, frozen, unable to move or look away until a cluster of office people emerged from the next building and broke her line of sight. When they passed, the shadow-thing was gone.
    She almost bolted for the café, for the safety of light and company. But if she went in, she’d have to come out again, and it would only get darker and colder.
    She shoved her cards into her pocket and wound her scarf around her neck. Her umbrella unfolded with a snap. Keep to the light, catch a bus home—she could do that. All of a sudden her stuffy apartment didn’t seem so bad.
    W ITH HIS SARTORIAL obligations fulfilled, Alex lingered in the shelter of a bus stop studying the map. The Museum of Anthropology sounded like a good way to pass a few hours, but Liz’s misgivings had started to spread—he couldn’t shake the sensation