He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a crumpled flyer. There were three tickets stapled to it, and Ledger suddenly remembered when the clerk at the hotel had handed them out.
“Here,” Wren said. He ripped one of the tickets along the perforated line and pushed it into Ledger’s hand. “He can have mine.”
The woman grabbed it before Ledger could have second thoughts and tucked it into her bra. Her smile was suddenly all sunshine.
“It’s the purple tent at the end,” she said. “Tell them I sent you.”
She winked, pushed herself off the side of the ride, and swaggered off.
Ledger stared after her—feeling oddly swindled even though he’d not lost anything—and then turned to look at Wren.
“What was that about?” he asked. “Madame Persephone is probably just going to tell me to do the lottery and watch my step.”
Wren tucked the two spare tickets back into his pocket. “If I were you, I’d take whatever future I could get,” he said and started back toward the noise of the midway. Just before stepping back into the throng, he glanced over his shoulder. “And I’d prefer a future where I didn’t have to watch you die.”
CHAPTER20
THERE WAS Aline outside Madame Persephone’s tent. Wren ignored it as he swaggered up to the stocky man who manned the rope to allow entrance. The doorman, who had iron-gray hair and poke n’ stick tattoos all over his forearms, scowled at him.
“Back of the line,” he said.
“We got a fast-pass,” Wren said.
Ledger gave the end of the row of waiting customers a longing look but joined Wren.
“Your sister said to go right in,” he said.
The man worked his jaw from one side to the other to make it click. “I don’t have a sister.” He held his hand out. Inked lines covered his palm. “Ticket?”
Ledger shrugged at Wren, who grumbled as he fished another strip of brightly colored porous paper out of his pocket. He dropped it into the man’s hand, and he looked at it briefly before he stuck it in his pocket.
He swept the tent door back with one arm. “Go on in.”
Ledger stepped over the rope and ducked through the door into the soft twilight interior of the tent.
“Just him,” the doorman said flatly. When Ledger turned around, the man had his hand pressed flat against Wren’s chest. “If you want your fortune read, get to the back of the line.”
Temper flashed quick and black across Wren’s face. He leaned into the palm, trying to shove him back, and grinned at the man.
“I know my fortune,” he said. “Your boss doesn’t want to.”
The doorman was impassive. “She’s not my boss.”
“Wren,” Ledger said before it could get worse. “I got this. Wait out here.”
The temper was gone. In its place, just for a heartbeat, Wren looked… hurt? Maybe. Whatever it was, he shrugged it off.
“Fine,” he stepped away. “Not like you need my help.”
Ledger stared after Wren, caught between chasing him down to apologize for whatever he’d said wrong and thechancethe fortune-teller might be useful.
The doorman straightened his T-shirt and looked around at Ledger.
“One slot per person,” he said. “Go in or stay out.”
Ledger grimaced but went on in.
The soft, dusk-flavored interior of the tent smelled of camomile and well-worked wax, the pieces of furniture that decorated the sparse space polished to a high shine. A crystal ball balanced on a dark wood stand in the middle of the table kept pulling Ledger’s gaze back to it.
