“Grace could tell us something that could let us know if our plan will work,” Emma adds. “Or give us a better one.”
Ancestors, yes. Carnival psychics? Aww hell, naw. I don’t trust fake fairpsychics. I have the real deal in my family: my little sister Imani. But I want to make Emma happy and keep our truce going, so I signal the driver to stop. I help her out of the carriage, and we head into the psychic’s tent. Hopefully, the psychic here isn’t a scammer.
Inside the tent, the air is thick with incense. A crystal ball sits on a dark wooden table. A silhouette emerges from the shadows in the back of the tent. It’s a teenage girl. The shadows melt off her as she steps forward, revealing a girl with chestnut-brown skin, a long red ponytail, dark lipstick, and a familiar smirking face.
My mouth dangles wide.
Why the hell did Imani come here? She’ll ruin everything!
Imani’s stupid ponytail always matches her dang outfits. It sways as she sashays closer in a red dress with a heart-shaped bustier top. As she approaches, her wide bustle skirt rustles with layers of velvet hearts stabbed by shimmering metallic gold daggers. Her lips curl into a teasing smile, and her wide eyes lock on mine. “I knew you’d be here…” She gives me a scolding look that seems to add,Chasing Emma and her rivers of blood.
“Huh?” Emma says, head tilted in confusion. “Do I know you?”
I give Imani a pleading look, silently begging her not to say something that could mess things up with Emma. Imani pops her gum, her dark nail polish matching her lipstick as her finger touches one of her earrings. Her ears have tiny hoops leading down to the massive one that touches her cheek. With a sigh, she looks at Emma and says, “You do now. Welcome.”
Shocked and uneasy with Imani’s presence, I pull her aside and whisper, “Are you nuts? Emma’s gonna think I’m setting her up!” I hiss. “You can’t be here.”
Imani strokes her long crimson ponytail and gives me a look that shakes my bones. “Somebody has to tell y’all the hard truth.” Her voice is so soft I almost don’t hear it. “So I paid the psychic to let me work her shift today. I had a vision, Malcolm. Emma doesn’t know we’re fam, but you both need to know what I saw. Don’t worry. I didn’t snitch to Big-Mama. Wouldn’t do no good. She can’t even stop you when you got a big dumb idea in your head. But if you guys insist on doing this, I’m gonna make sure you do it with your eyes wide open.”
I swear, my sisters always meddle in my business knowing they’re not invited.
Emma raises an eyebrow, staring skeptically. I step back, knowing she’s wondering why I’m whispering with the psychic.
Imani’s silky red ponytail sways behind her as she walks over to Emma. “Your boyfriend told me you want a reading.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Emma says. Something inside me shrinks.
“Yet,” Imani corrects her, offering a satisfied grin.
“I’d never,” Emma mumbles, but she avoids eye contact with me.
Emma and I sit awkwardly at the table. Imani blinks wide eyes outlined with two silver lines of eyeliner. She glances at a crystal ball on the right side of the table before gripping velvety black tarot cards with metallic-gold pointy edges. The cards gleam like rain on a spiderweb. A jingle from the bracelets on Imani’s wrist makes Emma look at the neon eye inside the image of a palm tattooed on the back of my sister’s hand.
Emma says, “You’re young for tattoos… and to be a working psychic. Aren’t you?”
“You’re a little young to be a car thief,” Imani replies, “but here we are.” She blows a massive pink bubble with her gum, its pop an exclamation point. She flips her ponytail onto her shoulder and points to the silver eye in the center of her biggest hoop earring. The eyeball inside is a small onyx ball. “They say onyx protects you from evil and adversaries. Pity you don’t have any, Emma.” A devilish smile curls on my sister’s lips. “But this world wants people to think everything black is bad.”
Imani’s slim brown fingers tremble above the cards on the table. She starts to study them. Then her eyes roll back in her head until they are nothing but whites. When they turn brown again, they get wide and worried. “When I see your futures—” She pauses, blowing another bubble. It pops, and she peels the pink gum off her black lipstick with matching nails. “—I see a river of blood. A broken body. Ashy brown skin. Lifeless blue fingertips. Death.”
Emma gasps. “Whose?” Her dress darkens to funeral black while her skin gets chalky brown. She is completely still, but I can tell by looking at her that she’s trembling inside. My fingers shake too.
“The image keeps flipping in my mind,” Imani says, “like a coin from head to tails. Either of you could die. Or both.”
Emma and I exchange panicked glances. Does this mean our plan will fail?
“Fate may set the stage for us in life,” Imani says, “but the words are ours. The future changes because of our actions. Our choices.”
“What do we gotta do?” I shift in my seat, asking my sister, desperately, “How do we stop this from coming true?”
“I don’t know.” Imani’s wide eyes dart nervously. She sucks in a ragged breath. “This is just a warning,” she murmurs. Her voice quakes. “I don’t know if you’ll survive… or if anyone will.” She sighs, looking tired. “But a storm’s comin’.” Blowing another bright pink bubble and popping it, she adds, “I don’t need cards to predict that you’ll both live longer if you stay apart.” My stomach drops as Imani talks about unavoidable destruction. “Look,” she says, “if the vision changes or if there’s any way I can help you, I will. But right now… that’s all I got.”
Emma’s fingers tremble as she rises on unsteady feet. She walks far ahead of me as we leave the tent’s flaps and head back into the crowded fairground. She looks around anxiously, her arms hugging her chest. The bodice of her dress shifts to a stormy gray, with black clouds raining red on its full-tiered skirts.
The fair seems dimmer, the laughter sounding like it’s underwater. Our vision is scarred by unspoken fears. I follow her through the crowd, but she walks five paces ahead of me. When we reach her car, Emma is silent and scared looking.
She pauses by the car door. “Look, maybe…” she says slowly, “… all this was a mistake.”
“No,” I insist. “Maybe us working together is the only way to change the future she saw.” But what I want to say isDon’t worry. I’m trying not to hurt you, and I’ll do anything to stop our future from getting bloody.
