"Here, darling. I have something for you." Crystal slid a black and gold card across the table where Tilly's hand was. She took it gingerly, sliding it into the back pocket of her jean shorts.
"Another misfortune for me?"
"I think not," the older woman replied thoughtfully. "I believe that should help you at the inn."
"Speaking of," Tilly slid a look to Theo, who was serving a family. "Do you know much about the Grandmother Clock?"
"Oh yes," she replied gravely. "Wonderful, magical antique. Only those with the gift can read its face," she said, and then kissed Tilly's cheek. "Now, I am off to see the wizard."
"What?" Tilly asked in a whispered shock, looking around them as though Crystal's declaration could gather them an unwanted audience. "Are you serious? Are there wizards?"
Crystal's light blue eyes twinkled and crinkled, and her delicate nose scrunched in a childlike way that belied her mysterious age.
"Just a turn of phrase, darling. Just witches and vampires as far as I know. Magic in the hands of men," she visibly shivered at the thought.
Tilly laughed.
"You have a lovely night. And you," her voice rose as she speared the chief with a pointed look, "take care of our Tilly."
"I do not need taking care of." She scoffed. It came out awkward and scratchy.
The chief tilted his head once, and Crystal smiled widely before giving a fluttering wave of her hand and a graceful exit.
If only those with the gift could read the clock, had Mrs. Ling also had magic?
"Tilly," the chief started.
Her phone buzzed on the table, stopping him from whatever was about to come out of his mouth. They both looked down and, seeing Ronnie's name, a shock of annoyance ran through her. And something else she couldn't name when she looked up to the chief's eyes, boring into her.
There was a question-not visible on his face, but she felt it between them.
She wanted to answer it, to tell him she wasn't interested in Ronnie, but why would she need to tell him that?
She knew, though she ignored it. His eyes dipped to her mouth, for one breath-holding moment, and then he looked away, breaking what felt like a physical connection.
Whatever camaraderie they'd built, whatever softness had befallen the chief was gone in a moment.
"I'm going to go use the restroom," she said, in a sudden rush of disappointment.
He nodded.
As she walked away, phone burning in her hand, she felt an odd chasm, like something was growing and gaping with every step she took away from the tent. It took everything inside of her not to look back.
She was overwhelmed with feelings of annoyance, anger, confusion, and some less identifiable things. Itching, gaping, maybe a little sparkle. And all of it was marbling through her like different colors of paint in a shoebox painting, mixing and bumping, making a mess.
Her fingers itched. She felt a rise in her blood pressure.
She found restrooms with no line and when she closed herself into one of the stalls she leaned back against the plastic door and let out a long breath.
She hadn't felt this out of control in years.
Not since that morning.
Her closed eyes squeezed harder at the memory.
Frantically shoving her way into the coat closet. The smell of old wood and closeted winter coats that hadn't breathed in months. The darkness, but for one strip of yellow light at the door's bottom. Her heartbeat rattled and rumbled.
His threats set her heartbeat racing.
