“The woman that was here the other night—where is she?” I bite out the words, trying to signal I’m in no mood for games.
“It’s first come, first serve, and I was here first. I don’t know of whom you speak.” She flicks her wrist, gesturing for me to go away. I cross my arms over my chest. I’m not going anywhere.
“I’m sensing”—she rubs her chin—“frustration.”
I scrunch my nose in distaste. “You can drop the act; I’m not buying it.”
She groans. “Then go away so I can make some money.”
I take a deliberate step toward her, but she doesn’t so much as shrink back. “The woman,” I grate. “Where is she?”
Huffing, she sits back in her chair and raises her arms. “You’re not buying and I’m not talking.”
A growl escapes my lips, but it doesn’t change the woman’s countenance. She’s a scammer through and through. If I don’t offer her something, she won’t talk. I dig into my pocket and produce a twenty-dollar bill. Holding it between my fingers I say, “Ready to do business?”
She grins and snatches the money out of my hand. “Describe this woman you’re looking for.”
“Older, hunched back, long grey hair.”
She huffs, “Almada. She isn’t company you want to keep, girl. She’s…”
“The real deal?” I deadpan. The woman’s lips straighten into a thin line before she stands and walks around the table so that we’re eye to eye.
“Dangerous,” she whispers. “Almada’s visions aren’t something to toy with. Some things aren’t for us to know.”
My eyes narrow at the sudden concern the woman shows. A moment ago, she was all bravado, but now, she almost seems frightened. “That might be so, but I’ll take my chances.” I turn to go, but her hand shoots out, grabbing my arm. I turn slowly toward her with one eyebrow raised.
“The things Almada sees can’t be undone.” She swallows. “People have been hurt.”
Sheisfrightened. It’s there in the moisture she swipes from her brow. In the way her voice trembled when she spoke the wordspeople have been hurt. What she doesn’t realize is that I’m not human. Some old woman isn’t going to hurt me. She can’t.
Knowledge can do more damage than any person ever could.
I shake off that thought. “I appreciate your warning, but unless you know where I can find her, we’re done here.”
“Stupid girl,” she hisses, dropping my arm. “She’s not here tonight. She’ll be on her way to Hebrew Rest.”
“The cemetery?”
She nods, taking her seat at the table once more. “Tonight, she cleanses the spirits.”
I have so many questions about what that entails, but I’ll soon see for myself. “Thank you,” I say, leaving the woman behind. But I don’t miss the words she hurls at my back.
“Don’t thank me for having a hand in your end.”
I practically run to Dumaine Street to catch the next streetcar to take me to Hebrew Rest.
The woman’s words flitter through my head, making me wonder how bad an idea this might turn out to be, but when I analyze my plan to get back home, the only thing that makes sense is that I need to atone for my sins. I’m convinced that part of my penance here is to turn away from temptation and to fight the evil that plagues these lands. If Almada knows more, I need to hear it. I need to know I’m on the right path.
I never quite make it to Hebrew Rest. Less than two minutes after my butt lands on the seat of the streetcar, I look to my right and there Almada sits. My spine goes straight and my head jerks away from her. It’s a feeble attempt to shield myself from her view. There’s nobody between us on the near-vacant car.
She’s the reason I’m here, but this isn’t the place to have the conversation that needs to be had. So I keep my head turned and focus my attention on the torn leather seat at my side. The red fabric is pulling away, allowing the yellow cushion underneath to peek through. It’s crazy how mundane things become so fascinating when you’re doing your best to ignore the fact that your prayers are about to be answered or shattered into a million pieces. That’s the power this heretic holds over me.
I shake the woman from my head, desperate to focus on anything but what’s to come. The momentary reprieve is a gift I should not turn my back on. It doesn’t last long. The bus grinds to a stop and the driver calls out the location, putting us one block from my stop. I remain focused on the seat.
“Get up, child. We get off here.”
Almada.
