Microsoft Word - FortunesFool.rtf (35 page)

allowing him to love her with his body as much as he did with his soul.

Damned if he would pass up the chance.

He slipped an arm underneath her back, caring not for the needle-

pricks of hay. All he could think about was his hand on her leg, sliding
irreverently up the inside of her thigh. When he reached the gate of her
pleasure, Ben took that moment to kiss her. Miss Julie's mouth opened
gratefully, and when her silky, pink tongue slipped across Ben's, his
erection pressed against her exposed flesh.

He tore the sleeve of her pretty rosebud ball gown and claimed her

breast, groaning at the feel of her budding nipple against his palm.

"
Take me, Benjamin. Please," she begged.

"
I can't deny a lady her pleasure."

Her need for his sudden entry demonstrated itself when he palmed

her sex. Lush, liquid desire covered his hand, and he knew he ought not
make her wait. He removed—

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Miranda Franklin jumped out of her computer chair and gasped. Her

two calico companions marched toward the sound, alternately hissing

and mewling in defense of their owner against the perpetrator pounding

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D'ARC, GALE, KENT, MARCH

on her door.

"It's okay, babies." She ushered the two kittens into the tiny bathroom of her one-bedroom apartment. "Be quiet now, Heckle and

Jeckle. One wrong move and you'll get all three of us kicked out."

Miranda padded to the door in her writing attire: rubber flip-flops

and a ratty green-and-white striped bathrobe. She pulled her dark, frizzy mass of hair into a ponytail in a futile effort to look presentable.

"Yes?" Expecting to see her landlord, Mr. Levinsky, she opened the door. She found herself talking to no one in particular, much to her relief.

With a shrug, she almost closed the door, until she noticed the envelope taped to the frame. The outside had been boldly stamped
THIRD

NOTICE
.

"Damnit," she muttered as she slumped down onto her futon.

Things had gone quite well for Miranda until just lately. Only six

months ago, a mid-level agent had taken an interest in her romance

novels and managed to garner her a two-book deal. At the time, a seven-

thousand-dollar advance had sounded like a lot of money.

After a few rent checks and some major repair work to her Ford

Fiesta, not much remained except a few measly dollars stashed in an old

vase beneath her sink.

Not to mention, the same said agent had almost guaranteed her an

outstanding advance if she could come up with a third book proposal

within thirty days. "They're really looking for something different.

Something vibrant and sexy that will knock their socks off," he had said.

If she could hit on that, she could say goodbye to her unpleasant landlord and unreliable car.

Miranda knew an amazing cash-cow story was in her somewhere,

but unpaid utilities and hungry cats proved to be quite distracting.

"Speaking of which…" She went to the pitiful shelving unit that she called a pantry in search of a can or two of cat food. After zeroing in on her prey, she peeled back the canisters and set them down on the kitchen floor.After she let Heckle and Jeckle loose from the bathroom, Miranda

decided she was somewhat famished, as well. A quick inventory of the

fridge indicated she would find no help there. A bottle of vodka in the

freezer and a long-neglected carton of Chinese takeout mocked her

appetite and drove her to get dressed and face the world.

If the township of Elmhaven could be called "the world."

The little slice of Americana boasted one main street, surprisingly

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not
called
Main Street, but rather New Elm Street. A small park covered the expanse between the row of shops there and Miranda's apartment

building. Although the skies were quite clear, she borrowed a five from

her hoarded rainy day money and set off across the park.

The first leaves of October had just begun to fall, sprinkling the

carpet of greenish grass with its autumnal decoration. Miranda sighed

and wound her nubby orange scarf around her neck once more for good

measure, each of her strides swooshing leaves in either direction. She

absolutely loved this time of year, but the prospect of poverty and

writer's block made it difficult to enjoy the simpler pleasures of life.

Some time ago, she had resolved to suck it up and get a part-time

job. Miranda had adamantly hoped the advance would be enough to

allow her to write for a day-job, but she wasn't too proud to admit defeat, if only for a little while. Problem was, none of the quaint little shops along New Elm Street
ever
seemed to be hiring. With such a small town, and therefore a small population, not much changed, including retail

staff."No use dwelling on it," she said aloud, her thoughts moving to what she would buy with her cash.
A meatball sub from the café next to
town hall, maybe?
"Mmm…"

Her path through the park passed several old wooden benches re-

painted a brilliant cherry red. Miranda often stopped to idle awhile on

one of them, sometimes bringing along a notebook to jot down plotlines

that popped into her head. Today, there was no time for that, not with her stomach rumbling.

"Excuse me, miss…" A faint voice called to her from a bench by the sidewalk. Miranda came closer, curious about its owner.

"Here, dear, excuse me." An ancient old woman sat on the bench, surrounded by a multitude of old shopping bags. She leaned on a cane, a

headscarf tied beneath her chin. Two blind, milk-pale blue eyes were set deep in her papery face. "Could you spare some change? I'm quite

hungry."

Miranda almost left with a polite shake of her head. Then she

thought about her own grandmother, an elderly lady just like this woman, except safe and sound in the attic room of Miranda's parents' house,

rather than begging for quarters in a cold, New England park.

She slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out the five. Placing

the bill in the old lady's outstretched palm, Miranda found her wrist

suddenly grasped by the woman's other hand.

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D'ARC, GALE, KENT, MARCH

"Thank you, dear. I have only one thing to give you in return. Such a kindness, after all, deserves another." She patted the bench beside her, the smile on her lips somehow reaching her sightless eyes. "Sit beside me for a moment and I will read your fortune."

Miranda raised an eyebrow, but sat hastily. After all, this could

prove to be excellent fodder for her next story. "You can read my palm?"

she asked.

The old woman laughed. "I used to be able to read a great many

other things—tea leaves, spheres, cards. Now I save my gift for very

important purposes. But palms…palms I can still read."

Miranda flushed. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to doubt your

abilities."

"No need to ask my forgiveness, child, your aura tells me your

intentions are good." The woman looked up at the sky as she pulled

Miranda's palm into her lap and fell silent for several minutes, the rustle of wind through the trees above the only audible sound. She ran her

index finger over the tender skin of Miranda's palm, the various bumps

and ridges, and the fingers one by one, until she stopped at the ring

finger.

"Nope, still not married." Miranda rolled her eyes. "No matter how hard Mom pushes."

The woman dropped her empty gaze from the sky and down to

Miranda. "You're a writer."

Miranda's mouth gaped open and she nodded. The old woman gave

her a knowing smile. "You write wonderful stories of romance and

adventure."

"If only you worked for Random House," Miranda quipped.

The woman fingered the crease at the top of Miranda's palm, lost in

thought. "And yet, your heart line tells me you've never been in love."

Her pulse pounded at the statement's intimate nature. "Mom put you

up to this, didn't she?" she deadpanned.

"Shh. Your fate is now. See this line?" The woman pointed to a long line down the center of her palm. "It shows when you make choices and when your fate chooses events for you." She began to hum softly,

intermittently between pronouncements.

"A new opportunity finds you very soon. A tremendous adventure

will sweep you up…and, just like in your stories, you will meet a man.

He is not without power, but has lost something he needs to regain. You

help him to find it." A smirk flickered across the old lady's face. "And he 232

FORTUNE'S FOOL

helps you in return."

* * * *

five bucks lighter, but that loss caused an inexplicable buoyancy in her step.

My fate is now.

She ambled past the shops and restaurants of New Elm Street, a

vague idea forming for her proposal. Then she saw the shop on the

corner of New Elm and Oakhaven.

Farra's Fortunes
, a newly painted sign read.
20% off all

Cheiromancy, Cartomancy, and Crystallomancy services.

It couldn't be just a coincidence, Miranda realized. She needed a

job, she'd just had her fortune read, and this could be the beginning of the adventure that would kick-start her proposal. Although no
Help Wanted
sign hung in the window, she felt confident they might just need her.

A jingling doorbell announced Miranda's entrance into the shop, the

stale warmth of the musty establishment providing some relief from the

chill of the outdoors. The shop smelled odd. Mothballs, ink, and a

strange, bleach scent. A faint whiff of incense floated above all of these odors in a fragrance that was only slightly more pleasing. She wrinkled

her nose.

Patchouli, maybe?

Miranda took an unofficial tour of Farra's Fortunes, small as the

place was. An old Tiffany lamp hung low over a small table in the

corner. A decaying, midnight blue velvet cloth draped its surface, upon

which sat a small black box. She noticed the figurines on the shelves and the display cases of various essential oils and incense holders, all covered in a layer of dust.

"Doesn't seem like this place gets much action," Miranda muttered.

"Strange, in a location so close to Salem."

"I thought the same thing, myself." A petite, elderly woman

emerged from behind a curtain covering the doorway to a back room. "I picked this spot myself, but we haven't gotten many visitors yet, I'm

afraid."

The doleful expression on the woman's tiny face made Miranda

light up with compassion. She looked like a kindly grandmother whose

batch of chocolate chip cookies had just burned. "There probably aren't too many people in Elmhaven who know what cheiromancy is," she said, indicating the sign out front. "Maybe you just need a little help with 233

D'ARC, GALE, KENT, MARCH

promotions."

The woman giggled, pressing a hand to her mouth. "That's the last

thing we need. We like to keep our clientele selective. Word of mouth,

you know."

Miranda raised an eyebrow. "I guess. So, you're Farra?"

"Goodness, no!" The old woman smiled and looked about the store.

"Farra was my grandmother. You can call me Edith."

"Pleasure to meet you, Edith." Miranda extended her hand for a shake, surprised to find the woman's shake was a hearty one despite her

frail appearance. "I came to inquire about a job."

Edith eyed Miranda from head to toe. "You have the gift, do you?"

Miranda's mouth twitched to the side, as was her habit when about

to lie. "Yep. I sure do." After all, if the bag lady in the park could have it, why couldn't she?

Edith smiled sweetly. "I'm sorry, dear. You may have the gift, but

you just don't have
the look
. People come here expecting the whole shebang, and you certainly don't look like any of
my
Gypsy ancestors."

Miranda thought about that for a moment. There had to be some

way of convincing the woman. She whipped her scarf out and wrapped it

around her head. When the fabric was tied at the back of her neck,

Miranda made sure to display the gold hoops of her earrings. She closed

her eyes and whirled her hands over an imaginary crystal ball, faking her best Gypsy accent.

"Though you have not yet experienced love, I sense that you will

find it this year with a dark, handsome man." Miranda opened her eyes and searched Edith's face for a reaction.

She must have seen some merit in the performance, for the woman's

skeptical expression warmed to a mischievous grin. "It appears you do have
the gift
. Let's see if we can hone it with a bit of on-the-job training."

Miranda smiled at the nice old lady's offer.

Completed book proposal, here I come.

* * * *

a closer look at the brunette. He gasped, not expecting the powerful

allure of her eyes, or that spark of fire he hadn't seen in a woman since who-knew-when. She wasn't a beauty by any means, but his groin

automatically tightened in response to her brilliant smile. The way her

long, curly mane bounced when she moved her head, the way her smooth

milky skin led to a nice set of...

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FORTUNE'S FOOL

His imagination took off like a runaway horse and his mind filled

with images of himself fingering those thick brown locks, then roughly