Tara tucked long strands of hair back into a ponytail because of the heat. Secretly however, she thought if the Gypsy Queen was everything the brochure said perhaps there were scouts watching the crowd. If so, Tara wanted to throw them off. A small tingle of excitement started to build at the thought of duping some hokey palm reader. This weekend, the thrills would have to come from wherever she could find them.
Vendors were everywhere selling wares. Most items had no modern day use to Tara. There were amulets to wear, crystals for luck and ornate gothic crosses for warding off evil spirits.
Tara realized she lacked many medieval day essentials, such as a tin cup and a knife. These would be vital, if she wanted something to drink.
The beverage department offered only three choices, water, beer, and wine. Vendors were happy to pour you what you wanted, but you had to have your own cup. A paper cup was nowhere to be found.
The same salesman told her if she wanted to cut the food served to her, she would have to have a knife. “That is one of the finest daggers I have, my lady.” Gaston stood six foot one, his fake English accent made Tara laugh and Cassy flirt.
“I’ll bet it’s one of the most expensive, too.”
“You do have a keen eye and exceptional taste.
Here you see an ornate Celtic design. These are not only beautiful, but are also very rare pieces of amber.”
“It’s stunning,” Tara whispered while turning the knife over to examine the carvings.
“That it is, my lady. That it is.”
Knowing she would never return to a Renaissance fair again, she haggled over the man’s price, agreeing to spend twice what she suspected her purchase was worth, before walking away.
Once Cassy and Tara heard the official announcement that the Gypsy Queen was seeing all women, the two made their way to the massive tent to join the others as they all paraded through. The line they stood in rivaled any one of California’s amusement parks during the height of tourist season on a Saturday. It seemed as if they’d been there for over an hour when Tara felt her first sting of sexual discrimination. She knew medieval women held a low station in life, but this was ridiculous.
Only the women were mandated to go through the tent. Some men chose to go in out of curiosity, wondering what happened behind the drawn curtains of the largest, most elaborate tent in the fair. But at least, the men had a choice. Tara, Cassy, and the rest of the women didn’t.
As they inched their way closer to the entrance, an icy chill surrounded Tara’s body. Someone once told her the sensation was caused by a person in the future stepping on your grave. Today she passed it off to hunger and fatigue. Still her body shuddered.
“Hey, are you okay?” Cassy asked when Tara shivered.
“Fine. I’m just cold.”
“Cold? It’s hot out! How can you be cold? You’re not getting sick again are you?”
“No. I’m not getting sick.”
“Good!” Cassy rubbed her hands together as they waited their turn. “Damn, this is so exciting. I wonder what she looks like.”
There were only two groups left in front of them.
“You won’t have to wonder for long.”
“Are you going to say anything,” Cassy lowered her voice and whispered in Tara’s ear, “About being the big ‘V’?”
“If the Gypsy is a real psychic, she should be able to sense something without me saying a word.”
Making small talk with the Gypsy wasn’t high on Tara’s priority list. The sooner they were done, the sooner they could eat.
A tank of a man, hidden behind a dark brown cloak, stood guard at the entrance to the coveted tent. Every so often, he pulled the cloth back and allowed the next party to enter.
Tara couldn’t hear any sounds coming from inside. The thick velvety drapes prevented her from seeing in as well. She couldn’t tell how they summoned the next group. There weren’t any visible wireless remotes or radio devices signaling the Hulk to open the drapes. Somehow, he simply knew when it was time for the next group to go in.
When their turn came and they crossed over the threshold, Tara shivered. If someone from the future stepped on her grave a few minutes ago, he was definitely dancing on it now. Walking inside felt as if they’d stepped into an abyss. She didn’t want to inhale the stale air and couldn’t see in the blinding darkness. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the flicker of candle light. Yet still she could see very little. Tara’s eyes skirted around to find clues divulging the gypsy’s secrets. However, no tempting Adonis stood next to the lone woman in the room.
A voice, frail in tone but firm and demanding, asked them to step forward.
“Let me see you,” the voice commanded from the shadows.
Bold and without hesitation, Tara stood up making sure her frame was within the path of the light. Directly behind her Cassy bumped her side trying to get a better view of the person behind the voice.
Violent shivers ran up and down Tara’s arms.
The gleaming eyes behind the voice raked her, digging deep, seeing all. Tara felt naked, exposed.
The need to flee overwhelmed her hard and fast.
Frozen, Tara heard her friend speaking as if from another realm.
“We are so excited about being here Madame, Gypsy Queen... Ahh geeze, I’m not sure that’s right.
Is that what we should call you? Or do you have a name?”
The Gypsy’s laugh stiffened Tara’s spine more, if that was possible. The crackling sound grated down deep inside, like nails on a chalkboard. “My name is Gwen. You may call me Madame Gwen.”
She’s lying! The thought came so quickly it took her by surprise. Her name isn’t Gwen, but something similar.
Tara needed to get a better look at this woman.
She couldn’t really see well in the dimly lit room.
She pried her fingernails from the wall and moved closer to get a better look at Gwen.
Madame Gwen leaned forward, her face caught in a flicker of light for a brief moment. Her hair, gray as a winter sky, hung long, past her shoulders.
Eyes black as midnight pierced through the dark, watchful as an owl. The crater deep lines carved into her face told Tara she must be in her late eighties.
And she’s obviously never heard of Botox.
The Gypsy laughed, almost as if she heard Tara’s thoughts. “You,” she pointed to Tara. “What brings you to our fine fair? You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself.”
“I’m having a fabulous time, thank you,” Tara stated with just the right amount of sarcasm. She didn’t like how Madame Gwen’s eyes dilated as she leaned toward her. It didn’t look natural.