“Will you tell me about losing your leg?” The records I have about Sin’s shooting are obviously incorrect since none mention an amputation.
“What do you want to know about it?” Everything.
“What were the circumstances?
“I was ambushed by a rival alliance called The Order. They had uzis. My leg was no match for that. It was barely hanging on when I arrived at the emergency room. There was no saving it.” That sounds gruesome. And it’s the kind of danger he faces on a regular basis.
“I don’t understand how you’ve kept it secret.”
“It wasn’t difficult. Dad sent me to Lucerne for months. I was rehabilitated by the best doctors in Europe. I could walk almost flawlessly by the time they finished my physical therapy.”
“It must have been awful.” He never exhibits signs of PTSD. I wonder if he sees a therapist.
“It wasn’t pleasant.”
I never suspected before I knew. “I notice times when your gait changes. But it’s only because I know.”
“The stump bothers me from time to time.”
“Thank you for sharing this with me.”
He rubs his thumb over my hand again. “I was thinking we might go for drinks later.”
“But not Duncan’s?”
“I’m afraid not. We’ll need to find a different drinking hole.”
I look at the street. He’s right. The rain didn’t last long. “Looks like it’s stopped.”
I’m almost disappointed. I like hiding in this little cubby with Sin, away from the rest of the world. “I do believe you’re right.”
We leave the refuge of our hiding place. We resume our former path along High Street toward Edinburgh Castle and come up on a line of sidewalk vendors. There is a wide variety of goods and services but one in particular catches my eye: a psychic medium.
People claiming to be able to communicate with the dead and see the future have always interested me, mostly because I like observing how they read people. I don’t believe in them for a second but I’d like to see how this one will take my words and reactions and use them to facilitate what she should say next. “I want the psychic to read me.”
“Don’t tell me you believe in fortunetellers.”
“Of course not. It’s for entertainment purposes only.” He looks none too excited, so I grab his hand and give it a yank. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”
We go over to her table and the lady smiles. “Mornin’ to you. Would you like a reading?”
“Yes.” A real psychic would already know that. “How much?”
“Twenty pounds for one or thirty for the both of you.”
“Both, please.” I have faith Sin won’t be easily manipulated, so I want to see how she’ll pull this off.
“I agreed to come over with you, not participate.”
“Sorry. I’ve already paid for you.” I look at the psychic and smile. “He’s going first.”
“Take a seat.” She gestures toward the stool opposite her.
Sin stares daggers at me but does as she asks. “I’ll remember this later and so will you.”
“I’m Mary.”
“I’m …”
“No,” she quickly interrupts. “Don’t tell me anything.” Hmm … that’s unexpected. “Have you ever been to a medium or psychic before?”
“No,” we answer in unison.
She positions a notepad and prepares to write. “I communicate with those on the other side using a sixth sense. It isn’t always exact so a lot of times I must interpret the things I see, feel, and sense.” Of course it isn’t an exact science. If it were, it could be explained and therefore, she couldn’t milk money out of people. “Any questions before we begin?”
“No,” Sin replies. I shake my head.
She puts pen to paper and begins to write a series of numbers. “Do the numbers five, ten, and thirteen mean anything to you?”
He hesitates before answering. “Aye.”
“The young girl I see—she was five when she died ten years ago on the thirteenth. Do you understand this?”
Sin looks up at me, clearly spooked, and then back to Mary. “Aye.”
“Her name begins with a C. Something like … Clara.”
“Cara.”
“Oh, good.” She sketches a heart dangling from a chain. “And she wore this?”
“That’s her locket.”
“Perfect. And this young girl was your sister?”
Sin brings his hand to his chin and rubs it, something I’ve noticed him do when he’s uncomfortable. “Aye.” He looks up at me and then to Mary. “Who gave you this information?”
“Cara.”
“Cara’s dead.”
“Thus the reason I’m able to communicate with her.” Mary returns her pen to the paper. “It’s hard for me to catch my breath. This is my sign she died with something related to the lungs.” She stops drawing. “A terrible thing was done to that child but she wants you to know she did not suffer.”
“She was murdered—smothered. We’ve never found out who did it.” Sin appears to be growing more anxious. “I need to know who it was.”
“I see the shadow of a man in a dark room, her bedroom, I presume, but I can’t make out his face.”
“Can you tell me anything? Is he young? Old? Tattoos?” Oh my God. He’s actually feeding into this. This woman is damn good.
“Your sister’s moved on to a different image. That’s my sign telling me she doesn’t want you to dwell upon what happened to her.”
“What are you seeing now?”
“You—and you’re happy. She wants you to know you’ll find joy in a family of your own. You’ll have a wife and children, and soon, from the looks of what I’m seeing.”
What bullshit!
Mary turns the page of her book. “Are you ready, my dear?”
I nod but say nothing as Sin stands to switch places with me. “Your mother has passed?”
Sin knows this but I must be careful about what I admit to so nothing contradicts what I’ve told him. “Yes.”
“And a mother figure as well.”
Hmm … if this were real, I’d think she was referring to Julia, my adoptive mom. But because this is a fraud, I can pretend she must be referring to my faux aunt I just lost if need be.