The fortune teller

One could hardly blame Ceres Euglena from trying to fit the stereotype of a fortune teller. She liked the sashaying, colourful skirts and the beaded necklaces one found all the time in second-hand shops, which was probably where she got her jewellery.
Her office, though, was mercifully free of incense, dead things or discarded shoes; it was bright and airy.
“My dear girl, what brings you here?” she called across the large room.
“Charlie told me to come.” Minerva lingered around the doorway.
“Ah, Charlie. Come in, dear, come in, have a seat, make yourself comfortable!”
Up close, Minerva saw the crow’s feet at Ceres’ eyes, and that her hair was most definitely dyed. Her hands were small, the skin loose, veins protruding like green snakes. She clasped these hands loosely.
“So, Amber, dear Charlie wants you to have your fortune told, doesn’t he?”
Charlie had been tactful, to use a pseudonym for her like that. Minerva said nothing. She shrugged. Hey, if this woman was a clairvoyant, she should know, right? The fortune-teller gestured at her hand.
“Left or right?”
“Dominant hand. Come, come.”
Reluctantly Minerva stretched out her right hand and the fortune teller took it in her wrinkly hands. The woman’s skin felt like loose snake skin, but it was dry and not unpleasant. As Minerva looked around, the woman stared with a curious fixed expression on her face. From time to time she would shake her head and mutter things. Minerva tried to silence the irritation springing up within her. It was the ‘I know more than you do’ attitude which all fortune-tellers seemed to adopt with their clients which had kept Minerva away from ‘such folk’ as much as possible. Until then, of course. Until the dreams she’d had.
Ceres Euglena looked at Minerva full in the eyes.
“Charlie, is he still helping the police?” she asked. Minerva calmed the sudden lurch in her throat.
“You must be special. What you did. He usually doesn’t let them off so easily.”


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