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“The goddess of destruction.”
“The destruction of ignorance,” Mother Elena says, correcting me. “She is the one to help us walk through the fire of knowledge, to know our darkness that we should not fear it but should be freed, for there is both chaos and order within us. Come where I can see you.”
She sits in her bed, shuffling a deck of worn tarot cards absently. Her breathing is heavy. “Why have you come?”
“I’ve brought food and medicine from Mrs. Nightwing. But they tell me you will not eat it.”
“I am an old woman. I will do as I please.” She nods for me to open the basket. I present the cheese. She sniffs and makes a terrible face. I put it away at once and take out the bread, which she nods to. She tears off small bits with her craggy hands.
“I try to warn them,” she says suddenly.
“What is it you tried to warn them about?”
Her hand wanders to her hair, which wants a good brushing. “Carolina died in the fire.”
“I know,” I say, swallowing against the raw tickle at the back of my throat. “It was a long time ago.”
“No. What’s past is never past. It is not finished,” she mumbles. She chokes on the bread and I pour her a glass of water and help her take small sips until the spasm subsides. “What opens one way can be opened the other,” she whispers as she rubs the talisman that hangs from her neck.
“What do you mean?”
The dogs bark. I hear Kartik soothing them, and one of the Gypsy women chiding him for petting them.
“One of them brings the dead to us.”
A chill works its way up my spine. “One of them brings the dead?” I repeat. “Who?”
Mother Elena doesn’t answer. She turns over a tarot card. It has a picture of a tall tower struck by lightning. Flames leap from the windows, and two hapless people fall to the rocks below.
I put my fingers to the terrible card as if I could stop it.
“Destruction and death,” Mother Elena explains. “Change and truth.”
The tent flaps open suddenly, making me jump. The Gypsy woman with the long dark braid eyes me with suspicion. She asks Mother Elena a question sharply in her native tongue. Mother Elena answers. The woman holds open the curtain to the tent.
“Enough. She is not well. You must go now. Take the basket with you.”
Shamefaced, I reach for the basket and Mother Elena grips my arm. “The door must remain closed. Tell them.”
“Yes, I’ll tell them,” I say, and walk quickly out of the wagon.
I nod to Kartik on my way past him. He falls into step behind me with the dogs until we are far enough from the camp and Spence not to be seen by anyone.
“What did Mother Elena have to say?” he asks. The dogs sniff at the ground. They’re restless. Low thunder rumbles far off. The air has the coppery smell of rain, and the wind has picked up. It blows my hair wild.
“She believes the East Wing is cursed, that it will bring the dead. That someone wants them to come.”
“Who?” he asks.
“I don’t know. I don’t understand what she’s saying.”
“She’s very ill,” Kartik explains. “She’s heard an owl calling in the night; that’s a harbinger of death. She may not live till summer.”
“I am sorry to hear it,” I say.
One of the dogs puts its paws to my skirts and stretches up for a pat. I scratch it gently behind the ears and it licks my hand. Kartik strokes the dog’s fur, and our fingers touch for a moment. A current passes through me.
“I had a new dream last night,” he says, looking about for others. When he’s sure we can’t be seen, he moves closer and kisses my forehead, my eyelids, and, at last, my mouth. “I was in a garden. White blossoms fell from the trees. It was the most beautiful place I’d ever seen.”
