Night passed. Eventually, Rosa conked out mid-conversation. Her head lulled against my shoulder, and I might've never moved if I hadn't needed to finish molding bullets. As such, I'd gently guided her into a more comfortable position, got her a blanket from one of Bram’s horses’ saddlebag, and proceeded to finish my work.

No rest came for me. That brief respite in the prison cell was all I seemed destined to get. Day crept up fast, and it was time to return to my duties. I told Timperina to stay in the camp where she'd be safe, and she whinnied her disapproval but didn't fight much more.

She was always eager to seem adventurous, but I knew, deep down in that horsey heart of hers, she was happier moseying around, finding stray strands of grass to gnaw on.

Sun rose and we headed out. Bram and the others went on ahead, faster. He was keen on buying some artifact said to be on sale from some traveler or other. Something that would further his research into the supernatural.

I didn't have the heart to tell him that when it came to American festivals… everything was a show. Trinkets and bibelots with grand stories were more likely to be items rummaged from someone's work shed than the real thing. Unlike that cursed harmonica in my belt pouch.

Rosa and I kept a more leisurely pace. Doing something so mortal as approaching the fairgrounds by her side almost had me forgetting about the Yeti, the Piasa, and Dufaux.

A grave error, perhaps.

One that I was sure to get an earful about from Shar the next chance she got. But it wasn't even high noon and surely not a wise time for folks to be robbing banks. Be that as it may, I had a job to do.

My eyes were peeled for three things. First, anyone who looked like they were up to no good. Just because I'd only seen three of the so-called Frozen Trio didn't mean it couldn't be a quartet.

Second, the Revelation Sheriff and his men, who might not be too thrilled to see a man they'd thrown in the drunk tank out and about without them having turned the key. If they even remembered or cared—way they were acting, I had no doubt a few whiskeys or more were passed around last night. They should've all been posted around the bank anyhow, so it wasn't too large a concern yet.

Third, my eyes searched skyward. I swore I'd seen the Mind-drifter’s hawk last night and fast motion in the sky confirmed it for me… momentarily. But alas, it was only a falcon entertaining some children at the command of a falconer. Considering its master was old as time itself, he wasn't the outlaw.

In my field, there was always the concern that a Black Badge would become so obsessed by the supernatural that he or she would start looking for devils behind every bush. I wasn't there yet, but closer than I probably would’ve liked to admit.

Another racket drew my attention. A train pulled into the Revelation Springs station, bringing even more travelers just in time for the commencement of the week's activities.

"Looks like fun," Rosa said.

The idea of fun had long since passed from my mind, but I had to agree. If I'd lived a different life, I might've found myself looking for a recreational diversion today instead of trying to save the world from demons—or at the very least Mr. Reginald Dufaux and this region’s money.

We entered the fairgrounds proper to the smells of cooked meat, burnt sugar, and other scents. Those were the pleasant ones. Thing about festivals is the animals—and dare I say, the workers—involved bring their own stink. Strangely, smell's something I kept in my unlife. Guess they figured it didn’t bring with it any true joy so why not throw the Black Badge a bone. Even still, just like my sense of taste, it's just a bit duller than it used to be.

Tall red and white tents rose on each side of the avenue, leaving space between for cut-throughs. Colorful triangular flags made of cloth hung from freshly braided ropes as if suspended in midair, flapping with the light breeze. People were everywhere.

I never was comfortable around a crowd. Maybe even less so now.

"Look at the size of him," Rosa marveled.

The scar on my chest tingled. The World’s Strongest Man, Beast Boy, Bearded Lady, and others I'd already encounter at Picklefinger's strode by. Beast Boy avoided my gaze in a way that seemed purposeful. The Strong Man gave me a distinct look that told me he hadn't forgotten our little kerfuffle last evening. I nodded, and so did he. No hard feelings.

They kept on by and entered one of the largest tents, the one labeled with a big sign that said, Freak Show. I couldn't believe anyone would subject themselves to that, no matter how odd they looked. Though I suppose, making an honest living makes a fool of most, and better the Beast Boy drain wallets than souls. Still, I had half a mind to step up onto that stage, rip my own head off and smile at all the mortals who took pleasure in watching such spectacles.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, those from far and wide, on behalf of Revelation Springs and the founders, we welcome you to the twenty-third annual Founders' Day Fair!"

I heard the voice, evidently being amplified by means of a bullhorn, but couldn't see where it was coming from yet. As the speech continued, the speaker making jokes about this and that, Rosa and I picked up the pace. And by that, I mean her grabbing hold of my sleeve and pulling until I had no choice but to break into a light jog. We tried our best to follow the sound but didn't need to. The gathered crowd told us where to look.

The chubby little mayor I'd run into at Dufaux's came into view. He stood upon the church steps adjacent to a raised platform occupied by well-dressed musicians, the local Sheriff, Cecil, and what appeared to be the town reverend. The mayor wore some of the choicest duds I'd seen on a man—a blood-red three-piece suit embroidered with gilded filigree topped with a tall hat made of felt decorated the same. A timepiece hung by a gold chain from his pocket, and he wore a matching cravat or ascot. I honestly don't know the difference.

"It's been quite a year," he said. "Those of us who call Revelation our home are very proud of all we've managed to accomplish."

There was a polite clapping, scattered mostly.

"As the festivities commence, our very own founder would like to share a few of his own sentiments."

At those words, I thought I saw disgust cross the mayor's face. Based on how he'd been treated at Dufaux's villa, I figured I was probably right.

He stuck a hand out to his right. "My friend, Mr. Reginald Dufaux!"

Seldom has the word "friend" ever sounded so bereft of its meaning.

Still, the crowd cheered honestly. Even Rosa clapped mildly beside me.

As Reginald Dufaux climbed the steps, I swore I could see the steeple swaying from the heft of his staggering frame. Taking the bullhorn from the mayor with one hand, he retrieved a handkerchief with the other. Making no attempt to hide it, he wiped the mouth of the horn, then cleared his throat.

"Can we all keep this round of applause going for Mayor Stinson for how hard he's worked to keep our little town running so smoothly?” Dufaux said. “A better public servant, no man could ask for."

"Coming from a man who'd know a thing or two about servants," I murmured.

Rosa shushed me.

As the applause died, Dufaux made a show of looking around, standing on the tips of his toes to get a view of the city beyond the fairgrounds.

"No little town anymore, I suppose,” Dufaux said. “No, Sirree. I defy any northerner to come down here and not be impressed."

Several in the congregation nodded and vocalized their agreement.

"When I founded Revelation Springs along with my dear friend, Chief Apenimon, the true father of these lands—may God forever rest his soul—I never dreamed she would become the thriving city she is today."

He lowered the bullhorn and raised a hand to his mouth as if stifling emotion.

"Good grief," I whispered.

"I say, look around you, folks,” Dufaux went on. “Beyond the beauty of the springs themselves, gaze upon the city. Some of the finest craftsmanship and construction this side of the Atlantic. I echo Mr. Mayor's words: We are proud. Very damn proud."

Mayor Stinson now stood off to the side of the church steps, watching like the rest of us. There was no mistaking it, now; his face looked like he'd sucked a lemon dry.

"When I first discovered the land already occupied by Apenimon and his people," Dufaux said, "it was like God Himself shone the sun upon this very spot. As if I could hear His voice, much like I imagine Him to have sounded on the day John the Baptist baptized His One and Only."

"Better back up before the lightning strikes," I said.

"He seems sincere enough to me," Rosa said.

"The best liars always do."

"It was a grand epiphany," Dufaux said, "like the Lord revealed to me the very purpose of my existence. Hence the name, Revelation Springs."

He paused like he expected us all to praise his wit. No one did.

He cleared his throat.

"Little did I know that buried deep under these sacred grounds would be riches unknown. Veins of gold the size, the width, the length of rivers, just waiting to be hauled up and used for God's glory and your gain."

Sure, he didn't. I was sure that bastard was every bit the crook I figured him to be. But that wasn't why I was here. The precise opposite, actually. My goals, like it or not, would lead to the preservation of his vast wealth.

Lucky Me. Saints and elders, I hated the idea of keeping that man's coffers full. Or maybe it was just envy…

"Apenimon would have been proud, too," Dufaux said. He crossed himself and looked skyward for the briefest moment. "As I do each and every year, I hereby dedicate this Founders' Day Fair to his memory. And to all of you you. Enjoy yourselves and God bless!"

At that imploration, he spread his arms wide and bowed. The crowd applauded. I felt like cheering that he'd finally shut up. The reverend crossed himself and stepped forward as if to speak, but was quickly blocked as the band struck up, playing a lively tune to which some danced. On the far side of the stage, a rail-thin man, shirtless and wearing what appeared to be a diaper, juggled torches with one hand while blowing fire into the air. Another, dressed in the same garb, shoved a sword down his throat.

Excited children fled from parents who shouted for them to "stay together" while lovebirds walked hand in hand.

Rosa and I did no such thing. Instead, we continued along the main festival throughway toward town where I would leave Rosa behind to try and enjoy herself if she could, while I did what I had to do.

Being set up on the outskirts of Revelation, the grounds were mostly dirt and pebbles. No grass grew in these parts apart from the occasional sprig or six that clumped together, practically begging for water or shade.

The carnival crew had done a fine job clearing the field of cacti and boulders, but some were left behind and were, at present, being used as seats—the rocks, not the cacti.

As we strolled, we were accosted by a group of performers. They all wore garish costumes, the men with masks like demons or the devil; the women, painted faces the likes of which I'd only heard of in the Orient. I'd never been there myself to know.

"Come, dance with us!" One of the ladies grabbed me by the lapel of my duster and pulled.

"No thanks," I said, but the woman didn't listen. She coiled around me like a snake, one hand moving up and down my body. The tips of her fingers on her other hand coaxed my chin, maintaining eye contact with me the whole time, save for when she was directly behind me.

For a moment, Rosa wore a wry smile, likely thinking there could be fun to be had at my expense. Then, her hand lashed out. When it did, the dancers stopped their gyrations, and I looked down to see her gripping the wrist of one of the demon-faced men, hand halfway into my satchel.

Apparently, being numb to touch left me particular susceptible to pickpockets. Not an issue I’d yet encountered since I rarely carry anything of value besides my guns. It was a lesson I’d have to remember.

"Try your thieving on another," Rosa said, shoving the man's hand aside.

The others, three of them, kicked backward in a choreographed move that put plenty of distance between us.

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"We are no thieves!" proclaimed the woman who'd been dancing with me. She appraised her caught companion and affected an expression wrought with odium.

"Good dancer you might be, Miss," I said. "But your acting skills could use some shoring up. Now, get on before we turn you in."

"That won't be necessary,” said one of the other men.

They twirled and twisted away, weaving in and out from one another in the most hypnotizing of fashions. To my mind, they'd have plenty of luck picking pockets with all the visitors marveling at sights and trying whatever the snake-oil salesmen threw at them. And there was one, legitimately, a short distance away, claiming his oil cured death.

"Some nerve," I said, starting to walk again.

"You have to eat to live," Rosa replied as if that explained everything. It was, however, helpful insight into how she might've lived before she'd found Willy.

For the next few minutes, we passed everything one would expect from a traveling festival. Though it seemed Dufaux's influence had at least kept away some of the most blatant scammers and mountebanks. Not all of them, however. As it happened, we found ourselves passing a parked wagon at the end of the row, painted entirely purple but for the silver-flaked swirls and embellishments.

A sign out front read: Madam Ethelinda’s Ethereal Emporium.

The broadside of the stagecoach, facing us, had a large window with silver curtains tied back. Couldn't see inside from our current angle. The front, where the horses would find themselves hitched, had a three-step staircase. It was lowered, if not inviting, leading to a half-door like you'd see at a stable, also bearing silver curtains at the top with sparkling frills dangling along the bottom hem.

Each step had two wax candles burning—you guessed it, silver in color. They seemed to just be waiting to be knocked over by some rambunctious kid or drunkard. Paper lanterns were strung from the caravan's roof to a post cemented into a planter surrounded by some wooden folding chairs. Probably looked real pretty at night.

Rosa stopped to read the list of services posted. "Readings and Channelings. That sounds fun."

"Sounds like something," I said.

I was dead sure this Madam Ethelinda was no more than a keenly attentive charmer. Her sign had a red eye in one corner, a yellow hand in another. The bottom left bore the likeness of a crescent moon with a small star at its zenith, both blue and across from that, a green feather or leaf. It was difficult to make out with the chipped and faded paint.

I glanced at Rosa, and she quickly adjusted her sleeve to conceal her tattoo. Wasn't sure why, but the woman had her right to privacy. She clearly didn't want to discuss it, and I was fine with that for the time being.

"Mind if we go in?" she asked.

"I really do need to get to town," I argued.

Her eyes rolled clear around her sockets. "It'll take a quarter-hour, if that. Are you truly that eager to get away from me?"

I smirked. "Desperate."

"It's settled then." She tugged me by the hand. I resisted.

"Oh, c'mon. Just a bit of fun," she said, pulling again.

Then, a thought struck me.

“Wait… This is about Willy, ain't it?" My investigative tactics were crude, but even a dull blade would cut if applied firmly. "You ain't gonna get what you need from some hack at a traveling carnival."

Rosa let me go and stepped back. "And how would you know what I need?"

It was a fair question.

"Maybe I don't," I said, "but I'm confident this Madam Ethelinda won’t be the one to provide it."

Rosa tapped her foot impatiently. "For your information, Madam Ethelinda is a world-renown clairvoyant."

Now it all clicked.

"So, that's why you're here, huh?" I said. "You think this woman can help you commune with Willy."

Her face reddened slightly and her nose crinkled. "Would that be so bad?"

I sighed. An answer didn't come to me. Sure, I understood. Closure and whatnot. A chance to say "I love you" one last time. To say “goodbye,” perhaps even to apologize. And while there were legitimate clairvoyants out there who could communicate beyond our worldly plane, they were quite rare, and often dangerous Nephilim to boot.

I highly doubted this Ethelinda was the genuine thing. More likely, she was a peddler no different from the snake oil salesmen, preying on grieving widows like Rosa, using smoke and mirrors, games, and other baubles to evoke a sense of wonderment.

"James, when you've been through what I've been through, let me know if there's a better way," Rosa said, a harsh edge to her tone.

I bit my lip, then nodded. "You really think this is gonna ease your suffering?"

"I can hope."

"Me too."

"I'm just—"

"Scared to do it alone," I finished for her.

She smiled at me. It was somber and frail-looking, but it was a thank-you she wouldn't need to verbalize. Without another word, she started toward the steps.

I followed her a bit, then thought twice and softly grasped her the arm, stopping her.

"You sure?" I asked. "I mean, really sure?"

"Yes."

"There's no going back if you crack open a gate to the other side."

"I said, I'm sure. Besides, you don’t even believe in her.”

I didn’t respond. Truth was, whether or not Ethelinda was the real thing, even the grifters leave their clients viewing the world a little bit differently after a session. Often times, belief itself is enough to do the job. If there’s one thing I’ve learned being surrounded by angels it’s that faith is a powerful thing.

“Now, you can either support me or go on into town,” Rosa said. “Either way, I'm going in."

Now that was the Rosa I'd come to know. She stuck to her guns, and this was no different. I might not agree, but she had a right to pursue her passions as much as anybody.

I followed her again. In for a penny, in for a pound, I think the saying goes. For the first time since Elkhart when Shar and I came to a truce, I could sense my guardian angel's true indignation again. This wasn't merely a tingle, her trying to prod me back on the path. The mirror in my pocket seemed to buzz like angry hornets and the need to dig my fingernails into my scarred chest flared.

I ignored her for Rosa. How could I allow this grieving woman to delve alone into the den of a possible charlatan alone? To be taken advantage of. Exploited.

Dale was watching the bank for me. It was why I'd brought him along—well, it was why I suffered his having followed me without even so much as a warning. Fifteen minutes spared to help one of my few friends or acquaintances that wasn’t a horse. That's all I needed. I'd face Shar's castigations afterward, same as I had so many times before.

Unlike the rest of the carnival, the fortune teller had no long lines yet—no one waiting their turn to be told how grave the danger they're in or how the love of their life has golden locks. It was just me, Rosa, and the pungent smell of burning incense.

A head poked from the window, and I wondered how long the woman had been eavesdropping. Typical way for fakes to acquire tidbits about perspective clients before actually meeting them. I couldn't make out many of her features, shrouded in shadow as she was, but a ring, like a bull, hung gleaming between nostrils on her bulbous nose.

"I've been expecting you," the woman I assumed to be Ethelinda said with an accent that might've been French, but a bit off. Like she was from the untamed isles south of the mainland.

"Sure," I answered.

Rosa gave me a hard look. "If you're going to make fun…"

"No. I'm sorry. I promise I'll be on my very best behavior."

We stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking up.

"After you," I told Rosa.

She took a tentative step up, and I wasn't far behind. We were careful to avoid knocking over a candle and starting a fire. When we reached the top, Ethelinda awaited us at the threshold. The lower portion of the door was open now, and the curtains were drawn.

"Now," Ethelinda said. "Which of you has come to seek my wisdom?"

I considered reminding her that she should know such things, but I kept quiet for Rosa's sake.

"I am," Rosa said.

"Please, please," Ethelinda said, waving us forward. "Come inside. Come, come. Don't be shy."

We did as she beckoned, and when we were fully indoors, I got my first proper look at the Madam. If you told me this woman knew old Chris Columbus, I wouldn't argue. She wore so many wrinkles on her brown-toned skin, she'd give an elephant a run for its money. She was verily covered in tattoos, including several on her face and neck. However, the oddest one was the eyeball in the center of her forehead.

She must've seen me staring.

"It's the third eye," Ethelinda said. "Allows me to see clearly what others cannot."

"Huh. So, I get one of those, and I'll start predicting the future?" I knew I shouldn't have said it. Rosa became visibly irritated, but Ethelinda placed an ancient hand on her forearm.

"So, I take it you are not a believer, Mr. Crowley?" she asked.

Rosa gasped. "How did you know his name?"

Ethelinda tapped the eye on her forehead with her middle finger.

"Please," I said. "My name must've been shouted a dozen times at Picklefinger's last night. Those entertainers were staying there. I’m sure she was too."

Ethelinda kept quiet.

"I’m sorry about him. He doesn’t believe," Rosa said.

"On the contrary," I said. "I believe a great number of things." But this ain't one of them, I didn't add.

Ethelinda stared at me with eyes so pale they bordered on pure white.

"May I?" she asked, raising two many-ringed hands, palm up in front of her. "On the house."

I returned her stare and smiled. "I'll pass."

She smiled faintly too but didn't lower her hands.

"James," Rosa whispered in a sing-song way. "What are you so afraid of?"

"I ain't afraid."

But I was.

Ethelinda didn't stay at Picklefinger's last night. I spotted a bedroll at the rear end of her coach, and it looked freshly slept in. She hadn't heard my name there. I suppose she might've heard it another time. Maybe Rosa had just said it outside, but who could remember? Only someone who makes a living off remembering the tiniest details.

"Then let her do her thing," Rosa said. "She said it's free."

Ethelinda nodded, all kinds of jewelry jingling and clattering. Free. I nearly scoffed. Nothing’s free in life or death. A sample meant to get folks hooked, traveling festival to festival to meet with Ethelinda as much as possible.

My gaze met Rosa's. This was happening regardless of what I wanted, and I got the impression me going first might ease her mind a bit. And I'll be honest, the part of me that was apprehensive was for good reason. I wasn't sure a man who should be dead could take part in these sorts of affairs. What if a portal to Hell opened wide and Lucifer’s own icy fingers wrapped tight around my throat? Or worse for everyone, it all backfired and a Hellmouth split the realm.

But for Rosa, I could bite my tongue and my pride and be her guinea pig.

"Fine, fine." I held my palms out.

A pruny left hand loosely gripped my right. Then, Ethelinda began tracing the lines on my palm with the other.

Her head cocked sharply and her hunched back straightened just a bit. Then, she leaned in, squinting. With a gasp, she took a staggering step rearwards and bumped into a table covered in a silvery velvet drape where a crystal ball threatened to roll off its stand.

Ah, here's where old Ethelinda tells me to avoid riding horses for a week or to beware powdered women or men in stovepipe hats.

"What is it?" Rosa asked, eyes wide as saucers.

"I see… nothing…" Ethelinda whispered. "Just darkness. Mr. Crowley, you have no lifeline."

I laughed, though I didn't feel like it. Those words were eerily similar to the ones uttered by the goat-beast Nephilim a few days earlier.

"You have a body," it had said with Lyle’s tongue. “Though no life runs within."

Did this woman truly have the sight, or was this just one of the many things she told visitors to elicit emotion and lead them to spend money on some other kind of reading?

"Reading palms can often be unreliable," she remarked. There it was. Now she's gonna suggest—"But this time, I am certain of what I see. Nothing."

Rosa regarded me, and I hoped my face betrayed none of what I felt inside.

"Well, I assure you, Madam, I am very much alive," I said.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could've sworn I saw Shar roiling within the crystal ball. I could almost hear her voice warning me that "All liars shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone."

Sure, Hell's more ice than fire, but translations be damned, the notion remained true.

Ethelinda spent a few more seconds eyeing me up. Then she turned from me as if the news about my lack of existence was suddenly irrelevant.

"Miss Rosa," Ethelinda said, somehow knowing her name, too. "I believe you had some questions?"

Rosa stuttered over a response while Ethelinda adjusted her headpiece and took a single step to the right. With the table, two chairs, and all her many items and artifacts all over, there wasn't much room. She sat at the far end of the table.

"Rosa, darling, please, have a seat,” she said though she never took her eyes off me.

I stepped aside and let Rosa through to take a seat across from Ethelinda.

"I suppose this one won't be pro-bono," I said. It wasn't a question.

Without acknowledging me, Ethelinda carefully lifted the crystal ball from the table. I knew how these tricks worked. The ball would be attached to a foot pedal of some sort under the table, and that would blow smoke into the glass, swirling around, giving the sucker on the other end a false sense that something mystical was going on.

However, like many other things about this encounter, I was left nonplussed. There was no hole in the table. Not even a slit in the cloth. If there was, Ethelinda had done a damn good job hiding it.

With the ball gone, she pulled out a set of tarot cards, giving them a good shuffle.

Rosa spoke up. "Madam Ethelinda, I'm here hoping to com—"

"Shhh."

I'm pretty sure that if I'd ever been the one to shush Rosa, I'd be suffering for it. But when the fortune-teller did it, Rosa obeyed.

Ethelinda flipped a card and placed it face up on the table, directed toward Rosa.

"Hmmm. This one is simple. The Lovers." She then glanced up at me.

Here we were, seeking this charlatan’s guidance to commune with Rosa's lost love, and she was about to make the mistake of thinking that card meant something about the two of us being one.

"Though it is not him," Ethelinda said. She shook her head slowly. "No, not him at all."

"Ouch," I remarked. Nobody heard me.

Then Ethelinda flipped a second card.

"Ah, yes. The Death card. You have lost someone close. Very close, and the previous card tells me of the nature of your relationship. I am so sorry, my dear.” She reached forward and placed a hand on Rosa’s arm—right where that snake-and-dagger tattoo rested beneath Rosa’s shirt, I might add.

I couldn't see Rosa's face, but I could imagine it. Her hand lifted, one lithe finger pressing into the corner of her eye. Reminded me too much of when I’d reconnected with her in Dead Acre, sad and lonely in the Sweet Water Saloon.

Flipping a third, Ethelinda said, "Temperance." Then the final card. "Strength."

"What do those mean?" Rosa asked, all verklempt.

Ethelinda was quiet as she surveyed the cards. Then, nearly at a whisper, she said, "It is dangerous to go looking for the dead."

Rosa said not a word.

Ethelinda glanced up. "You are here in hopes that I can help you to visit with your late husband, yes?"

Rosa nodded slowly. I was flabbergasted, honest. I still assumed there might've been some sort of trick to what she was doing, but what it was, I had no idea.

My chest wasn’t itching much apart from what I knew to be Shar vying for my attention, so I didn’t think there was anything Hellish going on here. It seemed, whether I wanted to admit it or not, this woman possessed some manner of connection to the supernatural.

"You have much strength," Ethelinda said. "More than I have seen in a woman for many years. However, you will not rest until you've used that strength to your own ends, and the results will be catastrophic. Your energy… it is… chaos. There is no constraint. No understanding of what you have been endowed with. If you continue down this path, it will only lead to more heartache. You will be responsible for much death."

Rosa stared blankly.

I tapped her shoulder. "C'mon. I've heard enough."

Ethelinda's tricks might've been convincing, but even a blind horse finds a paddock every now and again. She was playing games with a broken heart.

"Please, let me talk to him," Rosa whimpered. “Let me talk to my William.”

Ethelinda closed her eyes and shook her head. "If I open those doors for someone like you, they may never close."

"Someone like her?" I said, offended for her. But, again, nobody acknowledged my existence.

"I need to talk to him!" Rosa yelled so loud it gave me a shudder. She slammed an open hand down on the table, cards snapping up. Ethelinda remained calm, as if this sort of behavior was commonplace. Rosa grabbed for her. "I need to. Please. Please."

My hand gripped Rosa's upper arm. "Let’s go, Rosa. You don't need this hoodwinker telling you any more lies."

As if taunting me, Ethelinda flipped one more card, this one facing me. There was no denying this one. A red man with a goatee depicted in a Victorian style, two horns, and a pitchfork.

Ethelinda's gaze met mine and, now, the itch in my chest became more than just that. Like hands were clawing at my ribs from the inside out. It burned like fire… worse even than the cave; worse than anything evoked by the goat-Nephilim.

The fortune teller’s eyes narrowed. "Follow the path at your own peril, James Crowley." Her words hung on the air and it was like it wasn't even her voice anymore. “He's coming for you.”

I stared at the fortune teller. Her formally near-white eyes were now pitch black. It wasn't just her words that were icy, either. Frost seemed to creep around the edges of Ethelinda’s table. I saw steam rising from Rosa's lips as she breathed heavily. And just a fair reminder—it was July.

We stared at each other, the fortune teller and me, for what felt like it could've been hours. Then, everything around me went dark, even Rosa. That damnable itch in my chest suddenly went numb.

I was cold.

I don't get cold.

Then, the sounds of screams and gunfire broke through it all.