Page 24 of House of Clowns

She visibly relaxed, a sigh escaping her lips. "Good. That's good."

Dhalia leaned in closer, her eyes twinkling. "Anything else you see?"

I looked at Ruby, still staring at the Magician card. "There's more, but I'm not sure it's mine to tell."

Ruby's laugh was weak as she turned toward the exit. "May I go cry now?" she half-joked, half-said in defeat.

Dhalia and I exchanged glances, nodding as she slipped through the tent flaps, leaving them open just enough for a breeze to flicker the candle flames, shadows dancing in the sudden draft.

Dhalia turned back to me, her hand resting on mine. "You have a gift, dear. I haven't seen intuition like that in ages."

I laughed, brushing it off. "What, noticing things? I wouldn't call that a gift."

But she shook her head, drawing my attention to theDeathandLoverscards still on the table. "These two fell out because your mind—or something deeper—pulled them out for you. You're connected to them."

I traced the edges of the cards thoughtfully. "Magic's only scary if you believe in it. I think it's just a coincidence."

"There's no magic here," she chuckled, "and you're no witch."

I laughed. "Right—witches don't exist."

"Oh, they do," she said, leaning in, eyes intense. "They're regular people with different beliefs, practicing their own faiths. Witches, Christians, Buddhists—they all pray. They all believe. But they don't always believe in the same things."

She crossed to a small cabinet and returned with a bottle of clear, amber-hued brandy. She poured two glasses, the potent aroma hanging in the air. "Rakija," she said, sliding one glass toward me. "Good for the throat, clears the mind—and the soul, if you're lucky."

I took a sip, the liquid burning its way down my throat, making me cough. "That's… stronger than tequila."

She laughed, downing hers in one gulp. "It burns, but it's good for you."

I looked at her, warmth spreading through me. "My grandmother was like you believed in… everything."

Dhalia nodded, her eyes softening. "And what happened to her?"

"She's dead." The words caught in my throat, barely above a whisper.

Dhalia poured another glass, raising it to the candlelight. "Life has to end," she whispered, "but love doesn't."

I nodded, my fingers brushing against the cards absently. "She used to say I had a gift too."

She watched me with that knowing smile, her voice almost a whisper. "Do you think she was right?"

I shrugged, running a finger over the card edges. "I don't know. I just feel things, notice things others might miss."

"Sometimes all it takes is that," Dhalia said, taking my hand. "Intuition, dear, is as near to magic as anything."

Dahlia's words lingered, charged with an intensity that held me captive. "You know what I think?" she pressed, her voice low. "I think someone in your family is a Shadow Walker."

I laughed—a nervous, uncertain sound. "There's no such thing."

Her gaze didn't falter. "They slip between light and dark, moving in and out, but they're anchored by someone here in the living world. You… you're that anchor." She lifted theDeathcard, holding it between her fingers. "Someone died," she murmured and then held up theLoverscard.

Her gaze softened. "Do you ever talk to your grandma?"

I shook my head. "Not really."

She nodded slowly, like she'd expected it. "And your mother?"

The question lodged in my throat, memories of Mom swelling inside me, raw and unfiltered. Her grave was empty, her body never found, though the world insisted she was gone. To me, she wasn't dead. I'd always felt she was somewhere, just out of reach. Dad had said she left us, but I never believed it, not in my heart.

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