Page 310 of Evil Hearts

“You can’t give up on love,” Miranda says with a pout.

“I’m convinced there is no one out there for me, and that’s totally fine. I’m happy.”

“Liar,” Scott says, and I kick him under the table. He hisses.

“I’m not lying.”

“Whatever,” he grumbles, reaching down to rub his leg.

I take the last bite of my treat, get to my feet, and say, “I’m going to get a beer.”

“We’ll be at the Ferris wheel,” Miranda calls out. I hold a hand up, letting her know I heard her as I walk away. I order twobeers, guzzling the first one before working on the second. Then I go off to find my friends.

They’re toward the front of the line for the Ferris wheel, but will have to wait another go-round before they get on. I lean against the railing and people-watch. I hate these rides. You wouldn’t catch me dead on one of them. Not even if you paid me, and money is something I could desperately use right about now to get the hell out of this town. I finish my second beer and head over to get another. When I return, my friends are first in line for the ride.

I let out a huff and look around, trying to figure out what to do to pass the time. This always happens when I hang out with them, and it isn’t even their fault. It’s me. I distance myself because even though I love them, I feel like I don’t fit in. I’m the only single person in the group, and it just feels weird. I don’t have my person, my partner, while they all have theirs.

I’m halfway through my third beer when my gaze catches on a blinking sign in the back corner. It’s almost hidden away. The carnival is set up in a giant rectangle, with the games lined up, back-to-back, in the middle. The rides and food trucks are around the outside, making the perimeter. Curiosity gets me, and I push off the railing to head that way. I finish the beer on the way, and as I walk, I realize the alcohol is starting to hit me. Three beers in about twenty minutes will do that to you, even if it won’t last for long.

As I get closer to the flashing sign, I finally make out what it says.

PSYCHIC.

Yeah, ‘cause that’s what I need.

Someone who can chat with otherworldly beings to tell me I’ll be alone for the rest of my life.

Fuck it.

I’m not doing anything else. I did all I wanted to do here; I had the fried dough. There isn’t a ride or a game that I’m interested in, so I may as well get some humor out of the quack on the other side of the purple curtain.

Pulling the thick velvet curtain to the side, I step into the tent and find a woman sitting at a round table in the center. You could fit a handful of people in here comfortably, standing around the table, but there is only enough room for one other person to sit.

“Good evening, young man,” the woman says.

She’s younger than I thought she’d be, with blond hair and dark eye makeup. Her lips are bright red and her skin is pale. She’s wearing a loose purple robe and a ton of sparkling jewelry. Quack, indeed.

“Hello,” I say, dropping into the chair across from her.

She smiles at me, leaning forward and searching my face.

“What can I do for you?” she asks.

“Uh, tell my fortune? Isn’t that what you do?”

She shrugs a shoulder. “Yes and no.”

My eyebrows raise, and I get an itchy feeling along my skin. Maybe this was a bad idea.

“What does that mean?”

“It means I can do many things. One of which is help you with your future.”

“Help with it? I thought you’d just tell it to me.”

“If that’s all you want, then that is what I’ll do.” She leans back in her chair, tapping a long, pointy fingernail on the table. “But I have a feeling you’d like some special help.”

“Special help? You’re barking up the wrong tree,” I huff out a laugh and get to my feet. Does this woman think that works? Actually, knowing the men around here, it probably does.

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