Grace had forgotten all about the phone by the time she stepped out of the lobby and into a cold, dark-blue night. She was too relieved to be on her way home, to warmth and comfort and family. She found Benjamin, Dad and Maggie all throwing snowballs at each other outside the elementary gym, and chased them out onto the road.
Watching Benjamin walk along doing impressions of their Aunt Frances, she laughed almost as hard as Maggie did. It was a classic routine of Benjamin's, but made funnier tonight by the cold. When he put his fingers to his lips and puffed, it looked like he was actually smoking some of the foul little cigarettes that Aunt Frances constantly dragged on.
The twins were goofing around so much that other school-kids ended up overtaking them. Ma would have hurried them, but Dad was enjoying the spectacle as much as anyone else.
Grace kept on moving at her own pace, gradually separating from the other three as she thought about the readings she would do tonight with her cards. So she was the first one to see the fair, glimmering away in the darkness on the open grass of St. Matthew's Park.
She caught sight of it through the iron railings and faltered, her feet choosing to stop before her head had made a decision. The lights strung between the stalls and tents were yellow-orange, with reds and greens and whites scattered among them, warm and gorgeous against the ice blue and black of the snow. When she took a breath in, it was a breath made up of caramel and cinnamon and wood-smoke.
She took two crunching steps and pressed her face up against the railings, her eyes full of jugglers, coconut-shies, carousels and waffle stalls. The bars started to make thin, icy imprints down her cheeks but she still stood there, breathing in flavours and watching the groups and couples who made their laughing way between stalls.
It might have been designed just for her, that fair; the perfect place for Grace the dreamer, the one who loved to watch a spectacle without having to join in, and who was always looking for strangeness in ordinary things. It held her, caught against the park railings, unable to look away while her cheeks grew numb and then painful.
Maggie's shrieking laughter from back down the street made her look around in the end, and a little of her skin stuck to the metal and pulled sharply as she tugged her head away. She rubbed at it with a wool-mittened hand as she watched Benjamin trying to be The President. Dad was chatting to another parent, she saw, one of the elementary-school Moms who was flirting with him a little like they all did.
Grace looked back at the fair, her hands reaching for the railings again. It was everything her mother hated most, right there. A snowy night, an exotic and unknown fair full of strangers and probably swindlers, and a full moon shining brilliantly down out of the clear sky overhead.
But Ma wasn't here, and none of her fears seemed reasonable this evening. It was just a fair: a prettier than usual, warm and fun and living fair. And if she didn't ask to go...
She slid a sidelong glance at Benjamin, who was nearly past the end of the old Dawson Bank building and in sight of the park. Benjamin would want to go, and Maggie would want to do whatever her twin brother was doing.
The little trio cleared the building, and it was actually Maggie who saw the fair first, gasping for breath between shrieks. Grace watched her face change straight from hysterical amusement into longing in the instantaneous way Maggie seemed to have, and she flew across in front of Benjamin to clutch at the railings, already saying, "Please, oh, please, Daddy," as she went.
Benjamin watched her, his nose puckered, as he considered pretending he hated the sight of it just to avoid looking like he was copying her. But an expanding circle of lights and some jaunty piped gypsy-music announced that a small Ferris-wheel had begun working, and he was next to his sister in a moment.
"We've got to go, Dad! They've got rides and everything!"
"Well, I'm not sure..." Dad made a small effort at resistance, which melted immediately under one of Maggie's wide-eyed gazes. "Just a short trip, then. It's a school-night."
Her father strolled contentedly into the park behind his squealing younger children, and then turned to look at Grace.
"They're the most easily excited children in the country. You don't mind, do you?"
Grace smiled at him. "Not if I can have my fortune told."
She held out her hand, and he sighed as he took off his gloves and worked his wallet out of his pocket.
"Ten dollars do it?"
"Sure."
Grace was quickly lost amongst the stalls without minding too much. She could hear Maggie somewhere off ahead and in a different row, but also Dad's slightly-too-loud recitations of "Now you calm down, Missy," and "One thing at a time, Mags," which were really for everyone else's benefit.
Grace knew she'd be able to find them without much trouble, and ignored a little flicker of guilt when she thought about Ma.
"It's Dad's job to look after them," she muttered to herself, and wandered in search of a fortune-teller's tent.
She knew that Dad would want them home before Ma got back, so her time was limited, but still she found herself lingering amongst the many tents and stalls and displays. A fire-breather was shooting flames from his mouth which changed from yellow to red to purple to green in the air, pausing, and then breathing again, his bare chest and face and hairless head painted gold to match and reflect the colours in the fire. Behind him, an old woman sold toffee-apples from a stall which looked to be made all of red velvet, and beyond it a tiny carousel spun beautifully painted unicorns and dragons and lions around, with three little children clutching tightly on to them.
Moving towards the edge of the fair, where there were fewer people, Grace found a tent selling scarves and cloths of every imaginable colour. She paused to look into a gazebo under which a huge wheel span made up of tiny purple and black segments, on which a gold ball would bounce and eventually come to rest, either winning the visitors money or losing it for them. After that she moved on past a tent full of mirrors and a gold-painted lady juggler with hair almost as red as Maggie's who was spinning glittering beanbags into the air and catching them in her mouth and hands and with her feet.
Grace stopped after a little while to buy a cup of hot chocolate, which was breathtakingly expensive but also, when it came, the most delicious thing she could remember drinking. She stood sipping it, and then, seeing no sign of a fortune-teller, she asked the girl behind the counter whether there was one.
"She's the next row up. Opposite the light fountain," the girl told her, and nodded over to a gap which Grace thought would take her to the central row.
She wandered that way, smiling at a mime dressed in silver who was pretending to be crushed slowly downwards by something huge, and then passing between a sweet-stall and an old-fashioned shooting gallery where elaborate black-and-silver rifles were being fired enthusiastically, and almost soundlessly, at a mechanical flock of wheeling birds.
She couldn't remember seeing a fair this exotic and... well, clean before. But it was more than just clean. It was beautiful, with its lights and its fabric, and each stall seemed to match the next one. There were no thick cables visible, no mud where trailers had driven over the grass, and in fact, no trailers visible at all. Only the patchwork or velvet tents would have given the performers anywhere to live.
She saw the water-fountain a few moments later. They had set it up so that multi-coloured lights shone over the sprays of water. In the cold night air, the cylinders which supported each layer were covered in runs and drips of ice, which reflected the lights back again and again into her eyes.
It was difficult to turn away, but when she did, the fortune-teller's tent was waiting for her, a deep blue with silver patterns embroidered on, and with such a dim, purple light visible under its overhanging cloth that she couldn't help walking towards it to peer inside.
Her eyes strained to make something out in the dimness. It was hazy and nothing seemed to stand out. It was warm, too, and that on its own might have made her want to step in, but she hesitated, feeling as if she might have been intruding. It was how Grace often felt.
The voice which sounded from somewhere inside made her jump.
"It's all right to come in," it said, a woman's voice with a thick accent which sounded like it might have been French or maybe Swiss. "If you walk straight ahead, you'll come to another curtain, which you can pull aside."
Grace still hesitated for another moment, and glanced back out at the little groups and couples walking amongst the stalls. There was something a little threatening about walking into the dark but also, she admitted to herself, something appealing. She stepped inside, her hands out in front of her, and when she felt velvet brush against her hands, she pushed it aside and blinked into what was still a low light, but one she could see by.
The woman was probably her mother's age, or a little bit younger, and had long ringlets of black hair on a pale face. Her clothes were like the others she'd seen here: antique in style but also rich-looking. Her dress was dark blue velvet, with little silver details that matched the outside of the tent.
She was settled behind a table which had nothing on it except a red cloth. The empty chair on Grace's side was tall-backed but cushioned, a comfortable chair for settling into.
"Will you sit down?"
The fortune-teller was studying her, with a little smile on her face that said she was pleased by what she saw. Grace knew what Dad thought about psychics and mystics: that it was their job to make you feel like the most unique person they'd ever met, and that was what you were really paying for.
But Grace wanted to feel unique, and special. It was a deep-rooted want in her. She shrugged her coat and gloves off now that she had left the cold behind, and sat in the chair.
It was deliciously comfortable, that chair. She felt herself sink into it and hoped the fortune-telling would go on for a little while so that she could stay there.
"You're lucky," the fortune-teller told her, still with that little smile. "Dozens of people come each night, hoping to be told that their life holds something extraordinary. All of the others go away disappointed."
Grace blinked at her, a little uneasy in spite of the softness of the chair. She wondered how obvious it was that she wanted to be unique instead of just an outsider. But she still wanted the woman to go on and tell her that she meant something.
A silence stretched out, and Grace wondered whether she was supposed to start things off. After a moment, she asked, "How much is it?"
"That depends on what you want," the fortune-teller told her, propping her elbows on the table. "Would you like me to tell you your innermost wishes, and whether or not they will come true? Would you like me to tell you about how today will happen, or about tomorrow? I can tell you about next year if you like, though it wouldn't necessarily make sense without knowing what will lead you there."
Grace looked down at her hands, finding this decision-making difficult. "Could you just... could you just tell me about when something interesting's going to happen to me?"
She looked back up at the fortune-teller, who was smiling more brightly. Grace wasn't sure if she liked that smile, the way it implied that the woman knew something she didn't.
"Give me your hands," she said, and Grace laid them out flat on the table with her palms up, remembering other fortune-tellers who had read them.
The woman took her left hand gently in hers, and murmured, "Here is what you are."
She moved a finger over her palm, not following the lines Grace knew were there, but tracing other patterns. It was a soothing touch, and Grace relaxed into the chair, willing to trust her for a little while at least.
"You are always out of step, but of course you are. Half of you is waiting until it can come into being. You shouldn't feel afraid of standing out. There is a part of you which is not shy, or afraid. It is a fierce creature which you keep ready."
Grace felt her eyes start to grow heavy, and was surprised to feel so tired. But the warmth and the comfort and the light voice all soothed her, and she was listening through half-closed lids now.
She felt the woman lower her left hand and take the right instead.
"And what you will become." She felt those wandering patterns being traced on her palm again. "There is more here. Much more. It's strange that you feel you are waiting for something, when the change has already started."
Grace tried to focus on the woman properly. The fortune-teller's words made her a little uneasy again. Or perhaps it wasn't the words, but how she said them. It almost sounded like a warning.
"Your other self is waiting for you to step into it, and it is close tonight, so close you could touch it if you wanted. And when you do, it will not only be you which changes, it will be everything."
Grace's eyes still felt heavy, but she forced them open and sat forwards. She was starting to feel more than uneasy. She was feeling slightly afraid, and she didn't know why.
"Would you like me to show you?" the woman asked her, and Grace had no chance to agree or disagree before the woman had dipped her hand below the table and then lifted it.
As she brushed her fingers together, a fine silver dust scattered down from them. It hung in the air, and Grace found herself looking into a mirror-like silver mist which reflected her wary face back at her.
And then she jumped, as a figure appeared behind her in the mist. For a moment, she thought it was Ma, but then the face grew clearer and she saw that this woman seemed younger, and harder, and had make-up which made her skin uncomfortably flawless and her eyes so large they seemed alien.
The reflection of Grace turned towards this woman, and held a hand up out to her, one that shone with light. Grace blinked as she was momentarily dazzled, and then the vision was gone, and she was looking at the fortune-teller again, who was still beaming at her. The silver mist was nothing more than tiny glittering grains all over the red velvet table-cloth.
The fortune-teller sat back, and Grace stood up quickly, dizzily, her heart beating hard. There was something wrong here, and she needed to know where Maggie and Benjamin and Dad were.
"Your family is watching the light show," the woman said, and Grace started, looking with disbelief into the wide, watching eyes. "On the other side of the fountain, there is a gap between two tents, which will take you there."
Grace nodded, and picked up her coat and gloves. She pulled aside the curtains with arms which felt heavy.
"Luck go with you," she heard the woman say behind her, and Grace nodded without turning around, feeling the fresh air on her face with the gratitude of someone who has been trapped for days.