Tarot

1
Esmeralda

Brook stared at her wristwatch. It was a gift from Gran. She was dying now, lying still on the bed. Gran had taught her what she could, taught her simple things. “This is the way the chicken struggles and flaps its wings when you take it up by the hand; but this my dear is supper”. A knowing eye and gentle smiles spelled out the rest for the next generation. Brook sat in her tent absently shuffling a tarot deck. An unfiltered cigarette hung from the end of her dry cracked lips, which was already half-ash through inattention. Work had been abysmally slow in this shithole of a town Boss had decided to take up stakes in. She figured he’d primed the deal through some corrupt cousin of his. It stank of horse shit and smoke from the coal stacks a few miles away.
A couple walked in unannounced.
“Are you Esmeralda?”
“I am indeed,” said Brook,” Come in, sit down.”
The couple looked like poor farmers who, like so many others, had fallen on hard times. Brook didn’t even bother to check for the chalk mark on his shoulder, she knew she’d be lucky to turn 2 bits on this deal, but what else did she have to do?
The man and woman took their seats meekly. Brook was already sizing them up. His wife looked pale, and his eyes were careworn. She knew this wasn’t going to be a good read, but dammit, she couldn’t give everyone a happy ending.
“Your wife’s with child.”
“You knew-“
“I see many things that aren’t apparent on the surface,” she replied in her carefully rehearsed role. It was true; though his wife was 5 months along she wasn’t showing much at all.
This time it was the wife that spoke. “We are… we’re-“she began, but her voice was breaking.
Brook lifted one eyebrow waiting for her to finish.
“We’re concerned about the child,” her husband finished. “We’ve been trying you see. But the last three… we were so hopeful, but they didn’t,” he shrugged, unable to bring himself to say it.
“Ease your minds love, let’s have a look,” she said placing one palm up on the table.
The man eagerly placed his palm in hers.
“Do you intend to bear the child?”
“Oh-“he interjected ruefully.
“Give me your hand darling,” she said looking directly at the wife.
She timidly moved her right palm over the table.
Brook grasped it firmly. She knew the second their hands touched that the child she was carrying would be stillborn just as the previous three had been. But ignorance demanded that she trace the lines of her palm with a studious look. Would it have helped them if she told them the truth? Would it help her? She knew full well that her happy customers paid better, and she was in no position to suddenly sprout scruples.
“I see a boy,” she said, with a hint of a smile on her face.
The woman gasped, her hand reached up to cover her mouth, tears welling in her eyes.
“Is he healthy?” Her husband asked.
Brook may not have been an honest woman, but she knew another woman’s heartache all too well. She usually didn’t hesitate to scam her customers, but these were honest folk. Like her biological father, who was an itinerant farmer himself. She felt that tug at her chest that she had been so careful to ignore, but it never failed to hurt a little.
“He’s got strong lungs,” she said. Brook might have consoled herself with the fact that it wasn’t entirely a lie. The child’s lungs were well formed, though they would never take a breath of air.
The man threw his arm around his wife’s shoulders embracing her with a desperate hope in his eyes.
“What else do you see?” He pressed.
“Make sure she eats well, and gets good rest. He’ll be a strong son.”
The man tightened his embrace; both were smiling with a bright look in their eyes.
“My fee is a dollar, but I’ll make it half for you.” Brook didn’t want to drag this out.
“Oh no,” the man said rising quickly to his feet. “You have no idea how grateful we are!”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out two half-dollars, placing them on the table, but never taking his eyes off of his happy wife.
“If it had been a girl we would name her Esmeralda, but… do you, I mean to say… what should we name him?”
Brook inwardly heaved a sigh and looked up, pretending to think for a moment.
“Call him Tristan,” Brook replied.
“Tristan,” she echoed with a rather ironic smile.
Brook dug through the ashtray for the other half of her cigarette. The tragically glowing couple saw their way out of her tent. She lit up the stub carefully positioning it between her teeth when she picked the tarot back up. She wondered about the husband. For the brief moment his hand was on hers she sensed a streak of violent temper in him. She’d received her share of beatings before from customers she’d duped, but hopefully Boss would have enough sense to move on by the end of the season.
She mindlessly turned over three cards, not sure why she was expecting them to change since the last hour she did so. They hadn’t: Five of swords, the Tower, two of cups. The Tower irked her. Had she missed something? The last card always made her smile but her reverie wouldn’t last long.
“Goddammit Malachi! Stop spying and just come in.” She said stubbing out the end of her cigarette.
“S-sorry miz Brook,” Malachi said stepping in with box in hand.
Malachi, the ‘Giant’ as he was billed, lived up to his stage name. He was the largest Negro Brook had ever seen. For all his intimidating stature though, Brook knew he was a kind soul.
“Did you get everything?”
“I got it for ya, jus like ya ask miz Brook. But she say she aint got no mo gypsum.”
“That’s fine Mal, I can do without it for now. Just put it on the table.”
“Yes’m,” he replied but lingered a while longer. Malachi wasn’t the only carnie who harbored a crush on her, but she didn’t have time to indulge him now.
“Thank you Mal,” she said dismissively. Mal took the point and left.
Brook grabbed another lucky from her pack, but quickly slipped it back inside. Something wasn’t right. She felt a sudden sinking feeling almost making her dizzy. She eyed the box sitting on the table with suspicion. With a strong sense of Foreboding she reached for it. Her fingers touched the corners, “Fuck!” She screamed in pain.
She opened the box. Everything looked normal, the wild carrot, the hemlock, the marigold but she knew something was wrong. Suddenly she spotted it, a smear of blood in the corner. She reached down pushing aside the mugwort. A bloody nerve leading to a goat’s eye took her aback. She quickly pinched it up by the nerve, turning the eye around to look directly at it.
“Listen to me,” she began through clenched teeth, standing up suddenly.
“Read my lips you old witch” She hissed. “You will not ruin this for me. And if you so much as come near him I’ll kill you myself!” She screamed, walked quickly to the flap of her tent, threw the eye on the ground and crushed it with her heel.
Her words carried more conviction than her heart did which was racing now. Where was Drew? It had been three days already. It had never taken him this long.
She began to feel sick with worry. Pacing around in circles she tried to calm herself down but she couldn’t. She knew that she was losing control of the situation and her lover’s long absence was beginning to weigh on her nerves.
What could that bitch have already done? Brook didn’t care to speculate. She finally sat down placing another cigarette in her mouth.
She would find out soon enough, she thought, as she lit the end.



2
Boss

Danny woke up with a splitting headache, not uncommon for him. He quickly made is way over to his percolator. Filled it, tossed the grounds in and started it up. He didn’t have time to wait for it to brew before he could have his standard breakfast: 1 part coffee 2 parts whiskey. He grabbed the flask in his back pocket with a greasy, shaky hand, unscrewed the cap and drained it down his parched throat. The relief was almost instant. The fog in his head began to clear. He disarmed the tripwires he’d made up at the opening of his tent and poked his head outside. Clouds. He muttered a curse. If the threat of war in Europe didn’t sink him this fucking weather would.
He walked back over to his kettle, sat down at his desk and unlocked the drawer he kept his gut-rot whisky in ‘Morning Dew’. After he mixed his breakfast he refilled his flask, took another giant swig straight from the bottle and locked the drawer back up.
“Got a problem with the wheel Boss.” It was Malachi.
“What’s the problem?”
“It aint runnin’ Boss.”
“Anyone stuck on it?”
“No sur. Not’a soul.”
Why didn’t that surprise him?
“I’ll deal with it in a minute,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“Yessir Boss.” Malachi replied making his exit.
Danny held his hand out in front of him, finally steady now. He figured he’d need it to be.
He drained his morning cup and got up. He had business to take care of. First on his stop was Trixie. That midget whore of his was the furthest behind on her cut.
Little Trixie was pulling up her thigh-high nylons when he walked in.
“Howdy Boss,” she said with a smile in her sweet little voice.
“You got your cut?” He wasn’t in the mood for her chit chat.
Trixie dug into her bra and pulled out a fold of neatly pressed bills, but not nearly enough.
“What the fuck is this!” He shouted after he’d counted it.
“Works been awful slow,” she cried in a pleading voice. Danny knew her tiny little voice and pleading eyes worked to charm her customers, but right now they were only pissing him off.
“Turn around!”
“No Boss, please,” she whined but did as she was told.
Danny yanked her dress up, pulled out his switch blade and cut her just beneath her small right butt cheek. She screamed out in pain.
“You don’t have your full cut by next week and I’m running you off you stupid cunt.” He said over his shoulder as he left. Trixie was left sobbing, scrambling to get her right nylon off before the trickle of blood could reach it.
He made his way over to the Ferris wheel. At least that damned thing couldn’t cheat him. Malachi was standing by, watching a couple of the crew looking it over.
“What’s the problem?”
“Culdn’ say Boss. Crew can’t figure it. Need a mechanic,” Malachi replied.
“Well where the fuck is Andrew?”
“Dunno Boss. His tent been empty pass couple days.”
Danny’s face grew hot. “You see him; you tell him he’s not getting a dime from me this week!”
“Yessir Boss.” Malachi said, but Danny was already storming off.
Danny resumed his rounds. He was in a bad mood, even more so than usual. He was getting sick and tired of everyone complaining about business, but most of his hands were smart enough to pay their cut on time.
He had finished off his flask a little early and started to head back to his tent for his afternoon refill when Iselda crossed his path.
“I don’t have time for you old crone.”
“Oh but I think you do.”
“What do you want?” Danny knew she wasn’t to be put off, but his patience was worn thin.
“She’s still my apprentice you know.”
“Works for me now or hadn’t you heard? That makes her apprenticeship over.”
“That’s not how it works in our trade,” Iselda explained. “Works for you? Are you sure about that? Let me ask you Danny boy, how far behind is she on her cut?”
This set his teeth on edge, just as she knew it would. “What business is that of yours,” he spat.
“What do you suppose she is up to,” Iselda began, ignoring his question. “All that money she’s squirreling away?”
Danny’s fists clenched at her suggestion. Iselda stalked off without another word, she had spoken what she came to say.
He stormed back into his tent, refilled his flask and sat down for a moment. If what she said was true he wanted to choke the life out of that Gypsy bitch. He knew one of them was lying to him, or both. He took another long drink from the bottle before locking it away again.
He deposited his meager cuts into the safe, slamming it closed with a loud clank. He swiped his flask off of his table and slipped it once again into his back pocket.
Danny made his way over to Brook’s tent. She was shuffling a deck and smoking at her table when he walked in.
“You got my cut?”
“You’re drunk Danny.” She said coolly.
“Your fucking crystal ball tell you that you worthless bitch?”
Brook heaved an audible sigh pulling out a wad of bills and placing it on the table. Danny quickly snatched it up and counted.
“You’re behind again!”
“It’s all I’ve got,” she lied. “Maybe if you hadn’t set us up in this shithole I’d have more Danny.”
“You call me Boss like everyone else,” he snapped. He hated his given name and Brook knew it. She knew there was nothing good about him even before she read him, but she would have done anything to get away from Iselda. It didn’t surprise her to find out when she finally did read him that he was a murderer, rapist, and a coward to boot.
“I had a talk with that old witch of yours.”
Brook couldn’t suppress the sudden flash of fear in her eyes. Danny saw it, knew which card to play.
“Thinking ‘bout running you off, let you go back to that hag.”
Her eyes widened for a split second, “Please Boss, I can catch up next week.” The thought of Iselda made her heart sink.
“You want an extension? You know the deal. Put that lying mouth of yours to the only thing it’s good at.”
Brook knew this was coming. She hated sucking his cock, not just because of Drew, but it stank like shit. Danny wasn’t known for his hygiene.
He unzipped his pants, letting his semi-hard cock flop out in front of her. It was large, one of the few things he had been blessed with, but it held no charm for Brook.
Brook got to her knees and took it in her hand stroking it the rest of the way to full arousal. The less time she had to have her mouth around it the better. She swallowed it whole sucking intensely. Danny grabbed her hair yanking it back. “Not so fast,” he gasped. Brook ignored him, using all of her skills, taking his full length into her throat. Danny couldn’t last long, even when he was drunk. He finished in her mouth with a loud grunt. His cum tasted like rotting meat. Brook turned her head and spat him out.
Danny grinned his sadistic grin and zipped back up.
“You got one more week,” he said, “You don’t get paid up by then and even that mouth of yours won’t buy you anymore time.”
Danny was halfway back to his tent before Malachi approached him.
“What is it?”
“Andrew back Boss but… he aint look so hot.”
“Andrew aint ever look so hot.” Danny replied, thinking of that big ugly scar on his face.
“He ain’t tiptop Boss.”
“You send him to me. I’ll be in my tent.”
“Yessir Boss.”
3
Andrew
Danny was sitting at his desk when Andrew walked in. His face looked as though it had been beaten with a stick.
“You look like shit,” Danny said by way of greeting.
“Just a bar brawl.”
“Bar brawl my ass,” Danny said spitting a wad of tobacco on the ground. Danny knew Andrew’s former occupation as a prize fighter had been quite lucrative. “How much was the purse?” Danny’s greedy eyes started to light up.
“I lost.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet.” Danny knew damn well that it was rare for Andrew to lose a match, though with the way his face looked, it was entirely plausible.
“I ain’t paying you a dime this week. So however much you lost,” he said the last word with more than a hint of distrust, “I hope it was enough.”
“Fuck you Danny.”
“Fuck me? No fuck you! Goddamned lazy bastard running off every chance you get, meanwhile my fucking wheel froze up!” Danny’s face was red with anger. Andrew was the only hand of his that he couldn’t intimidate, mostly because good mechanics who’d work for peanuts were hard to come by but also because he didn’t like the idea of going one on one with him. He knew he would have to get Malachi to do it, and that Gypsy bitch of his had Mal under her spell. This fact irritated him to no end. He didn’t like not being able to pull the strings on all of his ‘puppets’.
“Soon as that bitch of yours patches you up you get my fuckin’ wheel turning you hear!”
Andrew was already storming out.
“Not a dime Andrew!” His voice rang out of his tent.

Brook had sensed Drew coming. She always knew when he was near. She had drawn a bath for him in anticipation. She was stirring the Epsom salt in with her forearm when her mind drifted off to childhood.
Her Grandmother, who was a reader herself, loved to bake; and Brook loved watching her almost as much as she enjoyed eating her treats. It was a cool autumn morning when Brook looked up to Gran while kneading a ball of dough.
“How will I know who my true love is?”
“Oh, that’s easy for us dear,” Gran said, continuing to knead. “Your love will be the only one you can’t read.”
Brook knitted her brows in a mixture of disappointment and confusion. “Why can’t I read him?” she demanded.
Gran smiled a knowing smile, “Can the eye see itself?”
Brook gave her a confused look.
“Can you read yourself dear?” Gran continued. Brook shook her head, she knew she could not, she’d tried many times.
“So it is with your soul mate,” Gran stopped kneading for a moment and sprinkled more flour on the table. “It’s the soul you see when you read, and he is your other half, just as much a part of you as your own hands.”
Her daydream was interrupted by the sound of familiar footsteps. Brook drew up the canvass that separated the working part of her tent, with the small living quarters.
“Drew,” She gasped rushing to him and almost knocking him down as she squeezed her arms around him. He returned the embrace, his hands sliding slowly down her back and finally giving both her ample cheeks a firm swat. Brook giggled and pulled away.
“Are you drunk?”
Andrew raised his thumb and forefinger in a pinch, “Maybe just a little,” he whispered. She could smell the beer on his breath.
“Jesus baby, what happened to you?” It was the first time she noticed his face.
“I found a match.”
“Did you win?”
Andrew gave her an incredulous look.
“How much?”
“Marcus still has to collect, should be by with my share of the purse tomorrow.”
Brook heaved a sigh of relief. “Come on,” she said pulling him by the hand, “I drew you a bath.”
She tenderly removed his clothes once they had gotten to the living quarters, careful not to scrape his bruised face and slipped him into the tub.
“Just relax while I get something for those cuts,” she said running her hand up his chest.
Brook walked over to her table and began mixing an ointment but her mind was racing with questions. “What news?”
“Marcus says that Navajo shaman of yours is still down in old Mexico but I told him where we’d be and what we would pay.”
“Shit,” Brook swore under her breath. “How long?”
“A week,” Andrew shrugged, “Maybe two.” He dunked his head under and came back up spraying warm water from his bloody nose and mouth.
“Damn it Drew. I can’t wait that long. Danny’s after his cut and we don’t have enough to pay him and the Navajo.”
“Fuck Danny,” he said giving her his standard reply any time his name came up. His nonchalance irritated her a little, but she figured with the beating he’d taken he didn’t need any more trouble on his mind right now.
Brook kneeled down and began cleaning up his face.
“Are you sure you won?” She had a puzzled look on her face; she’d never seen him so roughed up.
“Did in the only way that matters. Most of them there knew my name so I threw it, had Marcus place a bet for me.” He explained.
She was almost through cleaning up his face when she reached for one last cut on his forehead. He snatched her wrist before she got to it.
“Leave it.”
“And let it get infected? No, baby I gotta-“
“Leave it.” He repeated.
“Is it that sore?”
“It’s fine.”
Brook twisted up her mouth the way she did when she was considering something important.
“If you say so, but if it starts swelling it’s going to hurt worse when I clean it.”
Andrew still had a hold of her wrist as she started to get up, and without warning jerked her into the tub with him. She squealed a joy-filled shout in surprise.
“Damn it Andrew!” She rarely used his full name. “This dress is going to take forever to dry.”
He planted a kiss on her forehead, then made his way down her nose and finally to her lips where they locked.
“I worried about you so.” She said when they finally pulled apart.
“You shouldn’t have.”
“But you know I do.”
“I gotta fix that damn wheel,” Andrew said standing up suddenly.
“Now?”
“Best get it done before the sun goes down. I don’t want to have to deal with it in the morning.”
Brook sighed heavy hearted. “Can’t it wait,” she pleaded, looking up at him with her big brown eyes.
“No.”
Brook found his terse reply a little odd.

When Andrew got to the Ferris wheel he saw Jimbo and Will standing around scratching their heads.
“Where you been?” Will asked.
“Shut up and give me the toolbox.”
Jimbo and Will were a little shocked with Andrew’s snappish response, but they handed him the box, stepping out of his way.
“Need a hand?” Jimbo asked.
“What the fuck is this?” Andrew hollered. “Which one of you was fucking with the motor?”
Will made a quick pointing gesture towards Jimbo.
Without a warning Andrew stood up, wrench in hand and landed a solid blow to Jimbo’s chin laying him out flat.
“Whoa!” Will cried grabbing hold of the wrench on the backswing. “What the hell’s gotten into you Drew?”
“Just keep him away from me,” Andrew replied pointing to Jimbo with his free hand.
Jimbo got up with a look of hurt in his eyes. He’d always had respect for Andrew, but he didn’t know what to think now. He stalked off, one hand holding his cracked jawbone.
Will was silent the rest of the time Andrew was fixing the motor. He was in a foul temper that was easy enough to tell, and Will didn’t want to provoke it. Andrew dismissed him rudely once he had finished. Will began to pack the tools up.
“Leave it,” he said.
Will was happy enough to oblige and without a word he dropped the tools he had in his hands and walked back to his tent.
Andrew packed the rest of the tools up with the exception of the large wrench. He sat down next to the box, flipping the main switch on. The wheel turned. He flipped it off. He repeated this process again and again until the last shimmer of twilight had faded.
Malachi was watching him the whole time. Despite his great size he had a knack for remaining hidden when he needed to. Then he saw something strange. With wrench in hand Andrew climbed up to the center and started loosening the bolts. Malachi was no mechanic but he knew how dangerous that was. Something wasn’t right with Drew. He was acting more like Boss than the Andrew he knew. He suspected something was wrong with him the moment he saw him back on the grounds but he couldn’t say what it was. He waited in the shadows until Andrew left.
Malachi wasn’t sure what to think, but he knew what he had to do. He fetched the toolbox and got the wrench, climbing up the wheel to tighten the bolts Andrew had loosed. He wasn’t about to see some poor folk hurt just out of spite. He was careful to put the box back when he had finished. He decided he’d better keep a closer eye on Drew from now on.












4
The Five of Swords
1931
After Gran passed away Brook was soon left to her own devices. With half of the country out of work and nearly everyone on the move Brook decided she would pack up and find some way to support herself, not an easy task for even the most skilled of men at the time, but for a girl of 15 with no experience or references the obstacles seemed staggering. Brook was a determined young lady though. When she couldn’t hitch a ride, which was often, she would walk. When she tired of walking she would lie down, stare up at the sky with its bright blue possibilities and dream. She didn’t have any idea where she was going, but she had decided to head south.
It was a dusky, brisk spring morning when the sight of the most elaborate vardo she’d ever seen pull up beside her. A tall lady with dark hair and eyes stepped out.
“Where are you off to my dear?”
Brook shrugged. “South,” she replied. “I’m looking for work.”
“Mhum,” the woman said with a smile on her face. “You are very lucky then. I could spot your gift the moment I saw you.”
“Are you a reader too?”
“Yes indeed!” She clapped her hands with a sweet smile, “and many other things besides.”
“Do you know where I can find work?” Brook’s eyes lit up with hope and relief.
“Oh, I can offer you better than just work. I can offer you an apprenticeship.”
Brook’s head began to swim with possibilities. She had already learned a lot from her Gran, but mostly just reading, and the taro. If this woman could teach her more she knew she could succeed. Gran always said she was very talented.
“When can I start?”
“Right away of course!” The woman smiled sweetly. “Just one thing first,” she said almost as an afterthought. She pulled from her sleeve a small curved blade and before Brook could protest she made a small cut on her wrist. The strange lady snatched her wrist and licked the blood from it with an eerie shiver of delight “Oh yes,” she breathed, her eyes widening. “Yes you will make a fine apprentice.”
Normally such a vote of confidence would have inspired Brook, but there was something about the way this woman looked at her, as if she were devouring her with her eyes that made Brooks spine tingle. She tried to read the woman, but she was so taken aback at the strange little ceremony that she had forgotten to.
“Well now. Hop on in dear child,” the woman said, opening the back of the vardo. There was something ominous about her invitation, but what else could she do?
Brook got in with a sinking feeling.
“My name is Iselda,” the woman introduced herself.
“I’m Brook.”
“Yes dear, I know,” she said slamming the back of the wagon shut. Brook heard the latch fall snug. She could not shake the feeling that she was now a prisoner. Gran had warned her that, as with all things, there was a dark side to the gift, but Brook was too young and naïve to understand the implications of what had just happened.
Brook’s first few weeks as an apprentice were heavily filled with menial work. She began to feel more like a slave than a student, though she was very observant. Whatever ‘gifts’ this woman possessed were quite unlike anything Brook had ever seen before. Mostly it involved the mixing of herbs and potions. She had rarely ever seen her grandmother work with herbs. Aside from mixing ointments on the farm for scrapes and cuts there had been no need.
Iselda was in possession of quite a library of books. Most were dark tomes with strange markings on them. Brook loved to read, and with her talent, she needn’t thumb through every page. She could place on palm on the book and have all of its knowledge within a minute. Her Gran had insisted that she read the ‘usual’ way, but Brook would sometimes become impatient and use her talents to quickly discover where the story was going.
Iselda did not like Brook hanging around the bookshelf. Her house was small, so it was no difficult task to keep her eye on her young apprentice, which she did.
One morning Brook awoke with a start. Iselda was standing directly over her.
“I’ve found it my dear,” her eyes sparkling with delight. Brook knew her well enough by now that whatever she had found was not likely to turn out well for her. Iselda placed one hand on Brook’s belly.
“You my dear, are an incubator.”
Brook did not like the sound of that, or the malevolent glow in her master’s eyes.
“What is that?” She was almost afraid to ask.
“You have a rare and special gift. You can incubate a man’s will, push it out, and from it create a potion that will give us absolute power over him.” Brook knew she meant give Iselda power over him.
“How?”
“Oh dear, have you never had a sweetheart?” Brook shook her head silently.
“Don’t worry about that. That is the easy part.”
Iselda’s new-found interest in her talents gave her a dark feeling of foreboding.

Iselda’s first victim, and Brook’s as well as it turned out, was a young man in his early twenties. Brook could tell he was handsome and secretly hoped that he could somehow help her escape her cruel mistress. Iselda had drugged him. She noticed immediately when she looked into his eyes, dreary but with a hungry look in them.
“Take her my dear boy,” Iselda goaded, closing the door to Brooks small room behind her.
Brook had already stripped naked just as Iselda had instructed. She was nervous, never having been with a man before. He had a sweet face, and Brook thought that had the circumstances been different, she might have even given herself to him in a romantic way. There was no romance in this first encounter though. Whatever Iselda had poisoned him with had made him ravenous.
He grabbed her roughly, pushing her down on the mattress. Brook knew what she was instructed to do. She laid there waiting, her legs spread wide apart. He was on top of her quickly, his tongue licking her, biting. Brook closed her eyes and ran her fingers through his hair. She pretended that he was her lover, that it was her giving herself to him but he was so rough. He forced himself inside of her, a tiny gasp escaped her lips. He was too big, she too tight; it hurt. He kept going and going. Brook’s breasts bouncing with his vigor, she began to wonder if it would ever end. Finally the young man cried out. Brook could feel his member inside of her pulsing. She knew that he had spilled whatever it was that Iselda was after.
Iselda had been listening the whole time on the other side of the door. She rushed in with a gleam in her eyes. She muttered some incantation that Brook couldn’t quite make out and placed her palm on his back. The man went limp.
“Well done dear!” Iselda clapped with excitement.
“Now I need what’s inside of you.” Iselda had a small silver spoon in her hands. The process was unpleasant. The spoon was cold and uncomfortable inside of her. At last Iselda drew it out. A thick milky substance covered the spoon. Brook had never seen a man’s seed before. It seemed rather small to her, almost insignificant, given all of the trouble it took to come out.
Iselda mixed the potion she was after with it. She tossed it back with a look of relish on her face.
“Now he is mine.”
Brook will never forget the next night. The young man had slept on the floor of her room, that is until Iselda decided to put him to use. It was clear to see that the man was no longer himself. Brook knew Iselda’s movements so well that she could tell immediately that it were as if he was nothing more than her puppet.
When Darren finally came that night, a man whom Iselda had been quarreling with over a matter of money Iselda pretended to give him a warm welcome.
“Come sit down and I will fetch your money.”
Darren didn’t look convinced but he sat anyway. “I hope you have it all. I don’t want to be back here.”
“Oh you won’t dear,” she replied with a hint of malice in her voice.
Without warning, the young man she had enslaved leaped from the shadows, knife in hand. Darren was taken completely off guard. He plunged the knife directly into his heart. Darren feel back, sputtering blood. His legs twitched for a moment, then all was still. Iselda cackled the most ugly laugh.
“Now finish yourself.” She commanded.
Brook looked on in horror as the young man turned the knife on himself. She did not have him do it cleanly as Brook expected. Instead he dropped his pants using the serrated portion of the knife to saw off his manhood. He screamed the whole time.
Brook looked away but could not stop herself from vomiting.
“Clean that up!” Iselda snapped. “And once you are done with your own mess you can clean up them as well,” she said jerking a thumb over her shoulder.
Brook did as she was told. Darren had died cleanly but she couldn’t bare the sight of the young man who’d been her first. He’d bleed out quickly but his pale body was twisted, a look of horrified agony frozen on his cold dead face.
Months passed, and Brook was growing ever more desperate to escape. She’d managed to read as much as she could when Iselda had her back turned. She’d discovered a book called “The Book of the Navajo”. She had no idea who the Navajo were, much less how she would ever find a shaman who could free her, but just the knowledge that the spell could be broken filled her with hope. She had also discovered that employment, of any kind, could suspend the spell.
Brook bided her time as best she could. The day the carnival came to town she knew her chance had come. She had prepared a sleeping powder, filched the ingredients from Iselda’s supplies. That night, she slipped it into a glass of wine that Iselda had her pour for her. She hoped beyond hope that it would be enough.
As it turned out it was. Iselda fell face first into her table snoring. Brook wanted to go straight away but she knew she had to grab something. Iselda kept a small silver medallion around her neck. Brook had no idea how it worked, she only knew that Iselda needed it to perform the spell. She snatched it off, and put it in her pocket. She never wanted another man to go through what that old witch put them through. She didn’t know how long the potion would last. She ran out of the house, not bothering to shut the door behind her. She ran until her lungs felt as though they would catch fire all the way to the carnival grounds.
When she arrived she asked one of the carnies who to talk to about a job. She was directed to Danny’s tent.
Danny was chewing a wad of tobacco when she arrived.
“What do you want?”
“I need work,” Brook panted, still exhausted from her run.
“Ain’t got no more need of any whores,” Danny waved her out dismissively.
“I’m not a whore,” Brook protested with a hurt look in her eyes. She knew she wasn’t, though Iselda had practically used her as one. “I’m a fortune-teller.” She explained.
“Got one of them too,” Danny said, “Now go on and git!”
Brooks heart sank, but she persisted her last desperate plea, “I’m a real one though!” She insisted.
Danny only smirked. “You think I give a shit what my fortune teller tells the dopes she draws in? I need one that earns!”
“I’ll work the first month free!” Brook exclaimed.
This got Danny’s attention, one eyebrow lifted up.
“You say you are real?”
“As real as they come.”
“Read me.” Danny challenged.
The hope in his challenge filled her heart once again. She took his hand in hers. She was a little nervous; his read was not a good one. At last she found a way to prove herself.
“I know that you killed your brother?”
Danny jerked his hand away, his eyes narrowing, “How?”
“Shot him in the face.” She said correctly.
Danny shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “You tell anyone-“
“I wont!” Brook swore.
“Alright,” Danny said with a sigh. “I’ll get you set up.”

Brook was beside herself.
“Just one thing,” he said. “You ever try to cheat me and I’ll wring that scrawny neck.”

5
The Tower
1940
It was a sweltering hot day, and like most had been, another slow one for Brook. She sat in her tent, a cigarette hanging from her lips but her eyes were distant. Marcus, the bookie and one-time prize fighter came strolling in.
“Howdy there darlin’. Couldn’t find that man of yours.” He said.
“He’s been acting strange lately. How hard was he hit in the fight?”
“Andrew?” Marcus scratched his chin, “Hell, I seen him take worse licks before.” He said as he flopped down in the chair across from her. “I come by to give him his share,” Marcus explained with a bright look in his eyes. “I trust you will get it to him.”
Brook gave him an irritated look.
“Alright, alright. Just I don’t normally hand over this much to anyone unless I’m sure.”
“How much?” Brook’s curiosity got the better of her.
Marcus pulled out a large roll of bills and slapped it down on the table.
“Holy shit!” Brook swore when she saw the cash. It was more money she’d seen in months. She grabbed the roll and counted, it took her a minute to work through it, mostly small bills, dog eared and rough. She had to count it again, $133. This alone was enough to pay the shaman, plus some, and with the money she’d kept hidden away she had plenty to catch up on her cut with Boss as well.
“That boy of yours can pull it in,” he said with a greedy look, “Always more profitable to through a fight than to bet on a straight one.” Marcus grabbed a handful of cherries that Brook had sitting in a bowl on the table, part of her breakfast.
“Help yourself,” she said with more than a hint of sarcasm.
“Ah hell woman, you gonna get sore over a few cherries? With the money I just gave you, you can buy all the damned cherries at the market.”
What he said was true, but Brook found his crooked hat and southern charm grating. It was too polished, almost disingenuous.
Marcus chewed the fruit in silence while Brook simply stared off, stubbing out her cigarette without a word.
“Tell you what, hospitality ‘round here leaves something to be desired.”
“So does the company,” She shot back.
Marcus stood up, tipped his hat, “Well you know sweetheart, I never hung around where I wasn’t wanted.” He said by way of parting.
As soon as he’d left Brook quickly stashed the small fortune in her hideaway. She was relieved that Marcus had trusted her to hold it for Drew, but her mind wandered back to her lover. She hoped that he hadn’t been seriously injured with this last fight. She knew he’d tell her not to worry, but when it came to him that was like telling the sun not to shine.
She’d had only two customers that morning. Trivial reads, a young couple worried that they’d gotten pregnant and wanting to know if they should go ahead and tie the knot straight away; a desperate older gentleman trying to find out if there would be any money in his future, as he was facing foreclosure.
When Andrew’s face finally lit up her tent in the late afternoon she got up to wrap her arms around him.
“I’ve been wor-“ Brook cut herself short. She knew what he was going to say. She pulled him back to have a good look at him. Sometimes she wished so badly that she could read him. She ran her forefinger down the long scar that started at the outside corner of his left eye down to his lip, where he kissed her finger. It was a little lover’s ritual of theirs.
“I heard what you did to Skibbo. Why Drew? You’ve always been good friends.”
Andrew kissed her lips in response. He’d been oddly quiet since he got back.
“I just wish I knew what was on your mind,” she sighed.
“You are right now,” he took her chin in his hand gently brushing his thumb across it. She smiled sweetly. “And this,” he continued, letting his hand slide down her neck then cupping her breast.
“Drew!” She gave him a mock look of shock, but his unexpected desire made all her soft parts ache. She’d wanted him the first night he got back in the tub.
“Come on,” she took him by the hand to lead him to the back of the tent. Andrew pulled her arm back.
“I want you right here.”
“Here?” She giggled. “We might get interrupted.”
Andrew ignored her and yanked the laces free, pulling the front of her dress wide open exposing her breasts. Brook moaned. After he’d wrapped his mouth around her sensitive nipples, giving them a harder bite than usual, he wordlessly spun her around, pushing her head down to the table. Brook lifted her dress up. Andrew was normally a gentle lover but she loved it when he played rough with her.
Drew yanked her black cotton panties down to her knees. Her bare ass exposed to him was getting her more excited. He was rough putting it in but Brook was so wet she didn’t mind. He began pounding her. Her nipples rubbed against the wooden table making them even harder. She moaned, he grunted. She came hard quickly, her eyes rolling up, moaning loudly. She’d almost forgotten how good he felt. His pounding was becoming harder and harder. He placed his head down next to hers and began licking and biting her. His cock felt harder than she’d ever felt it. It was getting rough, too rough. Brook suddenly felt that something wasn’t right. She felt the same way that she had when she was collecting seed for Iselda.
“Easy Love.” She pleaded. Drew just kept pounding harder and harder, it was beginning to hurt.
“Andrew stop!”
He ignored her. Brook knew this wasn’t right. She began to fear the worst. She reached for the bowl on the table in front of her. Finally she got a good grasp and she swung it around, pushing Drew back and bashing him in the head with it. Drew pulled out, shaking his head but he wasn’t fazed for long.
Brook saw the look in his eye, that vacant look she’d seen so many times before. Oh God no, she thought.
Drew punched her in the stomach, causing her to double over in pain. The next thing she knew he was on top of her, pinning her down with his knees on her chest. He started choking her. Brook, with bowl still in hand gave him another smack across the head. His grip on her throat loosened just long enough for her cry out. “Malachi!” She screamed with all the force she had. Drew’s hands quickly fell back on her neck, squeezing. For one desperate moment Brook thought this was going to be the end of her. Dead at her lover’s own hands. She began to see stars, her vision narrowed to small tunnels.
Suddenly she saw her chair being smashed across Drew’s head. It was Malachi. Brook quickly sat up, coughing, gasping for air.
“He botherin’ you miz Brook?”
“He’s not himself,” she explained. “Jesus, did you have to hit him so hard?”
Drew laid unconscious on the ground.
“Sorry miz Brook.”
“Don’t worry Mal. Quick! Grab some rope. We are going to have to tie him up.” Brook knew he wouldn’t be out for long. Malachi bounded off for the rope.
That horrible sinking feeling set once again in her chest. How could she have been so careless? She looked at his head once again remembering the cut he had refused to let her clean. With a trembling hand, afraid of what she would find, she reached down to touch it. As soon as she did she heard that familiar ugly cackle. Her worst fear was confirmed.
Malachi was back with the rope. He began tying Drew up.
“She put a hex on him?”
“He’s under a spell Mal,” Brook corrected, but she didn’t have time to explain the difference. Her head was spinning. She wanted to cry, but she knew time was precious now.
Brook pulled her panties back up and laced up her dress. She ran to the back of her tent and fetched the medallion and all of her cash from her hideaway. Thank God Iselda couldn’t control him completely at least.
“I have to do something,” she said, “Stay here and keep an eye on him, I won’t be long.”
Malachi simply nodded.
When she got back, Drew was stirring but still not awake just yet.
“You gonna fix him miz Brook?”
“I can’t Mal,” She cried, her voice breaking with the realization.
“I am going to have to go back to Iselda.” She couldn’t believe the words were coming out of her mouth.
“Oh no miz Brook!” Malachi exclaimed. The worry in his voice struck her.
“I don’t have a choice Mal. It’s the only chance I have to save him.” She said, her eyes swollen with tears.