Anna’s fortune-teller friend Madame Zola is sitting in a straight-backed chair in front of a small table draped with the same blue silk as the walls. She’s wearing a brightly patterned turban and her eyes are lined with kohl. A delicious shiver travels down my arms. Even though Anna told me that most mediums are fakes, I don’t believe her. Anna’s the real thing, after all. How do we know this Madame Zola is a phony? She certainly looks genuine to me. “You are on a great quest,” the fortune-teller intones. Curt snorts. “Yeah, for a new Lincoln.” Reggie lifts his flask. “I’ll drink to that.” “You’ll drink to anything,” Jack snorts, taking out a cigarette. “Hear, hear.” Reggie takes another pull from the flask and then peers with one eye into the opening. “Damn. I think I’m done.” “Look, can we just skip the drama?” Jack says, glancing at the wristwatch I bought for him last Christmas. “We have a scavenger hunt to get back to.” I frown. Why do I feel as if he’s eager to get back to more than the scavenger hunt?
