The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [82]
A soft gasp escaped Marji’s lips.
Grace went rigid. “What is it?”
Gently, Marji pressed Grace’s hand shut.
“It’s broken,” she said.
Grace pulled her hand back, held it against her chest, and nodded. Maybe Marji knew what she was talking about after all.
“It doesn’t have to stay that way, honey,” Marji said, her words soft and husky. “The lines on our hands don’t lie, but they can change even as we do.”
Grace gave a bitter smile. Then again, didn’t they say you could never trick fate?
“How about Travis?” she said to change the subject. It was not as if Marji’s words had revealed anything she didn’t already know. “What’s his hand say?”
Marji reached out and took Travis’s hand. As she did, her eyes widened, and she made a cooing sound. “Honey, I’ve never felt such a soft hand. It’s like a baby’s. You have to tell me how you do it.”
Travis let out a soft laugh. “It’s a secret.”
Grace nodded; she supposed it was at that.
Marji cocked her head, regarding him, then turned his hand over. She looked up, shock in her wide brown eyes. “But you don’t have any lines on your hand. Not one. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Travis drew his hand back. “It was fire.”
Marji curled a long hand beneath her chin, but something in her expression did not look convinced.
Grace cleared her throat. “I think … I think we should go now. We don’t want you to get in trouble if the police come in here looking for us.”
Now Marji laughed, waving a hand. “Please, honey. I know how to deal with the police. I beguile the boys and befriend the girls.” She spread her arms wide, then hugged herself. “To know Marji is to love her, no?”
Grace could only laugh in agreement.
Marji beckoned with a long finger. “This way, you two. Follow Marji. You can take the back door to make sure no prying eyes see you leave.”
They followed as she parted a beaded curtain. Beyond was a space even more crowded than the store outside. Sagging shelves were lined with sweet-dusty bundles of sage, brass candlesticks, polished pieces of hematite, lacquered boxes, packages of incense, and jars filled with a hundred different kinds of herbs. Grace would have liked to stop and study some of the herbs, to smell them, taste them, probe them with the Weirding to see how they compared to the plant species she had worked with on Eldh. However, Travis tugged her arm, pulling her onward.
They reached a door. Marji opened it a crack, peered through, then pushed it wider. Beyond was an alley littered with empty boxes and broken pallets.
“Now, I know you both have important things to do,” Marji said. “No—no need to explain. I see it in your eyes. But you come back to Marji if you can. You’re a special lady, queen. Those are some witchy green eyes you have.”
She squeezed Grace’s hand. Grace squeezed back.
“And you.” Marji ran a hand over Travis’s head. “You’re pretty cute for a bald white guy.”
Travis only grinned.
“You take care of yourself, honey. Both of you.”
Grace and Travis nodded. Sometimes words weren’t enough. Then they stepped into the alley. Behind them, the door shut and locked with a click.
Travis sighed. “I get so used to running from people who want to use us for their own ends, sometimes I forget there are people who will help us and not expect anything in return.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “We owe her.”
“Him, you mean.”
Travis frowned, and Grace laughed. Maybe the new Travis was still a little clueless after all.
“Marji’s a man, Travis. Well, genetically, at least. I suppose, in all the ways that count, she’s a woman. Except no woman I know could have pulled off that ensemble.”
Travis stared into the wind. Grace wondered what he was thinking. Before she could ask, he shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
“Well, what’s the point of being alive if you can’t choose what you’re going to be?”
It sounded good, coming from his lips. But sometimes Grace knew you didn’t have a choice, that life decided for you, and that no matter how much you wanted something, you could never have it back once it was taken from you. She glimpsed it: the