Cecilia's pov
"That tarot lady looks like she's about to pull a rabbit out of someone's chest cavity," Yvonne whispered, eyeing the black-masked figure now standing center stage like the final act at a haunted circus.
We'd positioned ourselves in the third row of the forming crowd--close enough to catch the grim details, far enough to avoid becoming part of the show.
The woman in black was tall and rail-thin, draped in midnight satin. Her mask covered her entire face, ornate and vaguely insectoid--like something salvaged from a Tim Burton prop closet, then dipped in dread.
What little skin peeked out from her sleeves was taut but showing age--not elderly, but the kind of "ageless" that comes from pricey dermatologists and weekly microcurrent facials.
"That's not a tarot reader," I mut
