Gypsy Blood

Chapter 2 - An Evening Caller

Doris shivered as the night wind whispered down the back of her collar.

Should she do this? Could she? Her mother would have called this a sin. Her mother called a lot of things sins.

She looked at the sign in the shop window.

GYPSY FORTUNE TELLING - BY WALK-IN OR APPOINTMENT ONLY. ASK ABOUT OUR RAINY DAY SPECIAL.

If you couldn’t believe in a sign, what could you trust? There was a sign on the lamppost beside her as well.

JESUS CHRIST SAVES ALL SINNERS. PRAY TO JESUS NOW. OBEY THE BIBLE.

Direct as a drill sergeant. They did not call it the Salvation Army for nothing. A basket of biblical tracts sprouted beneath the sign. She picked one of the tracts up and read it over.

DEATH, JUDGEMENT, ETERNITY, HEAVEN OR HELL, YOU DECIDE.

So many messages. Who should she believe?

Trust Carnival, her best friend Margaret had told her. Carnival knew things.

Doris squared her shoulders, stepped up to the door, and pushed it open.

A little brass bell heralded her entrance.

Enter freely and of your own will.

She looked at the man who had spoken. He flashed a quick grin to show her he meant no harm.

Come in. Sit down.

Her mother would have called him rough looking. A faded brown suede vest worn too tightly to be fashionable. Tousled black hair, salted with a little age and comfortably uncombed. A scar on his right cheek that made him look dangerous. He had a nice smile but you can’t trust a smile. Jimmy smiled whenever he asked her for money.

The man chuckled as if he could read her thoughts.

Maybe he could.

Come in. Don’t let me scare you. It’s just my idea of a joke. Something I heard in an old Dracula movie. He shrugged. For half an instant he looked like her dead husband, Frank.

He looked like someone she could trust.

Sometimes I try too hard to be funny, He apologized.

He sat at a card table. A deck of cards was tabled in front of him. Tarot cards, she presumed. She’d seen them in the movies and in that strange little mysterious downtown boutique bookstore where the women wore dresses that looked like fancy nightgowns.

Come in, he repeated.

She stepped closer. Her hands were shaking.

He flashed another smile.

Don’t be scared, he said. I make it a point never to terrify anyone on their first date.

He gestured for her to sit in a large green lawn chair. It was big and heavy and plastic.

Sit down. I just got the chair. Do you like it? Green is very soothing to your chakra.

He extended a hand. She stared at it, like it was a snake. He gently took her hand and shook it.

I am not trying to pump money out of you, he said, grinning. Not yet, anyway.

Feeling flustered, she sat down. I’m sorry. I forget my manners. You meet so few people who shake your hand these days.

I’m my own one-man time warp. You’ll get used to it. Call me Carnival.

She told him her name. And then she finally had to ask.

So what is a chakra?

An energy source. The body has them all over it. Here, he touched his belly. And here and here.

He touched his head and he almost touched his heart. Doris would have sworn that he flinched just before his knuckles touched his chest. Another smile fluttered upon his lips. He looked a little nervous like he had just broke wind.

Are you a real gypsy? she asked.

As real as truth.

Is Carnival your real name?

He smiled at that. She could see the laughter hiding behind his eyes. It was a good laugh, not at her but with her. The laughter and something else moved behind his eyes like a dancing shadow.

You can call me Val if Carnival had too many syllables to chew over. It doesn’t pay to give out real names in some of the circles I travel in. he answered.

Doris wondered what sort of circles he might mean but she was too polite to ask.

So what can I do for you, Doris?

She felt the blood rush to her face.

She knew she was blushing.

I don’t know. I’ve never done anything like this before. Read me the future, I guess.

He gave her another smile. He had lot of smiles to go around.

I don’t read futures. That’s for little old ladies in spotted kerchiefs.

Then what do you do?

I dukker. That’s Rom for telling fortunes.

Rom?

Rom’s Gypsy talk. It’s our language. It’s supposed to be secret. We don’t even write it down. It’s passed on, tongue to ear. I’m not even supposed to say this much.

She grinned.

Will you get in trouble for telling me?

He shrugged. It’s worse than sharing a Masonic handshake. They only kill you for that.

So you’re a gypsy.

Yes. I am Rom. You call us Gypsies. We call you Gaijo.

He looked her in the eye. He had dark eyes like mirrors in shadow. Nice. If she was younger, she might have wanted to meet him over coffee.

So tell me why you have come?

She stood up, flustered, not knowing to do with herself.

It’s my son. I have a problem with him.

He looked at her.

Sit down.

She sat back down. He shuffled the cards.

Don’t tell me anymore. I like to look at the cards first, without knowing what I’m looking for. It’s too easy to cheat if you already know the question.

He laid out the first card. She saw the picture, a woman sitting on some sort of a chair. Was that her? The chair in the picture looked like a lawn chair to Doris.

This is you, Carnival said. You have a problem. Someone expects something from you.

She nodded, just slightly, trying too late to check herself. She didn’t want to telegraph her situation to this man but she had the feeling he already knew what her problem was.

He laid another card, a dark haired figure sitting atop a large black horse, staring hard at a star in a circle in his hand. The card was upside down.

The Knight of Pentacles, reversed. Someone promises action, but so far he’s nothing but talk. Your son?

She couldn’t help but nod.

He laid a third card down. Three long swords piercing a heart. The sky behind the heart appeared to be raining.

Three of hearts. A hard decision. Tears falling upon the ground. You have to cut some one away.

Carnival looked in her eyes. She felt his eyes, analyzing. Reading her like a hand running over a well-thumbed book.

With respect, you could throw a rock at sixty years, couldn’t you Doris? he asked.

It took Doris a moment to realize he was talking about her age. She nearly blushed. Stupid, that a woman of her age should worry but she did. Some things never changed.

How can you tell? she asked.

I look here. He touched the corner of his eye. Where the crows dance. They never lie. He looked at her again like he could see through her eyes. Like Superman in the comic books. She remembered a movie about a man with X-ray eyes. It hadn’t ended happily.

You need to throw him out, Doris. He’s too old to be living with you. I don’t think he is bad, I just think he is lazy is all.

Doris’s eyes began to tear up.

He handed her a box of tissue. Please.

I’m sorry, she said. It’s just that...

She wept for a while. There wasn’t much else to do. He sat and watched her, trying not to stare. She appreciated that. The way he didn’t quite watch her and yet she knew he had his eyes upon her.

I am sorry, she repeated. I didn’t mean to come in here and break down.

It’s why I keep the tissue. It comes with the job.

You must hear a lot of problems.

My share and everybody else’s. I’m cheaper than a psychiatrist, and easier on your liver than a bartender.

She laughed. She couldn’t help herself. It felt good to laugh. It took her mind off trouble. Was that why he told so many jokes?

It is just so very hard. Jimmy has been through a rough time. A divorce and then his ex-wife ran up a credit card bill. I’ve been taking care of my mother. She’s in her nineties. I ought not to leave her alone. It’s just...

She squeezed the tissue in her fist, holding the tears at bay.

So how old is Jimmy? he asked.

Thirty seven.

He arranged his features before he spoke. She knew he was trying not to laugh at her foolishness. She appreciated his diplomacy.

Thirty seven is old enough to sink or swim. How long has he stayed with you?

A year, no, maybe a year and a half.

He smiled. Then you’ve been more than kind, and he’s going to have to understand.

I know. I’ve always known. I knew it before I even came in here.

That’s all the cards tell you. What you already know. They’re more of a looking glass. You look in, to look out.

She nodded. He was making small talk. The reading was over. She looked up at him.

It’s just hard, is all.

He pointed at the Three of Swords. A hard decision. Tears falling down like rain. Who holds the knife?

She smiled again. She knew what Carnival meant. She had to accept her responsibility and cut Jimmy loose. The boy was dragging her down.

It’s just hard is all, Doris said. Letting go of someone you love. Cutting them away.

He touched his chest softly like there was a landmine buried inside the cage of his ribs. I know, he said.

And the reading was over. She paid him what he asked for. He held the door for her. Then he let it close. As she stepped out into the night she heard his voice behind the door, talking to someone. She crossed the street, walking fast, feeling eyes burn upon her from the darkness.

The vampire watched the woman walk away, a casket of old blood wrapped in sack of sad and lonely skin. Then she turned her hard yellow gaze back towards Carnival’s shop.

Chapter 3 - An Evening Caller

Carnival watched Doris walk away. He smiled at her back. He’d helped her. It was a good feeling.

You helped nothing.

Shut up, Poppa.

She’s scared. Can’t you feel how scared she is?

She’s fine, Poppa.

Poshrat. She feels the eyes of the night watching her.

The night is fine Poppa. There’s nothing out there.

What kind of Gypsy are you? The night is full of darkness and blinding stars and shapes that crawl darkly between the stars. The night is full of hunger, the night is full of lies, and the biggest liar is standing around me.

Such fine lines, Poppa. You ought to be a lounge singer in Las Vegas.

I am too good for Las Vegas. Too pure. I would have to sell my soul, like Newton or Boone.

Wayne Newton sold his soul?

And Pat Boone. The two of them. Contracts signed in blood and treble clefs. Las Vegas is like that. Glitter, tinsel and plastic lies. A neon candelabra burning brightly on old Nick’s scratchiest player piano.

If you say so, Poppa.

I say so. And I say you lied. Chakra, my ass. Do you know what chakra is? It’s an old word that means wheel. It goes round in circles, like your talk.

I told her what I saw. I helped her.

You helped nothing. You told her lies. Lies help no one.

I told her what I could. I did what I was able. I told her truth.

You told her lies. You are nothing but a professional liar.

I told her the truth.

Truth? The truth could not ever live in such a mouth. You are slicker than the soap-maker’s asshole. You could talk the ticks from a hound dog’s ears. You should be in politics, your tongue twists like a corkscrew.

Carnival opened his mouth and closed it. Was it true? Had he lied?

You told her what she wanted to hear.

Carnival considered that. Reading cards was like looking in a mirror. Whatever your client was thinking was what the cards saw. Whatever they already knew, laid out before them. It wasn’t lies. It was reflection.

No. Poppa was lying again. It had been a good reading. Straight and clean like the scar upon his cheek. He touched the scar. He felt the whisper of the knife opening his skin, his flesh, touching him where he ought to be safe. It never changed. A long scar sliced down his right cheek like a long red scarf. A sign of manhood or so he’d been told.

Thanks Poppa.

You asked for it boy. Fuck with me and you fuck with my knife. I’d give you another, if I could.

But you can’t, can you Poppa. You can’t touch me anymore.

Don’t be too sure. I’ll sharpen your toes and screw you into the ground.

Nice Poppa. Nothing like those old fashioned familial ties.

Ties are ropes. Ropes are leashes and leashes are for dogs. The dog is smarter than the man. After a time the bitch forgets her whelp.

Carnival thought of his Momma.

You told that woman a lie. You aren’t Rom. Poshrat. Half-blood. Maybe Gypsy, yes, maybe that. But not Rom.

You are Rom, Poppa.

The bloodline goes through the mother. How many times must I tell you. The bloodline goes straight through the mother. How else can you be sure?

Are you sure, Poppa?

Poppa shut up. There was nothing like truth to set things right. There was so much truth waiting to be uncovered, hidden between father and son. A thousand decks of Tarot couldn’t begin to unravel so tangled a weave.

What did you do with her, Poppa? What did you do with Momma?

Before the old ghost could reply there was a tap at the door. At least Carnival thought it was a tap. Maybe it was just the wind rattling the door knob. He looked up. She was standing there. At first he thought it was the succubus, come back from the ruins of the Second Chance Church and Graveyard for a second shot.

Only it wasn’t her.

Yet somehow, it was someone just like her. This one is different, he thought. Not another housewife. This one is strange.

This one is trouble.

Quiet Poppa.

Don’t let her in. Don’t invite her inside.

And because Poppa said don’t do it, Carnival opened the door.

She stood there, like a dream on the wind.

You don’t really have to invite me in, she said, pausing at the doorstep. But it would be mannerly of you.

Carnival should have seen it. He should have seen it in her pallor, in the laser like clarity of her gaze, in the lividity of her gums. He should have seen her for what she was but he settled for a cheap laugh.

Enter freely and of your own will, he said with a winning grin and an Errol Flynn bow, inviting the vampire into his house.

Now you have done it boy. Now you have done it for sure.

Poppa was right.

The vampire stepped into Carnival’s shop, freely and of her own will, and Carnival’s bad day just got rolled into worse.

Chapter 4 – A Nice Night for a Bite

Carnival hadn’t seen that many vampires in his short Rom life. He was curious, so he invited her in.

Liar. She is nothing more than another pair of pretty eyes that you think you can save.

Poppa was right. Carnival was a sucker when it came to women in need. Momma should have named him Galahad.

Ha. She should have called you Jacob. What I told her to call you. Jacob who plotted with his mother to steal from his father. Jacob, the disappointment. Instead, she named you after that movie star. That he-slut in eye shadow. She named you...

Shut up, Poppa.

Carnival felt a flush of anger washing over him like a flash fire. He focused his bitterness on the vampire.

So what do you want? Carnival asked. To drink my blood? It’s pretty thin.

I want to know my future, the vampire said. Palm or cards. I don’t care which. Just tell me what you see.

Carnival gave her his best all-knowing nod.

Poppa laughed inside Carnival’s chest, a desperate hyena chortling in a thick meat sack.

Oh my boy, she has shit far wiser turds than you. This one will swallow you whole.

Maybe, Carnival thought, but the last one couldn’t.

It depends on what you want to know, Carnival said. The palm tells everything. Birth to death, cradle to coffin. Only general, you know? Cards are specific but shortsighted. Two or three months at best. Cards don’t see far, just straight.

I don’t really care about months, she said. Months and days, minutes and seconds; it is all the same to me. I stopped thinking about time a long time ago. It had better be the palm.

Sit down.

They sat at the card table he’d found at a junk shop three blocks into the dirtier side of town. The table was covered with a black cotton tablecloth, sewn by an old lady in exchange for a dream he read. He told her the dream meant her son was coming home from overseas.

Vinegar tongue. You lied to the old woman. You lie to all women.

Actually he hadn’t. The boy came home in a long wooden box. Carnival had told the truth. Then he nailed the tablecloth to the table before she found out what kind of truth he’d told her.

That’s my boy. Truthful, practical, and handy with a hammer. You should have been a carpenter. You crucify so beautifully.

Did you get that in a fight? she pointed at the scar. Long and red and tapering like a long red scarf across the right side of his cheek.

Heidelberg dueling accident, he said. I thrust when I should have parried. Please sit. The green in the chair is good for your chakra.

She smiled. The wooden chair is more comfortable for you, isn’t it?

Like X-ray, boy. This one is trouble. She sees through each of your lies.

Carnival shrugged.

He knew Poppa wasn’t lying.

Do you have a name? Carnival asked.

Do you need one?

Names are handy.

Names are handles, she corrected. People use them to push you around.

Ha! Listen to this one talk. You are nothing but a window to her, boy. She sees straight through you.

Carnival did his best to ignore Poppa’s taunting. Handles, he said. I’ll remember that. Maybe get it stitched in needlepoint.

You can call me Maya.

He could tell that she was lying. It didn’t matter. A lot of customers didn’t like to tell him things too close to the truth. It was a sort of mutual con game that way.

Maya it is. Are you right handed or left?

Does it matter?

He shrugged. He had a pretty good shrug. He made it a point to practice his shrug in front of a mirror any chance he got, usually whenever he was considering any kind of self-improvement.

That depends. Old time palmists only read left hands. Closest to the heart was supposed to tell truth, you know?

Bullshit. The heart is the biggest liar ever. You see a pretty vampire, you will say anything.

Poppa laughed rudely. Carnival was glad Maya couldn’t hear.

She will eat you, boy. And not in a good way.

What if I am ambidextrous?

Then you ought to make up your mind.

She grinned. Carnival liked the look of a woman’s grin, especially when it pointed at something he’d said. Only Maya’s grin made him nervous. It made him feel like he was a freshly skinned cat flung headfirst into an underfed dog pound.

You ought to be nervous. This one could drain you like a ruptured pustule.

I am right handed, she said.

Then give me your right.

Ha!

Carnival could be contrary if he wanted to be. You are receptive. Like a radar dish to life, you take what’s given. You lap it up like a cat laps cream.

The shape of her palm and her splayed out fingers, told him this. That and a pretty good guess. Another grin told him that he’d guessed right. Her grin didn’t look right but he hadn’t seen that many vampire grins. Her mouth was like last night’s succubus. Like she could open her mouth and suck him in.

Be afraid, boy. Be very afraid.

Poppa watched too many movies, Carnival thought. Carnival was scared but he really wanted to know what a vampire’s palm looked like so he dealt with his fear. He sent his fear to stand in the corner of his soul.

Ha. Mister fearless. Tattered down rag-a-bed Galahad. There are skid marks on your shining metal britches, boy, and it isn’t rust.

Carnival held her hand, testing it for flex. A stiff hand meant an inflexible person, allergic to change. Her hand was cold. He felt a chill creep through his bones like a rat through a sewer pipe. He should have stopped right there. He was in deep water and should have swum for the shore. But he didn’t.

He checked her lifeline, the line that fish-hooked between a person’s thumb and index finger down towards the wrist. Long and strong meant a good healthy life. Too many angles meant a tendency towards stiff joints and trouble with endurance, spiritual and otherwise. If the lifeline tucked in close to the thumb it spoke of a traditional life. If it bent away from her thumb and headed across the palm, it showed a wild spirited black sheep.

You have seen no line like this one, boy.

Poppa was right. This line wasn’t like any Carnival had seen before. It was a crazy spiral, a long skinny worm wrapped around her thumb. Round and round like a string she’d tied on to not forget. Like one of those spinning hypnotic discs you used to find in the back of comic books, right next to the garlic chewing gum and the shrunken heads. You know the ones. They were supposed to allow you to hypnotize women into doing whatever you wanted.

It never worked, did it boy?

Carnival hung his head. Poppa still wasn’t telling any lies.

It had taken Carnival one whole dollar plus shipping mailed to Honor House to find out that spinning disc did not work.

The X-Ray glasses had been a bust as well.

So what do you see? Maya asked

What did he see? Christ and all his singing saints, tap dancing on a straight pin. He tried to swallow. His tongue swelled up like a waterlogged couch in a toxic landfill.

What do you see?

The desperation in her voice told him this wasn’t just for fun. This meant a lot to her. She needed to know. The Galahad in Carnival’s soul responded to her need. He swallowed the couch inside of his throat and did his best to find a believable voice.

I see a long life. A very long life.

What else do you see?

What could he tell her? Her lifeline swallowed everything. Heart, head, fate. All gone in a single gulp.

I see hunger. I see a lifetime of endless hunger.

She cleared her throat, like she’d just tasted something she didn’t like. Carnival knew the feeling.

What about happiness? What about children? What about marriage?

There were tears in her voice. He was surprised. He hadn’t imagined vampires would have that kind of feeling.

Ha! Comes the dawn, slow but sure. You should have listened to your Poppa. I warned you not to invite her in. She is a night walker. Hungrier than lawyers. Greedier than churches. A vampire and you let her in. Now you have got feelings for her. Next thing you will want to help her.

Carnival touched the lifeline, gently, like he would touch a live land mine.

Damn!

The line snagged at his skin, like it had teeth. Like some kind of reverse hookworm.

What did you expect, Val my boy? Verdelak. Nosferatu. Count Yorga, Barnabas Collins, and Christopher Lee. A mullo. A vampire. Same as a ghost, only hungrier.

Carnival held his ground, refusing to give way to his fear. He pulled his finger back. The flesh puckered and stuck, like living Velcro. He looked at his fingertip. A small red blood blister.

Damn.

He was in deep shit.

From your lips to God’s rear, boy. Suck it up and take your punishment.

What about love? Maya asked.

What was she asking him for? Right now he was too scared to think. He forced himself to concentrate.

What about it? You might as well ask which way the wind will blow, three hundred years from tomorrow. It’s late. Go home. See me in the morning.

It was worth a try.

Tomorrow is too late, she said. What about my future?

Future is all you got. Future, past and hunger. Lots of hunger.

She looked hungry, too.

She eyed him like he was a freshly sizzled tavern steak.

You said a mouthful, boy.

Shut up, Poppa.

Maya looked confused. Who are you talking to?

She looked closer, like she was studying Carnival’s soul. And maybe she was.

Ah, she said. I see. And then she reached out one long finger and touched Carnival in the center of his chest and all at once Poppa stopped talking. That’s better.

Carnival couldn’t believe it.

She had shut Poppa up. That took strong magic. Now he was really scared. Maya smiled at him, showing her teeth.

How about a quick little drink? she asked.

What do I do, Poppa?

He willed the old man to speak.

Do you need a picture? She is thirsty and you are nothing but a fresh glass.

The vampire moved closer.

Come on boy. Think like Wesley Snipes. Float like a Van Helsing and sting like Buffy. It’s time to put away your cards and fight.

Carnival stood up quickly. He kicked the wooden chair over and brought his boot down hard on the rungs as the chair hit the ground. The chair rungs shattered. He was glad they did. He would have looked pretty foolish, step dancing on a chair that wouldn’t break.

Maya didn’t seem worried, watching him like a patient diner waiting for dessert. He grabbed a broken chair rung and pointed it at her like a knife. Memories jumped out of the