"Seriously?" Hartley complains for the hundredth time since we left Lady Bijou's, which couldn't have been more than only a few minutes before. "What does she mean by don't wear anything nice?"

It takes every ounce of willpower inside of me not to smile. "I guess it means not to wear anything nice."

"But why?" She turns to me with a desperate glare, her pupils so enlarged I can barely see the blue.

I scrunch up my face. "Maybe she wants you to clean. What did you think you were going to do? Serve drinks?"

Hartley flips long blonde ringlets over her shoulder and sucks in her cheeks, making them all elongated and pointy. "I don't know. Mix some beats?"

A rogue snort escapes from my nose. "You're only fifteen-years-old!"

"And a half!" she adds sharply, holding her palms out in front of her. "These hands are not meant to clean, Gwennie. There's no way I'm going to do anything disgusting."

"Beggars can't be choosers. You're the one who busted Nick's windshield and now you're the one who has to pay," I remind her. "You're lucky she's even letting you work there. She doesn't have to, you know."

"Whatever," she answers flippantly, but I can tell deep down she knows it's true. We cross the street and walk half a block before she speaks. "So, when did you and Lady Bijou become BFFs?" She keeps her tone low and even but there's the hint of something more behind it. Jealousy, perhaps? But who she's jealous of I can't tell. Me, for hanging out with the charismatic transvestite, or Lady Bijou for hanging out with me.

I choose my words carefully. "We had a good time the other night." I press my lips together in an attempt to hide just how much I enjoyed myself. Hartley's a lot of things and possessive is high on that list. We've been down this road before, like when I would get invited to a slumber party back home and she wouldn't. I've learned that the best way to spare her feelings is to play it nice and cool. Distracting her by switching focus works pretty good, too. "We talked a lot about you, to be honest," I tell her.

"Really?" Her mouth curves into a half grin. "What'd you say?"

She reminds me of a kid on Christmas morning. "Just how much fun I've been having since I got here. And how nice it is to spend time with you again."

"Aww, Gwennie!" My best friend melts like a dusting of snow in the warm sun. She links her arm through mine as we continue down the sidewalk. "I love spending time with you, too. Have I told you how happy I am that you're here?"

I roll my eyes. "Not in the past few hours." My gaze scrolls up and lands on a neon yellow sign blinking wildly in a store front window. Madame LaRue's House of Magic. I stop dead in my tracks. "We're here!"

I grab Hartley by the hand and drag her through the open doorway, which emits a melodic chime as soon as we step inside. The smell of cedar and citrus permeates the humid air. When I scan my surroundings I discover several sticks of incense in colorful ceramic holders, releasing steady curls of gray-tinted smoke.

"I haven't been here in so long I forgot how amazing it is," Hartley says, taking everything in. She makes a beeline toward a shelf displaying dozens of travel-size-like vials, and begins to inspect each one carefully. "I mean, look at this ..." She holds up a bottle that says Third Eye in bold white letters across a cornflower blue label. "Do you know what this is?"

I shake my head.

"It's a magic potion that makes people psychic."

I frown. Because seriously. "How can a potion make someone psychic?"

"Because it opens up your third eye." She pokes her index finger into the center of my forehead and wiggles it around. "It helps you to see ghosts and shit."

"Ghosts?"

"Yes, ghosts. New Orleans is full of them."

"So I've heard." I think back to the historic walk I went on with Sully. It feels like forever ago even though it's only been a few days.

"Gwen Lincoln," a familiar voice says. I turn and find Madame LaRue sitting at a table in a darkened corner of the boutique. Two lit candles sit atop the center of a black tablecloth with a neatly stacked deck of cards nestled in between. The dancing flames cast shadows across her wrinkly brown face, giving her a more eerie appearance than when I'd seen her before.

I glance at Hartley just in time to see her slip the small bottle into her pocket. "What are you doing?" I hiss.

Her eyes widen as she leans in close. "What? It's not like she can see. She's blind, remember?"

"That's not the point." Stealing is wrong, I want to say, but decide to hold the lecture. "And if she really is blind then how does she know I'm here?"

She stares at me like I'm an idiot. "Because she can hear your voice."

"Ah bin waitin' fer ya, Gwen. An ah have a feelin' ya bin waitin' fer me too," Madame LaRue says, flashing a toothless grin. "Ya lookin' fer some guidance. Am ah raht?"

Like before, Madame LaRue's graying hair is tucked behind a strap of fabric. It's burgundy this time with tiny flecks of black, and it matches what she's wearing perfectly.

"Ya comin' ova here, or aintcha? Ah don't bite. Much." She cackles at her own joke.

Questions suddenly invade my brain, scenarios I hadn't thought of before. Like, what if she tells me something I don't want to hear? My heart jumps in my chest. Hartley gives me a tiny shove and I spring forward, nearly tripping over my own feet. "How are you, Madame LaRue? It's good to see you again."

"Ah's good, ah's good. But it's you dat ah'm worried 'bout." Her milky gaze moves from me and then to Hartley. "Who's dat ya brought wit ya? Dey gotta name?"

I clear my throat. "This is my friend Hartley. She's the one I'm staying with this summer."

Madame LaRue gives a slow nod. "Ah see."

Hartley snorts. I shoot her a scowl and turn back to the old woman. "I was wondering if you could read our cards? I brought money." I pat the pocket of my shorts.

"Shore nuff. Ah know ya needin' answers." Her words are very matter-of-fact. "Whyn't ya have a seat dere."

Hartley and I squeeze onto the wooden bench across from her, which doesn't allow room to wiggle. Madame LaRue's knobby fingers reach for the stack of cards and expertly slices them into three separate piles. She shuffles them back together, her hands moving so quickly I can hardly keep up.

"Ah bin doin' dis a long time," she states, reading my mind. She envelopes the cards in her hands and closes her eyes for a moment before spreading them in front of us in a big messy jumble. "We's gonna do a dree card spread. Past, present an future. Dis is da simplest an quickest way ta get da answers ya need. It can also guide ya if yer feelin' lost an confused. Does dat make sense?"

Hartley and I nod simultaneously.

"Now, ah want ya ta choose only dree cards. Lay dem down on da table but don't ya dare look at dem." Despite the mid-summer heat, a chill works its way up my spine. "Ya ready?" she asks, her clouded gaze meeting mine.

Again, I nod and look down at the cards. The backs of them stare at me in splashes of black, purple and teal. One by one, I pick three cards and place them in front of me. Madame LaRue instinctively finds them and flips them over so their vibrant images face up. My breath hitches as I study the pictures, each one more confusing than the last.

"Da first card represents da past." Her fingers move across the image yet she never once looks down. The picture is of an old man draped in robes, a scraggly white beard hanging from his narrow face. He holds a lantern in one hand and a golden staff in the other. "It's da Hermit card," she says. "Da Hermit reminds us dat our goals can be attained, but our journeys are not always easy ta endure. He stands alone atop a mountain wit a lantern in his hand an wears a cloak of invisibility which keep his secrets well-hidden. He represents a hardship ya've gone tru. A pain a some kind. Does dis make sense ta ya?"

An unexpected ache spreads through the hollow of my chest. I fold my hands in my lap and stare down at them, tears clouding my vision. "Yes, ma'am."

Hartley brushes her arm against mine. I feel her eyes boring into me, but I refuse to look up.

Madame LaRue glides her fingers over the second card, her gaze fixed on a spot somewhere past where we sit. "Dis card represents da present. It's what ya goin' tru raht now."

I drag in a breath and glance at it quickly, unsure I want its meaning revealed. There are five men on the card, each one waving a giant stick. They don't seem happy, but don't look upset either, and it's difficult to tell whether they're playing or fighting.

"It's called da Five a Wands. It indicates tension, an it's imparin' yer ability ta move forward. Da problem is dat everone's figthin' ta get dere points across but nobody's willin' ta listen," she says. "Dere's a whole lotta conflict an no progress."

Her words cut through me like a knife. It's like she knows what's going on at home and can somehow see into my soul, into the most secret emotions I've been too afraid to share. My lower lip trembles and I bite down to keep from crying.

"But dis struggle can be fixed, Gwen. If ya take yer time an work tru it. Ah know dis because if ya look very closely, ya can see dese fellas aren't angry." Her voice is gentle now. And even if she can't see the hurt on my face, she knows she hit a nerve. "It's okay ta be upset, but don't let dat hurt ruin what lies ahead."

Madame LaRue is quiet for a moment and the only sound I'm aware of is the constant pounding in my chest. I wanted clarity concerning the problems I'm having with my parents, and more importantly, the problems they're having with each other, but I didn't realize the impact of what I might hear. And it hurts. It really really hurts. And I just want that hurt to go away.

"Are ya ready ta move on, dawlin'?" she finally asks.

I release a slow breath. "Okay."

The old woman splays gnarled fingers across the third and final card. The picture resembles a family standing underneath a glorious rainbow, the center of which is decorated with tiny golden cups. A sliver of hope tugs at my stomach. This card doesn't seem so bad. In fact, it almost looks ... happy.

"Dis is da card dat symbolizes ya future. It's called da Ten a Cups. Da Ten a Cups embodies harmony. Happiness an alignment. Dis will be da final outcome but dere's no tellin' when or how it'll be reached. In some cases, it refers ta a fresh start in da home, or sometimes jus a brand new beginnin'. Notice da happy people in da picture, da parents an da kids ..." She points to the image. "It's all 'bout dreams comin' true. Believe me, dawlin', in da end, yer gonna be jus fine."

And for the first time in a long time, a heavy weight lifts from my shoulders. I'm oddly aware of the sunshine slicing through the store window and can smell the fragrant magnolia blossoms outside. Happiness and alignment. Madame LaRue didn't come out and say it, but she didn't have to: this card means my parents will get back together and there will be a fresh start in our home! Euphoria warms my insides and quickly spreads through my limbs, making the tips of my fingers tingle with delight. I fight the urge to jump up and hug her and instead stay planted in my seat, tears of joy pressing behind my eyes.

"Thank you, Madame LaRue. This is what I wanted to hear."

The old lady beams. "Ah'm glad ah could help."

We stare at each other for a long moment, and a strange sort of comfort engulfs me. I'm not sure how or why, but this woman knew what I needed to hear and made sure to deliver that message loud and clear. I can finally breathe.

"Now it's my turn." Hartley pushes my cards into the pile and begins to mix them all around.

"Ah'll take care a dat." Madame LaRue lays her hands over Hartley's then jolts back as though she's touched something hot.

Hartley and I exchange a look. "Are you okay?" I ask.

The woman hesitates before answering. "Ah's fine, ah's fine. Ah jus need ta stir ma own cards."

Her thin arms wrap around the jumble, pulling them together, her fingers working quickly to align them in one stack. She cuts the deck into three equal parts and then shuffles them before making a spread across the table. Her back is rigid now, and her entire demeanor has changed. A feeling of unease rips through me.

"Pick yer dree cards an lay dem face down in front a ya."

Hartley takes her time choosing three cards from three different areas of the deck. She lays them picture-side down in a straight line. Madame LaRue takes a deep breath before flipping the first one over, her fingers lingering on the image before moving onto the next.

The first card, which represents the past, has the word Judgement scrawled across the bottom in whimsical black text. The image is dominated by a handsome blond angel playing a trumpet above a crowd of naked men and women. They appear to be rising from graves. It makes me think of Hartley's dad. Behind them, the ocean flows into one giant, white-capped wave.

The second card, indicating the present, displays the words Three of Swords. There's a plump red heart in the center that's suspended in mid-air, and it's pierced by three long daggers. Heavy gray clouds loom overhead and it's pouring rain.

The final card, foretelling the future, is called Ten of Swords. The picture is a man lying face down in the dirt with ten silver blades protruding at odd angles from his back. The image isn't a pretty one, yet there's something about the sunshine rising behind him, its rays stretching far above the mountain from where it hides, that makes it feel less ominous than it first appears. But the strangest thing about this card is that the image isn't facing us, it's upside down.

I glance at Hartley before turning to Madame LaRue, whose hands are floating above the deck and trembling slightly. "Dis readin' is ova," she says abruptly.

"Wait. What? What do you mean?" Hartley looks at me, confused. "I want a turn, too!"

"Ah's had enough fer one day. Ah'm done." Madame LaRue pushes her chair from the table.

A woman emerges from out of nowhere, the same one I saw the last time I was in, and helps the old lady to her feet. "You okay, Maw-Maw?" she asks, her brow crinkled with worry.

Madame LaRue takes the hand that's offered, her knuckles blanching as she tightens her grasp. "Ah's tired. Ah need ta lie down now."

Hartley and I stand up, neither of us knowing what to do next. "How much do I owe you?" I ask.

Madame LaRue stops, her clouded gaze moving over us. "Dis readin' is on da house. It's ma gift ta ya."

I stutter out a thank you as Hartley grabs my elbow and steers me toward the entrance.

"An, Hartley," Madame LaRue calls out just before we step into the sunshine. "Should ya decide ta unveil dat third eye, ah hope ya use it ta see da truth 'bout dose demons dat bin hauntin' ya."

My jaw drops open. Madame LaRue knows she took that vial of potion. I don't understand the warning, but Hartley seems to. She pauses in the doorway but doesn't look back.

And when I turn around to face her, she's as white as a ghost.