The Fortune Teller | New Orleans, Present Day

She Is the Sacrifice, Not the Chosen One

I see the child that will change my life

Every man gotta right to decide his own destiny.

Bob Marley

In the winding sheet

I saw her laid, quiet, dead

Young girl, sacrificed

Under the oak trees, The path through the Old Forest Winds into the light. The ravens fly, Blacker than black, Soaring high in the mist, Swooping low to call the girl. The trees whisper to her. She pauses, looking back, As if in answer.

After my meeting with Baron Samedi and Maman Brigitte, visions overwhelmed me. Past, present, or future; certainty or possibility, I cannot tell. I catch glimpses of the girl, older than Granny Weaver had said. This must be the future.

Then I see the goddesses and hear them speaking. They argue, Isabeau haughty, scornful.

“We go from a beautiful, Amazon princess warrior to this joke, a dysfunctional misfit who wants to be a hero and a librarian. A librarian! She will die like the others when they come for her. She would have died before now if not ringed by Guardians. I recognize their power and protection. Ordinary mortals left on their own always die.”

Morgraine says, “Not always,” and I am suddenly awake in our room, Ronan sleeping peacefully at my side.

Penelope

This is a former fortune teller, named Penelope at this point in the 21st century. A combination of a curse and her own powers has allowed her to live many centuries and travel all over the world. She and her young lover, Ronan, are living in New Orleans.

Penelope’s story began long, long ago.