Elizabeth digs a knuckle into her chin, her brows pinched tight. “But it’s such a stereotype, Jeffrey. Curses and fortune-telling. They’re going to think I’m making a mean joke.”
I curl my fingers around her upper arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “No, they won’t. You’re a good person, and you mean no harm. They’ll see that.”
She glances back toward the boy and goes stiff.
She stands up straighter, rolling her shoulders back as she nods subtly toward the end of the road.
I turn to see a solid older woman in a black dress with one brightly colored shawl around her shoulders and another wrapped around her head, standing beside the boy’s now-abandoned tricycle. The little boy is gone, but the crows squawking on the roof have multiplied. There are half a dozen there now, pacing back and forth, clacking and gurgling low in their throats as the woman lifts a hand, motioning us forward before she shuffles toward the last cottage in the lane, the one with a van as brightly colored as her scarves parked in front of it.
“Well?” I ask, shifting my attention back to Elizabeth.
She nibbles the edge of her thumb.
“We were invited,” I press, sensing that if we leave now, we’re never coming back.
“She can’t know what we’re here for,” Lizzy says. “She probably thinks we’re a couple looking for a love spell. Or something for fertility. A lot of women around here do that when they have trouble getting pregnant. They use Romani herbs to conceive, and then after, they grab their children’s hands and cross the street when they see Roma people in the square. It’s horrible.”
“We’re not looking for a spell,” I remind her. “Just information. And we’re willing to pay for it. I have two thousand in cash, but if we need more, I can get it. There’s an ATM at the marina. I checked last night.”
She glances sharply up at me. “That’s more than some of these people make in a month, Jeffrey. Maybe two.”
“My peace of mind is worth a couple thousand euros. Isn’t yours?”
“It is,” she says slowly, “but if you go in with an offer like that, there’s a chance they’ll tell us whatever they think you want to hear. These people live on the edge. I’m sure they’re as inclined toward honesty as anyone, but when money is tight and you have children and grandchildren to feed…” She sighs. “If it were me, I’d be inclined to lie and worry about the consequences later.”
“Agreed.” I take her hand, starting down the road toward the crows now watching us silently from the rooftop. “We’ll ask questions first and only bring up the money if it seems like the only way. And I’ll start with a smaller sum. I just wanted you to know that I have that part covered.”
Her fingers tighten around mine. “Thank you. I’m still upset with you for tricking me, but…thank you.”
“I’ll make it up to you later. I promise.”
“You don’t have to make anything up to me.” Her head swivels as we pass the house with the birds, keeping them in sight as we go around the abandoned tricycle. “But promise me something before we go inside. If things get violent or scary in any way, I want you to run for help. Don’t wait for me—I won’t be able to keep up with you.”
I start to insist that we’re in no danger from an old woman, but then Elizabeth looks my way. The fear in her eyes is so real I know better than to dismiss it out of hand. “All right,” I promise her. “I’ll run for help, but don’t underestimate yourself. You were pretty fast last night.”
“I was angry last night, not afraid.” She grips my hand so tight my knuckles grind together. “I don’t know why I’m so afraid,” she says, before answering her own question in the next breath. “Because they might know her. She might even be inside that house. She might have been in Rue all along, right under my nose.” She exhales. “I don’t know what scares me more—the possibility that she’s real or that I hallucinated the entire thing. What if I’m crazy? What if I’m not? Then what?”
“My mother says anticipation is always worse than execution.”
“Do you think she’s right?”
“I do.” We pass the van and, proving Lizzy’s dread is catching, I discreetly check to make sure no one is lurking inside. But it’s empty, the yard in front of the home is dotted with concrete planters filled with wildflowers, and a brightly colored sign on the front door reads “All Who Seek Are Welcome” in Rindish, French, and German. “It’s easy to imagine the worst-case scenario. Reality is usually more of a mixed bag.”
“Except when it’s not,” she says before adding softly, “Remember your promise. Don’t break it.”