The Binding Witch and The Fortune Taker

Potent Donuts

The inside of Madame Miri's tent was cool and dark and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. Slowly, the interior revealed itself as a cheap imitation of my mother's more lavishly authentic tent. Too many plastic beads sagged from the ceiling, and the cheap threadbare rugs couldn't hold up to the foot traffic like my mom's ancient rugs. There was even an upholstered lounge chair, like the kind old men sit in, shoved in the corner. The tent smelled like damp canvas and cooked broccoli. Not that any of these things alone were indicative of a subpar fortune teller, but all of them together deepened the mystery of her ability to draw patrons away from my mother. I expected more...production value.

"Please, sit," a scratchy voice at my right floated up through the dim light.

I jumped and turned to find the speaker. Seated at a small, round table covered with a tattered scarf, was a short, fat, middle-aged woman.

My face screwed up in unmistakable disappointment.

The woman shrugged, as if she got that a lot. "I am Madame Miri."

"Oh," I said. I am, for the record, an abysmal poker player. Emotions just telegraph themselves right off my face.

Her heavy-lidded eyes blinked once, twice. "Would you like to sit for your reading, or stand?"

"Um, stand." I looked around for somewhere to lean, realized leaning against a tent pole would come to a bad end. "Um, sit." I folded onto the small, empty chair in front of the table.

The seat was hard and tilted slightly forward so I could either lean into the table towards Madame Miri or fight to stay upright. My abs chose the former after a brief struggle. I put my fingertips on the edge of the table and looked at Madame Miri. I couldn't decide if the chair tilt was intentional or if cheap was her decorating style.

"Let us begin," she intoned with a deep, practiced voice.

I rolled my eyes and smirked. Now I remember why I was here: to debunk this lady with her weird followers...who used to be our less-weird followers. My smirk faded. "Sure."

"Place your hands on the table, face up," she said.

I complied and searched her face for signs of subterfuge, artifice, and deception. Bring it on, lady.

Madame Miri burped.

"Excuse me." She blew out a cloud of foul-smelling breath.

My left eye twitched as the stench of halitosis and fried food floated past me. "Sure, no problem." I coughed.

"As I was saying, let us begin." She cleared her throat and traced the lines on my palm with her pudgy forefinger, then looked up at me. "You will live a very long time."

Did she really just say that? "A really, really long time?" My smirk threatened a return but I squashed it.

"Really, really long," she turned my hands over and back, then dropped my hands and put hers under the table. She reached around as if looking for something.

"Like super long?" I mocked.

She glared at me. "Yes, a really, really, super long time." She withdrew her hands and pressed something round and cold and heavy onto each of my palms. I froze.

The pieces in my hands were silver, about the size and shape of dollar coins, but with signs and symbols all over them. I leaned closer and squinted. Were those magical sigils?

"What is your deepest desire? Your greatest hope?" Madame Miri said.

A flash of power surged through my hands right to my brain.

"Another one!" She sucked in a breath and her eyes grew wide. "Potent Donum!" she gasped.

My vision got a little fuzzy just as I connected Lily and Ella's potent donuts and my current situation.

"Well, shit." I said.

*****
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