Cassandra (standard:fantasy, 1600 words)
Author: GXD	Added: Oct 16 2008	Views/Reads: 3101/1918	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Not every clairvoyant has the insight of a Chinese fortune cookie. Cassandra, of course, is the exception.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

Tarot, astrology, voodoo, love potions, alchemy, thaumaturgy, 
divination, sorcery.  We used to carry out rituals and conjure up 
spells to hex our teachers and came away with the best grades in the 
class.  Before graduation, Marcia managed to read the palm of her 
Sunday School teacher and got pregnant.  That's when she decided to 
specialize in forecasting.  Next year, I was inducted by the Army and 
Marcia began collecting crystal balls in earnest.  Most of our 
classmates went on to college.  They became Marcia's loyal clientèle.  
Now, twenty years later, we both had changed little. 

"There's only one way," she said. "You've got to go after it yourself." 

It sounded good for about ten seconds, then I realized that I couldn't
take a step without her.  If she looked into the crystal it would keep 
me  on track....  We ended up planning the neatest gambit since I lost 
those two fingers. 

She would look into the ball and find some way to get into that room. 
Next, she would take a good look round in every direction and describe 
the landmarks to me.  With a few discreet questions, I could be in the 
file cabinet in two hours.  All I had to do was lift out the money, 
bring it to the nearest bank and open an account.  We could split it 
and have the bank transfer to our personal accounts any time. 

It didn't work out exactly that way.  When I got to the alley she
described, it was jam-packed with people.  They all seemed to be men, 
with black bowler hats and capes, wearing brown trousers.  I asked an 
official- looking gentleman and he told me, 

"About an hour ago, it was.  They took him away." 

"He must have been pretty important, to attract a crowd that big," I
acknowledged, "What did he do?" 

The driver of the milk truck stared down at me, disbelief written in his
eyes. 

"He owed them all money," he said, then got up in his truck and drove
away. 

I could see there was no way of getting in today.  Amazing!  The
neighborhood fitted Marcia's description perfectly.  All I had to do 
was to keep an eye on the office to make sure some vandal didn't get 
the money first.  By nightfall, things were quiet: I crossed the alley 
and slipped in the open garage door.  It smelled of oil inside.  A 
minute later, my credit card flipped open the lock and I was looking at 
a room with a file cabinet and a desk.  An instant later, the third 
drawer yielded a worn leather Gladstone bag. The light was too dim to 
reveal how much money was in it. 

Reaching out with both hands -- presuming that the bag was heavy -- I
slipped my fingers underneath, scraping my knuckles on the rough wooden 
drawer.  The bag was not physical, not tangible.  In short, it simply 
wasn't there.  That meant the money wasn't there. The whole thing was a 
mirage. 

A flash of light, bright as a skyrocket, lit up the room around me. It
was as if a giant hand had just struck a match.  The bagful of money 
vanished.  It was only a projection!  Now I had good reason to doubt: 
was the cabinet real?  The desk?  The room?  If it vanished too, what 
would happen to me.  I rubbed my skinned knuckles. That instant, the 
match went out. 

Regarding the vixen, this actually turned out to be another story
altogether.  A dark-haired woman came into my life at 3:45 p.m. on 
Tuesday, May nineteenth.  She stepped off flight 44, handed me her bags 
and hailed a taxi. 

"Mom!" I yelled after her in vain.  "I'll meet you at the house."  At
least she had her own key.  I tossed the bags into the trunk of my car. 
 They say a woman's guess is much more accurate than a man's certainty. 
 Well, in this case -- however much a vixen my mother might be -- I 
wouldn't make any special effort to keep the money out of her hands.  
When and if the money ever appeared. 

This district where I lived was the most charming in town.  It nestled
in the shadow of a very tall sheer cliff, overlooking the city to the 
East.  Its streets were paved with hammered stone, and crowned to drain 
away the torrents of rain now and then.  The foundations of this house 
were formed by carving a huge basement into the living rock, then 
carving a moat around it.  Huge rocks, chipped to nestle into each 
other, made up the walls.  Skillfully rippled red clay tiles formed a 
waterproof interlocking roof.  A thousand earthquakes into the future, 
this house would still be standing.  Marcia crept up behind and rested 
her arm on my shoulder.  She loved this house even more than me. 

"Courage is your greatest present need," she counseled.  "But life to
you is a dashing and bold adventure.  The star of riches is shining 
upon you.  Never falter.  You may attend a party where strange customs 
prevail.  Learn all you can." 

The dark-haired vixen joined us in the kitchen.  "It's time to eat.
Where are the servants?" 

“Would you like some homemade coffee cake?  I'll put on some coffee.” I
replied. 

When I left for work the next day, Marcia and my mother were sitting
cross-legged on a Coptic rug flashing Tarot cards at each other.  "The 
wicked knight," I thought I heard Mom say.  I closed the door 
discreetly. 

Seattle, October 15, 2008 

Gerald X. Diamond 

Copyright 1992 


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