A Rose as Black as your Heart

(13) A Sucker For Danger

Chapter 13

I left Old Maria’s house in a sort of daze. Too many weird things had happened in there; her noticing dad’s bracelet, the crystal ball, the tea leaves...

I slammed the rose covered gate shut, and the sound broke into my thoughts. The flowery fumes must’ve made me go mad. How could I have seen faces in the crystal ball? How could I have seen a dove in the teacup? It was my mind playing tricks on me. I had been spending too much time reading the diaries, and I was trying to match them up to the real world.

“How was Mad Maria today, then?”

I turned, and couldn’t help smiling as Daniel strolled up to me, grinning. The usual happy warm fuzziness I got whenever he was around erupted in my stomach like dozens of butterflies.

“She’s not mad,” I scolded. “She’s nice. She’s just a bit...”

“Weird?” Daniel suggested. “Crazy? Cuckoo?”

“No!” I thought about it. “Well, maybe a bit, but still...”

Daniel grinned and shook his head. “Mind if I walk with you?”

“Sure.” We fell into step. “Did you go and see your friends then?”

“No. I was just going for a walk. But if you tell that to Old Maria, she’ll always think there’s something up. She’s suspicious of everything.”

“Well, she talks to glass balls and tea leaves. There have to be some draw backs.”

Daniel snickered. “So what was in your future, then? A rich husband and five kids?”

It was kind of comforting that Daniel thought it was all fake. The niggling traces of doubt were still wriggling around inside my head.

“No way,” I told him seriously. “A nice future for me? You have to be kidding. My future’s full of danger and questions that I must learn to answer...” I copied Old Maria’s mystical tone. Daniel laughed.

“That was kind of convincing actually. No way does Old Maria have an American accent, though.”

I held a fist up close to his head. “A what accent?”

“A Canadian accent. I meant that. Sorry.” Daniel ducked away from my fist. “You’re kind of scary for a small person.” His eyes glinted with humour.

“If that was true, you’d have stopped calling me small by now.”

“What can I say? Small people are great for making fun of.”

I grinned and shook my head. “You’re so annoying.”

“So I’ve been told. Tell you what: you can call me that if I can call you shortie.”