“He’s good at this,” Krysty whispered. “Like someone controlling a pack of rabid dogs while standing in the middle of a tightrope.”
Clinkerscales had his hands held high again. “Gentlemen, please let’s hear it for a newcomer to Washington Hole, all the way from the Mohawk Gap up north. Emma Tyler!”
There was a ripple of applause, but the attention span of the audience in the Lincoln Inn wasn’t much longer than the average mayfly. The darts game had resumed, as had the poker schools. And, Ryan noticed, one or two heads were already beginning to turn in his direction.
Emma Tyler was a small woman, looking to be in her early twenties, with a neat, trim face and her black hair cut short. She wore a black shirt and long black skirt that trailed in the spilled beer that puddled the floor of the saloon. As she took a seat alongside the piano, whose player had taken his place at the bar, she looked quickly around the packed room.
“Like a frightened mouse,” Mildred whispered. “What kind of an act’s she going to do that’ll hold this mob? They’ll crucify her.”
The girl looked up, almost as if she’d heard the woman’s words. Ryan pursed his lips, catching a glance from her, seeing the odd color of her eyes. Yellow would be too crude a word. Perhaps golden was right. They seemed to look at Ryan, inside him and then out the other side.
He shivered a little, as if a cold wind had just sliced across his soul.
Emma had pulled out a black silk kerchief and tied it tightly over her eyes.
“Bang! You’re dead, slut!” called a fat man with a plaited beard.
The young woman turned her head toward him. “Your twin brother, Aaron, was burned to death in a fire when you were ten years old.”
The man stood, pushing his chair back with a clatter. His face had gone as pale as wind-washed bone, and his jaw sagged. “Who told you that, slut?”
“Nobody. That’s my act. I can see what happened to some people. Sometimes what might happen.”
Her voice rang out, as clear as an Angelus bell. Once again the saloon fell silent. “Lyin’ bitch.”
“You hated him. Thought your mother loved him more than you. She did. You were right. You set the fire with a pile of his wooden soldiers and.”
The man lost his nerve, turning and lumbering out of the Lincoln Inn, elbowing men aside, crashing out through the bat-wing doors.
“I can’t promise it’ll work for everyone. Anyone want to know anything?”
After a moment’s silence, a skinny man at one of the card tables lifted a hand. Despite her blindfold, Emma Tyler immediately seemed to sense him and turned in his direction.
“No, you won’t. Three sixes beats two pair, queens over nines.”
“I’ll be fucked!”
“Later tonight. Slant Maggie. She’ll try and lift your poke, so take care.”
There was a roar of laughter and clapping of hands.
Ryan nudged Krysty. “How’s she doing this? They shills she placed out there?”
Krysty shook her head, speaking slowly and quietly. “I don’t think so. She’s a doomie or a seer, or both. What she’s doing is astounding, if it’s genuine. And I think it is.”
Emma turned in her chair, seeming to stare directly at the redheaded woman. She opened her mouth as if she were going to speak, then changed her mind.
“We going up to our rooms, Dad?” Dean asked.
“Soon, son, soon.”
A man standing at the bar called out to the woman. “Here, doll! Traveling quack said I got a rad cancer in my guts. Not true, is it?”
There was a long pause. Finally Emma shook her head. “Sorry, mister. Like I said, I don’t always see things clear. Get a feeling you’ll be all right.”
The man whooped out loud and banged his fist on the bar top. “Knew it. I fuckin’ knew it! Come on, Clinkie! Pour us another and make it a triple!”
Ryan felt Krysty’s breath on his cheek as she whispered in his ear. “She’s lying. I got a wave of feeling from that poor bastard. Filled my mouth with the taste of decay. Emma knew it, as well. Know she did.”