Chapter 644 - Madam O’Germanova (2/2)
Hyde eagerly crackles his knuckles, before returning to his post next to Floyd. The two men like great large stones glower at the pub drinkers daring any one of them to act out. Because truthfully, they relished in the very act of violence, and they could really use dealing out a beating right now.
On the outskirts of a loud carnival, there appeared the figure of Sanderson as he made his way through the crowd of muggles with their families laughing and enjoying the last of the outdoor evenings of Autumn, before the winter chill set in. The sound of laughter, the whirling of merry grounds, and the sounds of the rides can be heard even from afar. The traditional carnival music plays in the background with the experienced carnies manning the rides, food, and game stands.
Ignoring the children running around with the glee of youth, Sanderson makes his way to the edge of the carnival, where a small, old tent stands. There is nothing that calls attention to the faded purple and golden tent except for a dull banner that hangs over the entrance that reads, ”Madam O'Germanova, Fortuneteller & Soothsayer.” Find authorized novels in , faster updates, better experience, Please click #%E2%80%99germanova_51537269294693238 for visiting.
And in smaller print under the main banner, it reads, ”NO REFUNDS. NO EXCEPTIONS!”
Pushing his way inside, Sanderson wrinkles his nose at the strong stench of tobacco. Ignoring the smoky air, he pushes his way past a beaded curtain and into the main fortune reading room, where a wild-haired elderly Gypsy smokes tobacco from a pipe. Glancing up, the older woman's eyes are yellow-tinted with age and from vice.
The old woman flashes him a somewhat toothless grin as smoke pours out of the missing gaps in her teeth. ”Well, lo, and behold, if it isn't the great and mighty, Sanderson himself. What brings you around to these godforsaken parts, me lad?” The old woman said in a raspy voice.
”Put that away, Soothsayer,” Sanderson said with a frown as he studied the worn room filled with old objects and a dirty crystal ball with grimy fingerprints.
Madam O'Germanova sneers and blows out the last bit of tobacco smoke into his face. Sanderson merely glowers back as the old witch sets her pipe on the faded red table. ”Have a seat,” she said. ”What can good old, Madam O'Germanova do for the Potentate of London?”
Sanderson tentatively takes a seat on a wobbly chair and wisely places his hands on his lap. Not out of fear or disgust in touching the faded red tablecloth that had not seen a cleaning charm in many years, but rather, he did not trust the old witch not to point her wand at him underneath the table. The wily old witch had outwitted more than a few dangerous individuals and had outlived them all to live and tell the tale. For no one had yet to outsmart the conniving old witch.
”I can't believe that you still do this,” Sanderson grumbled under his breath with a pointed glance in emphasis on the dirty crystal ball in front of him.
”Ah, me, lad,” Madam O'Germanova chided him as if he was a mere child. ”We all can't go and become a Potentate. And besides, this is what our people have always done for countless generations. And though it may not bring us untold riches, but we have always had grand adventures and are kept well fed.”
”Gypsies,” Sanderson spat out.
Madam O'Germanova tilts her head back and laughs. ”We are the Romani, Roma, the people of the wind, the travelers, and we possess countless other names. We are, who we are, and pretend not to be that which we are not, lad.”
Madam O'Germanova's face grows more serious as she sneers back flashing the gaps in her teeth. ”Witches, wizards that is what you, wand carriers call yourselves with pride having abandoned your roots. Aye, your power may have increased, but all of you have forgotten the old ways; to summon a spirit, to hear the pulse of nature's magic, and countless other things. And yet, I am not the one here before thee, but rather you, before me.”
”My apologies, Madam O'Germanova,” Sanderson stiffly said as if out of practice. ”I meant no disrespect.”
Madam O'Germanova is serious for a moment longer, before flashing a tooth-gaping smile. ”Aye, no harm done lad,” Madam O'Germanova added with an appreciative leering glance. ”You're lucky that I still appreciate a fine arse not that I get much so to speak nowadays.”
Sanderson almost shudders in horror but manages to refrain himself from doing so. Who in Merlin's name had ever dared to lay a finger on the old witch much less do her? Ever since, he had known her as a small child, the old witch still looked much the same age even then. What kind of twisted, perverse individual would still do her at her advanced age?