She heard snatches of conversation, chatter, trash-talking. The words weren’t clear through her door but the tones were. Brandon had arrived home at some point and gone to his room. It seemed like the time was going to be now.She opened the door and exited her room, strolling down the hallway. There was a brief glance in her direction followed by a double-take. Her body was mostly covered by a frilly French maid apron but under it she was wearing sheer white thigh high stockings, black stiletto heels, a pair of frilly white panties. On her head was a hat the matched the apron, and she had set her hair in a bun behind it. Other than the apron, she was topless, though she had ensured that the sash around the waist was cinched in tight to at least notionally preserve her modesty, the bodice part was wide enough to securely enclose her small chest. She lingered, posing in the hallway as Sam turned to face her, his eyebrows raised at the sight of her as she slowly prowled into the room. I noticed that the rides cost ten tickets minimum, but I wasn'there for the rides. I was looking for something else. I found it atthe far end of the short midway: a small camping trailer with a largesign that said, "Madam Egeskov. Seer. Sorceress." The sign featureda hook-nosed Baba Yaga glaring over a frightening cliff-top castle.I knocked at the door of the trailer. "Come in, Mr. Shaw," said avoice, soft, but so menacing in its power that my guts turned to water,and I almost bolted. "Come in," the voice said again, but now it wasmore a command and less an invitation. I turned the handle and walkedin.An old woman was sitting at the camper's table playing solitaire. Shewas dressed in the sort of stretch polyester that had been popular withmiddle-agers in the seventies: a sherbet-orange sleeveless tee and alime-sorbet pair of stretch pants. Her grey hair was bound in rollersbeneath a diaphanous scarf. If she was less physically imposing thanthe hag on her sign, she had a.
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