The party turned, sensing their approach. One of the short figures broke away from the firelit circle and bustled toward them.

“Oh, look! Two pretty girls right out of the storm! Do let old Agatha tell your fortune, dears.”

“Gypsies!” whispered Emily excitedly as Agatha hurried up. Kate stared down, astonished, at the shortest woman she had ever seen. Agatha came up only a little past Kate’s waist, but her small,stocky body did not appear to be hunched or twisted. The old face was seamed into countless wrinkles, and the black eyes snapped and sparkled in the firelight. “Here,” she said, capturing Kate’s hand in her own surprisingly large one, “come by the fire so I can see your pretty face.”

As Kate followed Agatha over to the bonfire, she glanced around nervously at the other members of the party. The two men stood nearby. One was only a little taller than she, thick and barrel-chested. The other man, of average height, towered over him. Perhaps they had been conversing before, but now they were silent, watching Agatha and the two girls. They were draped in the black cloaks and hoods she had noticed earlier, and she could see nothing at all of their faces. This was prudent, given the coming storm, but it irked Kate to be seen and not to see. She wished she had a cloak of her own.

Agatha, meanwhile, was peering intently at Kate’s palm, turning it this way and that in the firelight. “Oh,” she breathed. “Not every young lady has a hand like this.” Kate heard chuckles from the men. “But, dear,” she said, ignoring them, “I see danger in this hand. Danger from someone very close to you.” Now the men roared with laughter. “Be quiet, the two of you!” She whirled on them, still holding Kate fast. “I’m very serious!”

“What about me?” demanded Emily eagerly, holding out her hand to the old woman. “Do you see danger in my hand?” Old Agatha took her small palm and turned it toward the fire.