08-06-2014, 06:54 PM
The show's not on the stage? Well that was a relief. But Oriena's reassurances were not lost on Claire. Nor was the feline smile that parted the Russian's glistening lips.
The invitation to impress curled challenge through her veins. So Claire nipped Oriena's hand from her side and nestled it in her own. The other woman's palm was smooth and soft as cold butter.
A sly smile touched the corners of Claire's mouth. If she saw anything in Oriena's palm, it went unremarked. Claire was a good show-woman. The best, actually. Since she possessed what her grandmother called the true sight.
She let Oriena's fingers slip away from her own to stroll in a circle around the other woman. She studied her closely, from hair to shoes.
Truly nothing struck Claire about Oriena. She'd hoped that by stalling that one of her visions might present itself, but so far, only one pricked the edges of her senses. It was like a sound far in the distance she could not quite discern. Like the roaring of a motorcycle. Then exhaust fumes wafted on the wind.
As she rounded Oriena from the other side, Claire's gaze was suddenly wrenched from the Russian's eyes until they fixed upon a spot above her shoulder. They darted from left to right like she was watching something speed past.
"A motorcycle,"
she said as though she hadn't meant to say it aloud. "Driving over the body of a man."
Sometimes she knew what visions like those meant, but other times she didn't. This was one such time.
Claire fixed upon Oriena until she searched for signs of recognition.
The invitation to impress curled challenge through her veins. So Claire nipped Oriena's hand from her side and nestled it in her own. The other woman's palm was smooth and soft as cold butter.
A sly smile touched the corners of Claire's mouth. If she saw anything in Oriena's palm, it went unremarked. Claire was a good show-woman. The best, actually. Since she possessed what her grandmother called the true sight.
She let Oriena's fingers slip away from her own to stroll in a circle around the other woman. She studied her closely, from hair to shoes.
Truly nothing struck Claire about Oriena. She'd hoped that by stalling that one of her visions might present itself, but so far, only one pricked the edges of her senses. It was like a sound far in the distance she could not quite discern. Like the roaring of a motorcycle. Then exhaust fumes wafted on the wind.
As she rounded Oriena from the other side, Claire's gaze was suddenly wrenched from the Russian's eyes until they fixed upon a spot above her shoulder. They darted from left to right like she was watching something speed past.
"A motorcycle,"
she said as though she hadn't meant to say it aloud. "Driving over the body of a man."
Sometimes she knew what visions like those meant, but other times she didn't. This was one such time.
Claire fixed upon Oriena until she searched for signs of recognition.