W
wildescarlet
Guest
This is the beginning of a novel with the working title "Arcana Americana: The Wandering Folk Tales." I would appreciate your feedback regarding the introduction. If anyone would be interested in seeing more, please let me know.
A blanket of low hanging clouds teased the Pavee camp with its stockpile of water. Trapping the heat and scattering the light, it cumulated like a headache across the sky. The land was cracked-open sores on suntanned lips. The kids were equally parched- purple-tongued from the hastily drunk Kool-Aid; now dried fast to the bottom of plastic Soho cups.
The youngest three had tired of playing Snap or seeing who could blow a bead of sweat the farthest with one grape-scented breath. They’d run off to play hide-and-seek amongst the maze of trailers they called home. It felt larger with so many campers, trucks and vardos missing, as their owners were traveling the east coast this summer. With only the elders remaining, the kids ran wild in the empty spaces.
They had been dubbed the “White Gypsies” by the townsfolk of Belvedere but none of them cared. During the summer, their parents journeyed to sell their wares and tell fortunes, pick pockets and trade with locals, perform their music and magic on the street, break hearts and commune with the waves. Whatever their calling was, whatever made their spark glow brighter, and of course, whatever brought in the most coin. Amid a current of ocean breezes, alcohol and tourists, the currency rolled in swiftly. It was more freedom than any small-town mind could ever fathom.
Ryanna, a solitary girl but shy by no means, had commandeered the abandoned deck of cards. She sat on her favorite paisley shawl in the shade. Having mastered the sleight of hand needed to make a card disappear, she was now attempting the follow-up illusion of plucking it back out of nothingness.
Keeping an eye out for a vanishing act of her own was Ryanna’s sister, Mags. She was sharing a cigarette with their cousin Briar, who only smoked when someone was watching. An errant breeze danced across the sisters’ faces without disturbing anything else. They looked at each other at the same time. Before they could ask the other why, Briar tapped Mags on the arm and pointed West. A pair of figures ambled down the dusty road, features unidentifiable with the sun was behind them. Mags could tell by their gait that they were two of her second cousins, Flint and Shade.
The smaller boy lugged a black attache case half his size several paces ahead of the taller one, who was balancing a vertical baseball bat on his fingertip. This one, Shade, lagged behind not out of fatigue or even concentration, but pure lassitude. Several Lurchers raced towards their masters. Shade pat their heads without so much as a wobble from his new Bataireacht stick. Briar watched them openly as they approached. Mags pretended not to see them, hoping they’d do the same. It became obvious that they wouldn’t when the sun disappeared- blocked by the beanpole lad standing directly in front of her.
“Magnolia- just the witch I wanted to see.” Shade stared at the side of her head until she turned to look at him. It was a little harder to read his face since he was sporting a pair of aviator glasses, but she could tell he wanted something nonetheless.
“Who the hell did you just rob, Shade?”
“Shade and I just broke into some sap’s car parked in front of the Wilsons’ Farm,” piped in the younger brother, not to be left out. “I got this.” Flint held up the case as high as his arm could lift it.
“What’s in it?”
“I got it and I don’t know yet.” Shade tempered his tone as he continued. “I was hoping you could help with that, since your Da’s a locksmith and all. I mean, I unlocked that car door with a slim jim in a sec but this requires more... Finesse. It should be a cinch for you.” He looked at her over the top of his new shades with what he thought must be a heart-melting gaze.
Mags remained impervious to Shade’s swagger. “Not a chance.”
“Come on! What if it’s money or gems or something?” he suggested outlandishly.
Mags put out her hand as if to take the case, but instead placed her palm on its slick, Italian leather. After a moment, she shook her head. “There’s nothing of any value to you inside. Trust me.”
“You’re just saying that,” Shade argued, though her voice conveyed absolute authority on the matter.
“We don’t need her. I can pry it open with a screwdriver or something.”
“Shut up, Flint.” After all, if she was right at least it was a finely made briefcase- aged but unmarred, gleaming in the sunlight like it had just been polished. “Please Mags! I’ll make it worth your while no matter what’s inside,” he plead.
“Ask someone else.”
Shade could tell this case was as closed as the one he’d stolen, so he motioned to his accomplice to stop staring at Mags’ younger sister and find that someone else.
“I’ll do it if I can have those glasses,” Ryanna said as they were turning to leave. Though she’d ignored it, she wasn’t completely impervious to Flint’s gaze. And while she had seemed oblivious to the situation, she was equally as curious about the case as Shade seemed to be- even if it didn’t contain treasure. Now that the older kids were giving her dubious looks, Ryanna added, “I’ve watched Da work before. It doesn’t seem that hard.”
“Well if it wasn’t hard I’d have done it already, dumbass,” Shade spat.
“It couldn’t hurt to let her try,” Flint blurted out. “What if Ry can do it?”
Normally he would have backhanded his brother for defying him; but even he knew the girl had her charms. “Fine. These glasses hurt my eyes anyway.”
“Then hand them over.”
“You haven’t even started!”
“I need them first, dumbass. What- you don’t trust me?” Ryanna looked him directly in the eyes. Despite their subterfuge, they couldn’t resist her hold.
“Yeah, ok,” he mumbled before handing them over.
When she put the sunglasses on, every detail became painfully clear but with a fuzzy, gunmetal aura. They vibrated in a pleasantly annoying sort of way- buzzing like a scarab beetle does when something important’s about to happen. Flint set the suitcase on her shawl and stood back with the others, who’d formed a circle around the girl in oversized sunglasses.
After a few seconds of looking around, idly wondering if it was her eyes or the images that were pulsating, Ry positioned the case upright against her lap and laid her hands down on both sets of number wheels. Each bore the inscription “Franzen” on their brass fixings.
"Franzen must be his name," she thought. "Weird name, but I’ll take it." It didn’t really matter if that was his name or not. What was important was that Ryanna imagined being the briefcase’s owner. "Da always said that thieves are self-incriminating. The secret is to own whatever it is you’re trying to steal before you even try to take it. After that, you’re just bringing it home. So if I’m Franzen, I am home. I’m wearing my glasses. I’m opening my case..."
The fingers of both her left and right hands began to work simultaneously- turning each loose number wheel until it became tight. But it wasn’t guesswork to get them into the correct position: she could see the combination so clearly in her head that her eyes didn’t even need to confirm it. The latches sprung open with her last gentle touches.
When Ryanna set down the case, she found that she no longer cared about its contents, so she let Flint do the honors. She fancied a game of jumprope instead.
On her way to see if Aisling and Fiona had tired of chasing her half-brother around, Ry saw her grandmother stalking out of her trailer. The girl waved but the old woman must not have seen her. A minute later another door, not made of metal, slammed shut. Then the sound of a rope whirred alive. Feet slapped against the dirt in time to a ragtag trio singing: "Not last night but the night before, twenty-four robbers came knockin at my door..."
A blanket of low hanging clouds teased the Pavee camp with its stockpile of water. Trapping the heat and scattering the light, it cumulated like a headache across the sky. The land was cracked-open sores on suntanned lips. The kids were equally parched- purple-tongued from the hastily drunk Kool-Aid; now dried fast to the bottom of plastic Soho cups.
The youngest three had tired of playing Snap or seeing who could blow a bead of sweat the farthest with one grape-scented breath. They’d run off to play hide-and-seek amongst the maze of trailers they called home. It felt larger with so many campers, trucks and vardos missing, as their owners were traveling the east coast this summer. With only the elders remaining, the kids ran wild in the empty spaces.
They had been dubbed the “White Gypsies” by the townsfolk of Belvedere but none of them cared. During the summer, their parents journeyed to sell their wares and tell fortunes, pick pockets and trade with locals, perform their music and magic on the street, break hearts and commune with the waves. Whatever their calling was, whatever made their spark glow brighter, and of course, whatever brought in the most coin. Amid a current of ocean breezes, alcohol and tourists, the currency rolled in swiftly. It was more freedom than any small-town mind could ever fathom.
Ryanna, a solitary girl but shy by no means, had commandeered the abandoned deck of cards. She sat on her favorite paisley shawl in the shade. Having mastered the sleight of hand needed to make a card disappear, she was now attempting the follow-up illusion of plucking it back out of nothingness.
Keeping an eye out for a vanishing act of her own was Ryanna’s sister, Mags. She was sharing a cigarette with their cousin Briar, who only smoked when someone was watching. An errant breeze danced across the sisters’ faces without disturbing anything else. They looked at each other at the same time. Before they could ask the other why, Briar tapped Mags on the arm and pointed West. A pair of figures ambled down the dusty road, features unidentifiable with the sun was behind them. Mags could tell by their gait that they were two of her second cousins, Flint and Shade.
The smaller boy lugged a black attache case half his size several paces ahead of the taller one, who was balancing a vertical baseball bat on his fingertip. This one, Shade, lagged behind not out of fatigue or even concentration, but pure lassitude. Several Lurchers raced towards their masters. Shade pat their heads without so much as a wobble from his new Bataireacht stick. Briar watched them openly as they approached. Mags pretended not to see them, hoping they’d do the same. It became obvious that they wouldn’t when the sun disappeared- blocked by the beanpole lad standing directly in front of her.
“Magnolia- just the witch I wanted to see.” Shade stared at the side of her head until she turned to look at him. It was a little harder to read his face since he was sporting a pair of aviator glasses, but she could tell he wanted something nonetheless.
“Who the hell did you just rob, Shade?”
“Shade and I just broke into some sap’s car parked in front of the Wilsons’ Farm,” piped in the younger brother, not to be left out. “I got this.” Flint held up the case as high as his arm could lift it.
“What’s in it?”
“I got it and I don’t know yet.” Shade tempered his tone as he continued. “I was hoping you could help with that, since your Da’s a locksmith and all. I mean, I unlocked that car door with a slim jim in a sec but this requires more... Finesse. It should be a cinch for you.” He looked at her over the top of his new shades with what he thought must be a heart-melting gaze.
Mags remained impervious to Shade’s swagger. “Not a chance.”
“Come on! What if it’s money or gems or something?” he suggested outlandishly.
Mags put out her hand as if to take the case, but instead placed her palm on its slick, Italian leather. After a moment, she shook her head. “There’s nothing of any value to you inside. Trust me.”
“You’re just saying that,” Shade argued, though her voice conveyed absolute authority on the matter.
“We don’t need her. I can pry it open with a screwdriver or something.”
“Shut up, Flint.” After all, if she was right at least it was a finely made briefcase- aged but unmarred, gleaming in the sunlight like it had just been polished. “Please Mags! I’ll make it worth your while no matter what’s inside,” he plead.
“Ask someone else.”
Shade could tell this case was as closed as the one he’d stolen, so he motioned to his accomplice to stop staring at Mags’ younger sister and find that someone else.
“I’ll do it if I can have those glasses,” Ryanna said as they were turning to leave. Though she’d ignored it, she wasn’t completely impervious to Flint’s gaze. And while she had seemed oblivious to the situation, she was equally as curious about the case as Shade seemed to be- even if it didn’t contain treasure. Now that the older kids were giving her dubious looks, Ryanna added, “I’ve watched Da work before. It doesn’t seem that hard.”
“Well if it wasn’t hard I’d have done it already, dumbass,” Shade spat.
“It couldn’t hurt to let her try,” Flint blurted out. “What if Ry can do it?”
Normally he would have backhanded his brother for defying him; but even he knew the girl had her charms. “Fine. These glasses hurt my eyes anyway.”
“Then hand them over.”
“You haven’t even started!”
“I need them first, dumbass. What- you don’t trust me?” Ryanna looked him directly in the eyes. Despite their subterfuge, they couldn’t resist her hold.
“Yeah, ok,” he mumbled before handing them over.
When she put the sunglasses on, every detail became painfully clear but with a fuzzy, gunmetal aura. They vibrated in a pleasantly annoying sort of way- buzzing like a scarab beetle does when something important’s about to happen. Flint set the suitcase on her shawl and stood back with the others, who’d formed a circle around the girl in oversized sunglasses.
After a few seconds of looking around, idly wondering if it was her eyes or the images that were pulsating, Ry positioned the case upright against her lap and laid her hands down on both sets of number wheels. Each bore the inscription “Franzen” on their brass fixings.
"Franzen must be his name," she thought. "Weird name, but I’ll take it." It didn’t really matter if that was his name or not. What was important was that Ryanna imagined being the briefcase’s owner. "Da always said that thieves are self-incriminating. The secret is to own whatever it is you’re trying to steal before you even try to take it. After that, you’re just bringing it home. So if I’m Franzen, I am home. I’m wearing my glasses. I’m opening my case..."
The fingers of both her left and right hands began to work simultaneously- turning each loose number wheel until it became tight. But it wasn’t guesswork to get them into the correct position: she could see the combination so clearly in her head that her eyes didn’t even need to confirm it. The latches sprung open with her last gentle touches.
When Ryanna set down the case, she found that she no longer cared about its contents, so she let Flint do the honors. She fancied a game of jumprope instead.
On her way to see if Aisling and Fiona had tired of chasing her half-brother around, Ry saw her grandmother stalking out of her trailer. The girl waved but the old woman must not have seen her. A minute later another door, not made of metal, slammed shut. Then the sound of a rope whirred alive. Feet slapped against the dirt in time to a ragtag trio singing: "Not last night but the night before, twenty-four robbers came knockin at my door..."
