“And what was the message?” I asked slowly.
“That a boy would be born to one who was banished from her clan to live in poverty in a city at the seat of power. The banished one made a choice between the love of a man and the love of her people and suffered the consequences. And in her suffering, the boy would be born who would bring great change upon the world and rise against a tide of darkness that rose in opposition.”
And that… was pretty fucking stupid. “Seriously,” I said. “That’s what she said.”
“Yes,” Morgan said.
“Okay, but. Like. That was so vague.”
“Right?” Randall said. “Horse crap. Of course, after she got done with her hippy-dippy bullshit, she flat-out told Morgan that her daughter was pregnant and she thought the demon spawn was going to have some kind of magic. Her words, not mine, so you get that look off your face. You look like your huf
fing glue again.”
“That was one time! I was eleven.”
“Drugs are bad,” Ryan said.
“Thank you for that contribution,” I said. “You are the light of my life.”
“Even though that was said sarcastically, it’s true,” Ryan said, and I fought hard not to swoon. Because fuck yeah, that was true.
“So she told you about an awesome kid being born—”
Randall coughed.
“A magical prodigy being born—”
Randall sneezed.
I glared at him. “A demon spawn being born—”
Randall smiled.
“—and you just bought whatever she had to say?”
“Of course not,” Morgan said.
“Pretty much,” Randall said.
“Pretty much,” Morgan agreed. “To be fair, she was very convincing. Gypsies usually are with their outfits and wrist bangles. And even if that wasn’t the case, Vadoma was well known for her predictions. People travel far and wide to have her read them.”
“She also charges them for everything they’re worth,” Randall said. “And then tells them anything they want to hear. It’s a scam, if you ask me.”
“She’s a fortune-teller?” I gasped. I couldn’t think of anything worse than fortune-tellers. Most of it was bullshit, their little stands set up in festivals behind velvety purple curtains, peering into their crystal balls or reading lines on palms and gasping over just how amazing things were going to be. They weren’t really prevalent in the City of Lockes outside of celebrations. But there was one on practically every corner in Meridian City, the signs in the windows promising to TELL YOUR FUTURE!! CHEAP!!!!!!! “But—but that’s terrible.”
“If you think about it,” Randall said, “it’s hardly surprising that would be your background.”
“Hey! That was surprisingly effective in breaking me down emotionally. Nice job. Also, you bastard.”
Randall looked rather pleased with himself.
“What does Ruv have to do with any of this?” Ryan asked. “Because I really feel that we should be talking about him more. Like, what kind of a name is Ruv? And how I’m obviously more muscular than he is, as everyone can probably tell. Also, does he not know how to put on shoes? I know how to put on shoes.”
“And you do it very well,” I said, leaning over and kissing him on the cheek. “In fact, no one puts on shoes like you do.”
“Damn right,” he mumbled, blushing slightly under the praise.
“I assume it’s for the same reason she didn’t want your mother to marry your father,” Morgan said. “Gypsies don’t take to outsiders kindly, and as evidenced by their willingness to shun their loved ones, they like marriages outside of the clan even less. I imagine Ruv is meant to entice Sam back into the fold.”