‘So when the Mercedes came around the corner…’ began Birthday.
‘Yeah, when the ninja-mobile took out their card table…’ Fonso interrupted, moonwalking.
‘Fonso, would you please…’ said Birthday.
‘Sorry, B,’ said Fonso. ‘You go ahead.’ He did some popping and locking to prove he meant it.
Birthday sighed. ‘Well, anyway,’ he said. ‘It was Gudada doing the shooting. I don’t know whether he was more pissed about them trying to abduct you or because they ruined his game. Whatever it was, he just took out that old pistola he’s always packing and started shooting. It was pretty cool, man.’
‘Too cool,’ said Fonso, eyes wide. ‘He shot that scarred freak holding you! And when he went down the party really started. Those Buddhist monk dudes dropped their nunchucks and pulled out Uzis!’
Fonso shook his head reverently, beaming a lottery winner’s smile.
‘Then they pulled their friend into the car,’ said Birthday.
‘And that catwoman-on-acid finally joined them,’ said Mirela.
‘And they took off, shooting at the cops,’ said Fonso. ‘Best day ever, man. For real.’
When Samantha woke again, she decided to give up on the sleeping idea. The moon was pale and fat, the sky bruised black-purple. Dawn herself was only just waking up and wouldn’t be dressed for another hour.
Samantha stretched silently. Spread out around her, mounds of bedding dotted the camp like mutant mushrooms sprung up overnight. Her family slept on under the stars, relishing these months when they could camp in the open before winter set in and sent them all, frozen and miserable, back to their trucks and vans. She could barely hear the horses, shuffling, asleep on their feet under the trees in the same spot they’d dined with the gypsy king. Although that lunch had been just the day before yesterday, it felt as though it had happened a month ago.
She hadn’t met any of the new horses yet. Last night Lala wouldn’t even allow her to walk as far as the paddock.
Upside down beside her, Oody twitched and spasmed, his paws padding the sky as he chased dream rabbits. She smoothed her hand gently over the soft down on his belly and wriggled carefully away from him. He rolled onto his side, stiffened his limbs in a stretch, and then snuffled back to sleep. When she’d tiptoed across camp just before midnight to ask Tamas if she could take him for the night, he hadn’t even glanced at her. He’d just clicked his tongue and nudged Oody out of his sleeping roll. What she’d done to
She raised her hands to the sky and stretched. She loved this hour. Not even old Nuri was awake. She breathed deeply, the air sweet with wood smoke, black pine trees and horses. She shrugged her long-sleeved T-shirt over her singlet, grabbed her night bag and padded barefoot over to the remains of the fire. As quietly as she could, she removed a thick branch and a few sticks from the woodpile, adding them to the fire, prodding carefully at the red glow under the feathers of ash. Nuri would soon be here with the baby to tend the fire, but she’d find it a little easier this morning.
The previous night Lala had made her swear that she would not leave the camp alone, but Samantha knew she could get to the river and back before it was light. Stealing across the edges of the camp, she broke into a run when she was out of earshot. Her shoulder ached, but she found herself smiling anyway as the pre-dawn air swept across the skin on her face, hot with swelling and fatigue. She stopped running before she reached the horses – she didn’t want to startle them. Clicking softly, she gave them plenty of space as she cleared the trees. They flicked sleepy ears at her as she passed.
The sky had deepened from indigo to lilac by the time she reached the bush path leading down to the river. She paused, suddenly shaky, at the leafy entry. It was still night-time in there. The projector in her mind clicked on again with an image of Scarface jumping out from behind a tree, lopping her head off with the sword.
She shook her head to scatter the ridiculous picture and stepped onto the path. She’d walked this track a thousand times: with others and alone, in sunshine and rain, and at midnight. Scarface and his crew could not possibly be in there. They’d have had to have crossed the camp to reach this spot, and the dogs would have gone berserk.
For the first few minutes, until her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she had to make do with her memory of the way down to the river. She trod carefully, hoping to avoid sharp rocks and sleeping creatures. The path was narrow in places, and leaves and branches slapped and scratched at her when she strayed from the track. But when the path widened and she heard the water, her bunched shoulders dropped a little and she jogged lightly the rest of the way down to the river’s edge.
At this point in the river, the bush made way for a sandy beach of sorts, and the moon shone down, round and bright. Just around the bend, the trees marched all the way down, planting their feet permanently in the water. And over the other side of the river, almost impossible to see now, rocky ledges made perfect diving platforms.
With a shiver, Samantha stripped. She dropped her shirt, singlet and briefs onto a rock and, naked, squelched through the night-cold sand to the water. The full moon fractured and re-formed endlessly on the rippling surface and she paused at the edge, the river lapping at her toes. She took a deep breath and raised her arms high over her head. She sent a gypsy prayer out quietly across the shivering waters.
Samantha walked into the river.
Despite the hour, the water was refreshing but not cold. It felt delicious on her bruised face and swollen mouth. She washed quickly and stepped out, dripping. It was a little lighter already. She had to get back. They’d kill her for coming down here alone. Lala had told her she wouldn’t be allowed to go to the Carnivale tomorrow, and she’d even hinted that she wouldn’t take her to the very last of the midsummer festivals tonight.
Sam knew Lala would never get away with that, though. The other witches would tell all their best clients that she wasn’t there and then there’d be trouble. She slipped back into her singlet and pyjama pants. Birthday Jones had told her that the Roma witches were now gossiping about her all the time, angry that many of their best customers were trekking out to their camp for Sam’s readings, abandoning the witches in town.
The old frauds, she thought. They’re just jealous. Maybe they’d keep their customers if they actually told the truth about what they saw in the cards, rather than always making up nightmares that would supposedly come true if they didn’t get more money.
She sighed. She and Lala had also done their share of that. They’d been paid by plenty of Gaje women to bless amulets and perform love spells tonight.
Lala will have to take me, she decided. If I’m not there, I’ll bet my tarot deck that those old crones will take out a newspaper ad to tell the world about it.
She gathered up some of the dew-wet herbs that grew close to the riverbank, wrapping them in her T-shirt. A peace-offering for Lala in case she was caught returning – herbs and flowers collected at dawn were required for the potions they needed to make for the rituals tonight.
Sam loved midsummer, and all the gypsy rituals and festivals built up around the season. Well, most of it, anyway. What she couldn’t get used to was the guilt she felt being associated with the Roma witches. She knew that most of them were just in it for the hustle. And whether they believed they had special powers or not – and most of them seemed to have convinced themselves that they did – they rolled out the same script to all their clients. It was pitifully simple really, she thought, moving quickly back along the brightening path. In the very beginning, Lala had told her that ninety-five per cent of their customers would be female, and that seventy per cent of them would have a love-life problem. The other thirty per cent was split fifteen (money issues), to ten (the cursed), to five (health problems).
