Duncan - Gallows Hill

For Jim Ellis, a friend for many lifetimes

THE CRYSTAL PAPERWEIGHT SHOULD have been clear, but it was not. The man who had cast it was bewildered. He was certain that he had used the correct amount of selenium to counteract the iron in the silica sand and decolorize the glass. He had been in the glass-pressing business all his life and took great pride in the quality of his work.

Still, when he peered into the globe, which by rights should have been clear and transparent as window glass, he saw at its core what appeared to be gray wisps of smoke, twisting and curling, rising and darting, twining and intertwining like a nest of snakes preparing to strike.

With a sigh of regret he consigned the paperweight to a bin of defective glass products labeled Seconds. Eventually the crystal sphere, along with a sad assortment of hornless unicorns, tuskless elephants, and double-beaked swans, was placed on a special shelf of curios at the back of the showroom.

A surprising number of people made it a habit to browse the discount shelf in search of bargains and joke presents. One of those customers was an older woman with thick black hair and heavy-lidded eyes. She picked up the paperweight and examined it carefully, more than a little disturbed by what she saw in its depths. In fact the images she found there upset her so much that she left the shop without making a purchase.

The following day she came back and found the ball still on the shelf. This time she forced herself to buy it. When she got home, she took a seat in a straight-backed chair in a dimly lit room, placed the globe on a black velvet cloth on a table in front of her, and looked once more at the visions that appeared in the swirling mists. Being practiced in the ways of scrying, she knew what they meant and set about putting her affairs in order.

Ten days later, when she suffered a fatal heart attack, her house was clean, her bills were paid, and her will had been updated.

The womans son flew in from California for the funeral and put the small house up for sale. Since he was soon to be married, he had thought he might keep the furniture, but when he saw the condition of the mismatched chairs and the underslung sofa with cigarette burns in the upholstery, he sold them too, getting less than a hundred dollars for the lot. He gave his mothers strange, wild clothes to charity, but took her personal effects home with him for sentiments sake.

Among those items was the paperweight, which he placed on a corner of his desk, where it remained for the rest of his comparatively short lifetime, clear and transparent as window glass.

THE FIRST TIME SARAH ZOLTANNE saw Eric Garrett, he was standing out by the flagpole in front of the school building talking with a group of friends. Backlit as he was by the afternoon sunlight, everything about him seemed painted in goldhis hair, his skin, and, as far as she could tell from where she stood some distance away at the top of the cement steps, it even appeared that he might have golden eyes. In her literature class back in California she had done a unit on mythology, and the image that leaped immediately into her mind was of Apollo.

From then on Sarah seemed to keep seeing him everywhere. Striding down the hall between classes with an armload of books. Seated in the bleachers with some of the guys from the football team watching cheerleader practice. Pulling out of the student parking lot behind the wheel of a red Dodge Charger filled with laughing teenagers. She was actually starting to wonder if Fate was trying to tell her something, when he turned up behind the podium at a senior-class assembly. Only then did she realize that he was president of the class. Since she herself was on the lowest rung of the social ladder, having just started as a transfer student in her senior year, she saw no point in further speculation.

Which was why she was taken totally by surprise when, one Thursday afternoon in late October, she arrived at her locker at the end of fourth period to find the Sun God standing there waiting for her.

Hi, he said. We dont know each other, but its time we did. Im Eric Garrett.

I know who you are, Sarah said. Ive seen you at assemblies. She wondered what on earth he could possibly want. She already had learned the hard way that the in crowd at Pine Crest High School didnt waste time on outsiders, especially on one who arrived under the circumstances she had. It occurred to her that he might be keynoting one of those degrading Be Kind to New Students programs, the kind that gave extra credit for being nice to newcomers. In her last school she had been so embarrassed for the new students that her natural friendly impulses had been immediately quelled.

I know who you are too, Eric said with a contagious twinkle. Youre Sarah Zoltanne. Youre from Ventura, California. You and your mother moved here at the end of August. I know more. Ready? Your favorite food isthis is hard to believeartichokes! Youre hooked on New Age music, and youve got a black cat named Yowler with a torn left ear.

Where did you hear all that? Sarah asked in astonishment.

He grinned. What would you say if I told you a psychic told me?

Id say youre pulling my leg. Pine Crest is not exactly a hot spot for metaphysics.

Youre a smart girl, Eric said. I see youve got your thumb on the pulse of this town, and youve only just got here. So you can see how were going to have a pretty rough time digging up a psychic in this community. How would you like to be one Saturday night?

Whats happening Saturday night? His eyes werent really gold, she decided; they were hazel with golden flecks, like sun-speckled pond water, and his lashes were long and light, the exact same shade as his eyebrows.

The Halloween Carnival. You must have seen the posters. Every year the senior class puts on a carnival to earn money to hire a band for the prom in the spring. Therere contests, games, a spook house, and all that stuff. I was hoping to talk you into being the fortune-teller.

I dont know a thing about telling fortunes, Sarah said.

Theres nothing to it, Eric said reassuringly. You just read peoples palms or whatever and tell them their future.

Theres no way anybody can know the future.

No, of course not. So youd just make things up, like theyre going to find money or take a trip or meet somebody sexy and irresistible. Nobodys going to sue you if the predictions dont pan out.

I wouldnt know where to start, Sarah said. I dont know anything about anybody in Pine Crest.

Thats what makes this idea so great and you so perfect, Eric explained. The kids here dont know you either. The main reason theres never been a fortune-telling booth at the carnival is because nobody wants to spend money having their fortunes told by somebody theyve known since kindergarten. But it would be different if it were done by a stranger.

Sarah had to struggle to hide her disappointment. For a few lovely minutes in the beginning she had actually thought that he might be getting ready to ask her for a date. But her first assumption had been correct. He had only sought her out because he wanted something from her.

I wouldnt be any good at that, she said.

Dont say no until youve heard me out, Eric quickly countered. Ive got this dynamite system that will make it a cinch for you. Youll dress like a Gypsywe can borrow a costume from the Drama Cluband under your scarf youll wear earphones. On the other side of the room well station an accomplice with a hidden walkie-talkie. When she sees people enter your tent, shell secretly fill you in on their background. Youll look at their palms and tell each person their whole life story so that theyll think you are reading their minds! Itll blow them away!