Friday, April 10, 2009
Werewolves in Gucci
Alison was legally blind, and was always amused when asked to produce papers to prove it. For all she knew, they could be statements of the weather in Katmandu, though the brail across the top was useful. It had been a shock to go blind the day she moved to Laverstone. Such a stupid wish it had been, her clear thinking occluded by her need to see her daughter’s spirit.
It came in handy at the shop, mind. There was noting quite so impressive as a blind fortune teller that could tell you exactly what you were wearing and what card you’d just picked from a 78 card tarot deck. Only once had she been called a charlatan, and even that had ended in a firm friendship. How was she to know that her upstairs neighbour could see and hear Terry the imp as well as she?
“Felicia,” the woman had said, almost giving Alison a heart attack when her second sight was filled with the image of a werewolf in Gucci and Prada.