"You didn't have to wear a suit," Larene said as their horse drawn wagon entered the big clearing in the forest. This gypsy clan had visited their village every spring for as long as anyone can remember. They parade through the town with their colorful clothes, which almost look like costumes; even their horses were wearing beads, bangles, feathers, and bright blankets. Gypsies live in closed wagons called vardos. These too were painted with elaborate designs. The gypsies danced through the town square, playing violins and tambourines, and eventually making their way deep into the forest, where there was an open campsite. This is where they would set up camp and stay until the beginning of summer. Paul considered a sarcastic response to Larene's comment, but thought better of it. It was an ironic thing for Larene to say because she hated getting dressed up; she totally rejected the abundance of restrictive undergarments of the time. Thankfully, she was tastefully dressed in a long light wool dress with a high empire waist. She always lightweight dresses, no matter how cold it was. It was a conservative plaid in blue and green, which brought out the blue in her eyes. She looked pretty. Her shoes were black leather that laced up above the ankle. She didn't like shopping for clothes or shoes. Her wardrobe diminished appreciably when her mother stopped making her clothes.
"I didn't wear my vest, so I thought that I was dressed casually." he said in his defense.
The canopy of the forest trees was ablaze with the light of all the torches, lamps, and bonfires. It looked mystical. There were many wagons and horses tied up in the clearing set aside for that purpose. Paul helped Larene out of the wagon, which was a pleasant and unexpected surprise. He was tempted to hold her hand as they walked, but chose otherwise; for the sake for propriety. They walked slowly down a very wide path to the main campsite, which was bustling with excitement. Music was playing and people were singing. Well trained horses were performing amazing acts. The gypsies were selling red wine, spit roasted game, jewelry, and other handmade crafts. The fortunetellers and soothsayers had long lines of customers anxious to get their psychic reading. The air was filled with smoke, the scent of cooking food, pine trees, and animals. High up through the branches and trees, you could see bright stars and the light of the full moon. Seeing the light of the fire glow off of Larene's face and hair made her appear even more beautiful. The flickering light made her eyes dance and sparkle. He realized that he had the loveliest woman in the camp at his side.
Across the camp he saw Captain Wellen, who was diligently overseeing what appeared to be a game of chance. He nodded in recognition and went back to watching the activity with great skepticism. They explored the festival, and enjoyed seeing many of their patients, friends, and extended family. They saw a big crowd of men near a makeshift stage. They walked over to see what was drawing their attention. Finding an opening in the front, they watched a beautiful young gypsy woman dance to the music of drums, violin, and tambourine. She had raven black hair, exotic eyes, and was abundantly endowed. Her low gathered top barely kept her covered. She would spin quickly to the music, causing her skirt to flare up, revealing her lacy underthings. Paul looked for one fraction of a second longer than deemed acceptable by Larene. She glared at him indignantly.
"I am a doctor." he said, seeking absolution.
The look in Larene's eyes was not one of forgiveness. She took his arm with a grip that could break black walnut shells, and led him away to a table where a middle-aged gypsy couple was selling earrings. She picked out a pair made of silver that had moon crests hanging from them. He was forgiven. For now.
They ate, shared a glass of wine, and patiently waited for Maleva to see them. It was getting late and when they were just about to leave, Bela came out of nowhere and announced that it was their turn. Without any hint of recognition, Bela led them into Maleva's vardo. It seemed much bigger from the inside, but that may have been because most everything in her wagon was smaller, to accommodate her diminutive stature. Her bunk couldn't have been over five feet, but nevertheless that was more than enough space for her. She had a small table with three chairs set around it. She had two oil lamps for illumination. On the table were a crystal ball, a deck of Tarot cards, and a set of rune stones. What was most noteworthy was her impressive collection of rare medicinal plants, minerals, and animal parts. Medical school didn't have an apothecary as diverse as this. She had vials, bottles, little boxes, cages, nooks, and small hanging hammocks of curatives. Paul had never seen so many pharmaceuticals in one place. His mind was no longer on getting his fortune told. He wanted to know what all these drugs were, and what they did. Surely, somewhere in this assortment of remedies, in whole or in part, lay a cure for rabies.
Maleva sat down on the chair across from them. She looked tired, the events of the day had clearly taken their toll. Paul spoke first.
"Maleva, we need to talk. I think you owe me that. I need to know more about your curatives. I need your help." Maleva sat expressionless, staring at Paul as if he had two heads.
She finally spoke with her undiscernible dialect in a gravelly voice, "Come back in five days in the afternoon. We will talk then. Now leave us, so I can read the future of your lovely lady." Maleva almost managed a smile as she took Larene's hands. Paul was summarily dismissed.
"I will meet you outside, Larene."
She turned around to look at him, "it will be a long walk back home if I find you watching that dancing girl again." Maleva couldn't hold back a smirk as Paul left her vardo.
Maleva stared hard at Larene. She noticed her new earrings as the handiwork of one of her clan. Even though Maleva was old and creepy, Larene's hands felt warm and safe in the grasp of the gypsy woman. Maleva looked deep into Larene's eyes. She allowed herself to drift psychically through those blue eyes into the mind of the young woman. She closed her eyes, and mentally floated above them, in search of spiritual guidance. This is where her third eye was. This was where she heard the voices of her ancestors, a rich long line of psychic mediums. Something was very different this evening, something very strange. The transcendental experience was dark with frightening images. She unconsciously gripped Larene's hands harder. Maleva took a deep breath. She forced herself to follow a beam of white light in her mind's eye.
"Paul loves you very much. And you love him." Maleva spoke, with her eyes closed, "He is a good man, driven by a noble purpose: to help people and relieve them from their suffering. You two are spiritually connected. You are far more together than you ever would be apart." Maleva could no longer hold back the flood of darkness and evil images being projected upon her. She had always trusted her spiritual inner voice, but this was so much different. She knew it was meant for her to see, for whatever reason.
In waves and spasms of darkness, she saw horrible visions, visions of terrifying rabid wolves, a creature that looked both like a man and a wolf, people getting torn apart and killed by this monstrosity, a haunting full moon, and a symbol: that of a star with a circle around it. Weakened and tormented by these images, she forced herself out of the trance; dizzy and shaking. She looked across the table at poor Larene, whose hands were squeezed white by Maleva.
Her eyes wide and scared, Larene asked, "Is everything alright?"
Maleva took a deep breath and centered herself. She allowed herself to believe that it was just a hallucination. That is, until she started to read Larene's palm, for in the center of her hand was a symbol only Maleva, and a horrible creature that didn't even exist yet could see, that of a victim's pentagram.