The gypsy’s hand tripped her wagon’s door latch. Heady scents of rare teas, spices, incense and exotic oils snaked down around the self guarded trio, relaxing them into a vulnerable stupor.
“My name is Regalia, I mean you no harm. Come, sit at my table and partake of my hospitality”. Regalia stepped back to the ground and lifted down her wagon’s five foot round sign, it’s tripod legs snapping open, tablecloth and all.
“I don’t trust her” Clemens whispered. “I don’t either” Ella agreed. Shockingly, without a word, Horace strode forward and took his place as if he were at home, visiting his grandmother. His companions timidly followed suit.
Tea now served, Regalia, over her teacup’s rim, looked deeply into Horace’s eyes. “You have a talisman too that your companions are not aware of, don’t you?”
Horace gently pulled out his talisman, a pair of weapons that never missed, and set them in front of her. Clemens and Ella stared at Horace’s brass knuckles as they began to glow, as did Regalia’s eyes.