“It’s a thing on TikTok. Blindfolding people, taking them to places and filming their reactions. It’s hilarious.”

“It sounds sinister,” Carla said, her temples throbbing. She was forty-two, too old for this stuff. “I need to lock up first,” she said, touching her pendant for comfort.

“Chill, it’s going to be fun.”

“You’re blindfolding me and bundling me into a car. I’d call it kidnapping.”

The fabric strip covering Carla’s eyes was tight, letting in only a slit of light at the top. She gripped the back seat of the car as her gran swerved around a corner, jolting her from side to side. She wasn’t sure how long they traveled for, maybe twenty or thirty minutes, and her gran’s sweet honeysuckle perfume made her feel queasy in the confines of the car. As they drove over a bump in the road, she dug her fingers into the leather upholstery. “I’m supposed to be meeting Tom this evening. He’ll wonder where I am...”

“Don’t worry, I called him. He’s staying home to play with his origami or something,” Jess said.

“It’s kirigami,” Carla corrected. Tom worked in product development for a packaging company, though his big ambition was to design and produce his own board games. “Origami just involves folding paper. Kirigami is the art of folding and cutting. He’s working on some pop-up paper games for our guests to play at our wedding reception. They’re intricate and very clever.”

“Oh,” Jess replied flatly. “Nice.”

Carla noticed her dry tone. Could Jess possibly be jealous of Tom? Her sister had recently endured a string of dating disasters. Romanticizing the idea of meeting someone through chance or fate alone wasn’t paying off.

“Maybe you can share photos of Tom’s games on Instagram, alongside the ones of you burning sage and playing with runes,” Carla said. It was supposed to make her sister laugh, but the only sound that followed was the hum of tires on the road.

As the journey progressed, Carla tried to tune into other noises as a clue to her surroundings. She heard distant screams and a seagull cawing overhead. Something smelled like caramel and freshly made doughnuts, and her stomach lurched when she realized her family had brought her to the seaside town of Silverpool.

It was where she and Jess used to holiday as kids, with Gran and their grandad, Ted. Their trip had always included a visit to Vadim, an automated genie on the seafront who “told” your fortune for fifty pence. Vadim’s crystal ball lit up with a mystical green light as he jerkily waved a hand and spoke in a strong Eastern European accent: “This is Vadim speaking. I can read your future...” A ticket appeared from a slot and Lucinda used to read all their fortunes aloud with glee. Throughout her childhood, Carla really did believe the bearded mannequin could tell her fortune, something she found unnerving rather than exciting. How could he know such stuff about her?

When the car came to a halt, she heard the hand brake wrench on. The driver’s door slammed, and the side door opened, causing a rush of air to wind around Carla’s ankles. A hand circled her elbow and helped to guide her onto the pavement. “Watch your step,” her gran said.

As the three of them moved forward with Carla in the middle, she felt like she was being frog-marched toward a guillotine.

After a while, the hard surface beneath her feet changed to something more uneven, like planks of wood. The swish of waves came into earshot and grew louder.

They carried on walking until Jess shouted out, “Stop. We’re here.”

Carla’s hands shook as she reached up to remove her blindfold. She screwed her eyes shut against the evening light and slowly peeped through her lashes. Vaguely aware Jess was still filming her, she felt her mouth dry as she surveyed the seaside pier and the gray North Sea shifting and growling in front of her. There was a Ferris wheel, bumper cars and, directly in front of her, a ramshackle purple wooden hut painted with silver moons and golden stars. The peeling sign read:

Mystic Myrtle

Clairvoyant. Tarot. Crystal Ball.

“Oh no,” Carla said, her stomach plunging to the depth of her body.

“It’s good to find out what the future holds, before you get married,” her gran said sagely.

“This place looks cool.” Jess lowered her phone.

Carla dug a hand into her hair. “How many times have I told you both that Tom is my perfect partner? Why do I have to visit a stranger, who will make up a story about my future, to prove it to you?”

“Myrtle’s not a stranger,” Lucinda said. “She’s your second-cousin, twice removed.”

Carla sighed. It was easy to lose track of her long list of relatives. The majority of them were female and highly superstitious, and she wondered how they were breeding without many men in the picture. There must have been some point in their family history where their beliefs had become habit and then culture, until they’d been assumed as facts and part of everyday life.

Her gran and granddad had been happily married for fifty years before Ted died, proving the family curse was a fairy story. “Our family jinx is a figment of everyone’s imagination,” she protested. “It’s your belief in it that keeps it alive.”

Jess yanked Carla close and hissed in her ear, “Gran’s not getting any younger and she really wants to make sure Tom’s the right man for you. Especially after your marriage to Aaron. Do this for her, and try to bloody enjoy yourself for once...”

Carla had noticed her gran’s shrinking stature and how her hands trembled when she baked or worked on the agency’s accounts. Lucinda insisted it was just old age and refused to answer Carla’s gentle questioning about her health.

She nodded and touched her pendant again, looking around for some kind of escape. A magpie strutted along the pier, bringing to mind one of her mum’s sayings. “One for sorrow...” Carla said aloud, looking around for a second bird. “Two for joy,” she said with relief, when she spotted its companion. Then she shook her head. She’d tried to abandon these silly superstitions a long time ago and hated it when they crept back. Mimi had once put her off gummy bears for life by telling her eating something with a face meant its counterpart died somewhere else in the world.

“Myrtle has a real gift,” Lucinda said firmly. “We’re lucky she’s going to share it with us.”

Carla was about to object again, but she saw a hint of worry and longing in her gran’s olive-hued eyes. She only had to have her palm read, or tea leaves examined, or whatever other tools Myrtle employed to aid her so-called talent, and then all this would be over. She, Gran and Jess could go somewhere else, perhaps for coffee, cake and a nice walk along the seafront. It looked like visiting an escape room was out of the question. She glanced through the door of Myrtle’s hut and thought she saw the glint of a crystal ball.

If I can’t trust my own family, who can I trust?

Three

Tarot

Carla’s palms were clammy as she surveyed the worn navy velvet chairs crammed into the waiting area of Myrtle’s shack. She shouldn’t have been surprised to find Mimi and Evelyn, two of her gran’s younger sisters, waiting there already. Although Mimi and Evelyn were actually Carla’s great-aunts, she referred to them as her aunts or aunties. The two women looked very similar facially, with rounded cheeks and ski-jump noses, but they had wildly different temperaments and senses of fashion.

Actress Mimi had recently married for the fifth time, and Carla suspected her previous failed relationships weren’t due to any family curse but because her aunt expected to be treated like a star at all times. Mimi didn’t walk, she swept, as if she was in a Broadway theater production. She looked like she’d raided the backstage wardrobe for feathers, turbans and huge costume jewels.

Retired teacher Evelyn was meeker and slightly older than Mimi. She wore a turtleneck sweater with a string of pearls, giving her the air of a wartime librarian. She’d never tied the knot and only really socialized with her relatives (if Mimi ever let her get a word in edgewise).

“Here’s Carla, our very own leading lady,” Mimi announced, standing up to fling open her arms. “Come here, my darling. Let’s discover what the future holds for you and your beau. So exciting.”

Carla found herself engulfed in Mimi’s black velvet cape, coughing on her musky perfume.

Evelyn remained seated with her handbag on her knees, as if waiting to be called into a doctor’s appointment. “It’s lovely to see you, Carla,” she whispered, tapping Mimi on her elbow. She pointed to the sign on the internal door that read Quiet, Reading in Progress.

Mimi theatrically held a finger to her lips. She ushered Lucinda into an empty chair, and Jess slid into the remaining one, leaving Carla standing up.

As Carla waited, perspiration trickled down her spine. She cricked her jaw from side to side to relieve its tension.

“This is a good thing for you,” Mimi said, with the point of a scarlet-nailed finger. “Our family jinx is a terrible thing. I trust you two girls know the full story of what happened?”

“Ahem.” Lucinda cleared her throat and shot Mimi a coded stare. “They’ve heard it umpteen times already. It’s not the best time to—”

“Of course it is,” Jess interrupted with a mischievous grin. “I love hearing about our family legend.”

For Mimi, this was akin to someone calling out Action. She patted both corners of her lips and rearranged her cape. “In the 1920s our family was much like any other. We’ve always had predominantly more women than men, and our ladies fell in love, got married and all was fabulous. Our ancestral line undoubtedly shows a history of long marriages, right up until one century ago, when your great-great-grandaunt Agatha became a victim of ill will.

“Against her parents’ wishes, Agatha announced her intention to marry a scoundrel. It transpired that her intended husband was already betrothed to someone else, who was actually a real-life witch. When this witch found out about her love rival, Agatha, she cursed her and decreed that she and all her female relatives henceforth would never find marital bliss.

“Now, Agatha was a headstrong woman, a family trait.” Mimi looked at Carla, Jess, Lucinda and Evelyn in turn as if telling them a campfire story. “She and her beau decided to elope, but as they stood at the altar together waiting to say their vows, the groom clutched his hands to his chest. He suffered a fatal heart attack and dropped dead on the spot.” Lucinda mimed the scene, acting out both parts, of the hapless groom and then Agatha’s mouth dropping open with horror. “Afterward, Agatha lived a long and miserable life full of grief and regret and, for one hundred years, our ladies’ relationships have been doomed.”

“I can vouch for that,” Jess said with a comedic tut.

Carla blew into her cheeks and huffed. “Gran was happily married to Grandad for half a century. She’s living proof this story is nonsense.”