The three of us stepped out of the vehicle and walked toward the front door, which was standing wide open. Killian came out with a smile, kissed me on the lips, and said:
"Clara Désmere predicted you'd show up. I didn't believe her, but she was right yet again. Come on in—she wants to speak with you."
The woman was sitting in a large, modern office, sipping coffee. There wasn't a single religious symbol in sight—no crystal balls, no tarot cards, nothing like that. Just a tidy bookshelf, some documents, and four chairs set out for us. Then she spoke kindly:
"Welcome. Now, one of you is going to ask me a question. It will be the one who has a graveyard dedicated to love in her own home."
Stunned, I managed to say:
"How did you do that thing with the song on the radio? I can understand you knowing about the graves at Mary Garden—I'm sure Killian told you about me."
But he clarified:
"No, the last time I saw Clara was three years ago. We haven't talked about anything yet, because she told me to wait—that you'd all be arriving soon."
Clara's gaze lingered on me for a few seconds before she explained:
"When I was a little girl, I saw my grandmother's death, and I told my parents, 'She's going to get sick, and when she comes back from Europe, she won't be able to speak or move.' She fell into a coma on the flight back. It caused a huge scandal. Later, when I saw that my mother was going to marry someone else, I never told my father. I didn't trust them anymore; I didn't want to keep seeing psychiatrists. I don't know if God exists, and I don't call this a gift or a curse—I'm more practical than that. It's simply an ability I've had since birth. I can see things before they happen, though destiny isn't set in stone. If I tell you, 'Don't take the train—walk to work instead,' you should listen to me."
Girl, I wish you were here. I don't know if I hit my head and fell into some weird parallel universe, or if what she's saying is actually possible. Clara reached out her hand and said:
"Killian, you'll go last. You three—who wants to go first?"
Annia stepped forward with a smile. Clara took her hand for a few seconds, then let go and told her:
"That wedding you're worried about—get it out of your head. It's not happening. Listen to me closely: the key to avoiding tears in the near future is to start being kinder to your father, starting now. He loves you."
Imagine the smiles on everyone's faces, though I still had my doubts. Killian whispered to me that he hadn't told the psychic anything.
Evangelina went next. She took Clara's hand, and seconds later Clara let go and stood up. She gave a small bow and said, astonished:
"The clever girl! The queen has arrived. At last, I meet one. Do you know how many women like you I've seen in my entire life? None. You are so rare that two hundred years could pass without another like you entering this world. I can't tell you much—only that it won't be easy, but you will rule over everyone. Keep being yourself, and stay alert for the signs—follow them."
Evangelina asked anxiously:
"What signs? Which ones?"
She replied:
"Follow the ones that come in green and blue."
Evangelina turned around, smiling, and looked into my eyes.
When it was my turn, Clara took my hand and immediately pulled away as if frightened. That's when I saw it: her eyes filled with tears, and she whispered:
"I'm so sorry for everything you've been through, little one. Live—and be happy. No one deserves it more. But remember these words: in the future, tragedy won't come for you… it will come from within your own soul and destroy those you love. When you choose one of them—and that's how I see it—when you choose one, another will die."
I got angry—really angry. I didn't want to cause a scene, but I leaned in as close to her face as I could and said through gritted teeth:
"Aren't you ashamed of trying to manipulate me like that? All I have is—"
But she didn't let me finish and completed my sentence exactly as I was about to say it:
"'All I have is my feelings, and they belong to me.' I know, Carmilla. But believe it or not, this is important. The future isn't written—remember that. It will never be exactly as I see it. But of this I am so certain that I dare to say it: when you choose one, another dies. Come on, I know you're not foolish. I know you've asked yourself: Do I have to choose between the people I love? You've told yourself: Can't I just live and enjoy every moment? And I know you trust that you'll learn to overcome whatever fate throws at you. That's good—but you won't be able to handle this. If you choose one, believe me, the death of another will leave a mark on you—and not in a good way."
I shouted:
"Don't talk to me about marks!"
I wanted to run out of there, but Clara grabbed my arm firmly. Even though she looked terrified, she held my gaze. I watched as tears filled her eyes and ran down her cheeks. I pulled away and hurried toward the door, thinking: No one—absolutely no one—is going to dictate how I choose to live… But just as I was about to cross the threshold, she shouted:
"It was the headrest of the driver's seat! Or the seat mount—I'm not sure what that part is called!"
I stopped in my tracks and asked:
"What the hell are you talking about now? Can't you just leave me alone?"
She stood up calmly, wiped her tears, and said:
"Your father was lost in his addictions—broken. He wasn't himself anymore. Your mother was even worse. They didn't think twice when they put you in the back of that rusty old car. They didn't plan it, but on the road, they looked at each other and knew what they were going to do. They drove straight into an oncoming truck. You were screaming in the back. At the last second, your mother yanked the wheel, trying to save you—a final instinct she couldn't suppress. It wasn't enough. They hit the side of the truck and died instantly. The car spun and flipped, and the driver's headrest broke off, ending up between your back and the roof as it collapsed under its own weight. I saw how the two metal rods pierced you, sliding down from your shoulder blades. You may not believe me, Carmilla, but I'm talking about far worse marks."
I walked back, sobbing, and offered her my arm, begging:
"Touch me again… at least tell me—did they ever love me?"
She replied:
"No, little one, I don't need to. I already saw how they celebrated when your mother found out she was pregnant. I saw how your father kissed you a thousand times when you were a baby before he went off to war. I saw your mother's pain when he came back… hollow. She tried so hard for someone so small, carrying the weight of a man destroyed by medication, taking more and more just to stop thinking… and that pain—she only wanted to numb it. I saw two good people, Carmilla. And yes, they loved you… until they couldn't anymore. Until those things turned them into animals, starving for more and more medication and alcohol. Your mother, until the day she died, called you 'Vampirita,' because your fangs grew in longer when you were a baby… I'm sorry. That's all I saw. I truly am sorry."
I cried like never before. "Vampirita"… the moment she said it, I remembered. She used to say it in two parts… "Vampi-rita."
Killian, Annia, and Evangelina held me.
Clara asked for a moment to recover, and the four of us stayed there talking. Killian told us:
"We met her at a club my mother used to take us to. I tripped and accidentally bumped into her. Instead of getting angry, she said, 'Listen, boy—when you see books scattered on the floor, look for your brother everywhere and save him.' I told Ursula and my mother. A few years later, I saw Lucius's English books in the hallway, scattered. Ursula remembered what I'd said, and I searched for my brother until I found our language teacher putting him into a car. She had drugged him to kidnap him. I grabbed the steering wheel and stopped her until the guards arrived. Since then, Clara has only agreed to see me three times. She moves frequently; when I receive her letters, it's because I happen to be nearby. She… well… she knows where to send them."
Killian's turn came when Clara sat down again. She took his hand and said:
"The deal goes through, though there is no wedding for you. However, you will attend one this year, and believe me, I see you very sad there. Do not allow yourself to hurt her. She is not a bird you can lock in a cage, no matter what happens."
He promised he wouldn't. He thanked her and gave her payment.
Clara said goodbye without touching us, but before leaving, I approached her and asked:
"Do you have any idea how to do it? How to avoid choosing between the people I love?"
She leaned in and whispered in my ear:
"It's not easy. Live. Feel. You already know the answer. Don't accept pressure—just focus on giving love, passion, and receiving the same in return. Remember, the future isn't written—it can be changed. But don't take risks with what I've told you."
The truth was, I understood the theory, but I didn't know how it would work in practice when my relationship with Killian or Lucius grew so intense and serious that I'd have to choose one and walk away from the other. So I told her:
"Look, Clara, I'll try. I don't want to choose one and have the other suffer. I don't want to hurt either of them."
She laughed and whispered:
"Both of them? Oh, honey… no. There will be many more than just two."