She met the tattooed lady’s eyes, looked to the tattoo on the back of her hand, and back to her eyes. “I asked for help.”

The tattooed lady held her gaze.

“I made you up,” Jodi whispered. “You weren’t really at the fair.”

“I was as real then as I am now,” she answered softly.

“That’s why the police couldn’t find you, when I told them about you. And why Stacy said—” Jodi winced, remembering punching her sister in Dr. Mitchell’s office. “I made you up.”

The tattooed lady gathered her cards. She shuffled them, then held them between her palms, then drew another card. As she lay the card on the table, she said, “You wished on a falling star.”

Jodi saw a seated man, who wore a turban, and held on his lap a wheel, like a game wheel where you spin for your next move. She looked from the card to the tattooed lady, who winked at her, and was gone.