Playing fortune-teller at the town carnival, Emily catches sight of a fellow emanating an ominous aura. He's obviously searching for her through the twilight crowds.

Not again!

.

Emily ducked out of sight behind the booth's hangings, thoughts racing. No mistaking that phantom ribbon, the jagged streamer of aura trailing from this new threat. Among all the gossamer threads woven by the carnival crowds, none looked so murky and sinister as this.

Between one breath and the next, her memory flashed with similar scenes. A burglar prowling the neighborhood. A hold-up gang arguing in the woods. A burly mobster straight out of a late-night movie, tracking her footsteps around town. The reminders set her teeth chattering as she backed from the booth entry, glancing about in panic.

No way out -- except under the canvas walls. Emily beat at the back fabric until a stake loosened from the stubble. She dropped and squirmed under, losing her fortune-teller turban. She scrambled up, gypsy costume and frizzy hair spackled with bits of straw, and dashed away between tents and pavilions.

A guy wire caught one foot, sent her sprawling. She scrabbled for a handhold, grabbed a pole, hoisted herself back up.

The pole came loose from an awning.

No time to set it right. Emily pelted away brandishing it like a sorcerer's staff, scarves and silver hair streaming in the carnival lights. She choked back a hysterical laugh. Already getting startled looks and shrieks from fair-goers. No need to add a witchy cackle.

She staggered into the shadows behind a ring-toss booth. Her heart beat a tattoo as she peered back around the corner. No sign of the jagged, murky aura. She pressed a hand to her chest, willing the panic into submission.

Was this another mobster from the Seattle gang? What on earth did they want with an old retired librarian?

Old but spritely. A hysterical giggle burst out before she could squelch it.

No more running, she decided. Must be some way to thwart these crooks.

Keeping to the shadows, Emily cast about through the fairground until she found the fellow's backtrail and followed it to the parking field, expecting another big sleek black car.

Instead it led to a little pale blue sedan. Mud obscured the license plate. Emily fished a small hard object from her gypsy pouch and scraped the plate clear, noting the license number. Fist clenched around the scraper, and jaw set in determination, she stalked back to the fairgrounds and hunted up Officer Edwards, whom she'd seen earlier patrolling the booths.

"Not quite the Lincoln Continental we've been watching for," he commented when she led him to the vehicle. "Baby blue. More your style, I'd have thought. We'll stake it out anyway. Come with me. I'll settle you in the firefighters' booth until we get this sorted out."

It wasn't until Emily climbed into the cab of the fire engine that she felt safe and could relax. Someone had taken her witch's staff, but she still clung to her mud scraper, which resembled a magical talisman of sorts. She peered closer.

The shepherd's whistle. "My good luck charm," she said, and indulged herself in one last cackle.

.

prompt: remind

This scene is partly based on a real-life midnight adventure. I happened to be up (insomnia) when three masked thieves invaded my yard, going after the goldfish in my fishpond. I ran out  in nightgown and long dark robe to chase them off. Two of the villains scrambled up on the roof. I grabbed a garden pole and beat it on the gutters to shoo them further away.

The third raccoon went over the fence and across the side street where it paused and jeered at me as if inviting pursuit.

I took up the dare and ran after it, waving my staff, with my long hair flying, robe flapping, and the November mists swirling around. My husband cracked up laughing!

I saved my fish.