Hungry for More

CHAPTER 30



Amy plodded toward the train station, the wet slush bleeding through her boots, soaking her feet. But she didn’t care. The stinging numbness at least felt like something, as opposed to the gap of nothingness that laid before her.

No Maddie.

No power.

No James.

Eventually James would understand why she had to leave. Why she couldn’t play second fiddle and be happy.

She plowed through the red lights, daring the lumbering buses and screeching, cursing SUV drivers to hit her. It felt good to give them the finger back, to yell about nothing but who went first. But now, over the river, in front of the grand train station, she was forced to yield to the traffic racing off the expressway.

And to acknowledge that her feet were taking her exactly where she needed to go: home to Baltimore to start her life over again.

She stared up at Thirtieth Street Station, its white pillars majestic, its American flags flapping. The huge station seemed to offer hope. She just had to get on a train and get out of this city, to leave it behind as if it were all a bad dream.

She pushed through the station’s revolving door into the teeming station. Around her, people hurried, bustled, and ran. These people were all going somewhere. Damn them.

“Amy Burns?”

Oh, great. Just what she needed. It was Bob, the Baltimore land developer she had scammed ages ago who had made a scene at Les Fleurs. “Get lost. I’ve got nothing to give you. Your money’s gone. So just forget it.”

He stared at her, an odd expression on his face. He looked . . . peaceful. “I don’t want your money,” he said.

Amy looked at him closely. He wore a name tag: Robert Stutz, Food and Shelter. “Bob? What are you doing?”

“I found her, Amy. I found Susan Lord. After I left the restaurant that day, I couldn’t sleep for a week. So I looked her up, and she was right here in Philly. We’re getting married.”

Amy blinked at him.

“I gave up my business so I could volunteer. I’m at the station now five days a week looking for homeless folks who need a hand.”

“I’m not homeless,” Amy reminded him.

He took her by the elbow and steered her to a narrow bench. “Oh, but I think you are. We’re all homeless until we find our One True Love. Amy, you helped me. It took years, but you showed me that True Love was all that mattered.”

“Well, not all that mattered.” She tried to look around him to the train schedule flipping through arrivals and departures on the huge board in the center of the concourse.

“Oh, you’re such a kidder. I still had that note you left me when you scammed me years back. After I left the restaurant that night, I reread it. And I realized that my life was all about me—and that was a horrible way to be.”

“Well. Sometimes. But other times, you have to think of yourself first.” The next train to Baltimore was leaving in four minutes on track six. She still needed a ticket.

“No. Not once you find your One True Love. Amy, I had no idea what a total loser I was until I found Susan.”

“Not a total loser. You were rich and powerful—”

“I was an idiot.” A homeless man moved past them, reeking of everything vile Amy could imagine. “Excuse me,” Bob said. “Duty calls. Amy, thank you. Without you, I’d go through my entire life being a self-centered loser who thought money and power were all that mattered. Thank God you found me!”

Bob jumped up and chased after the homeless man.

What a boob.

The loudspeaker called for her train, boarding, first call.

I am not a self-centered loser.

She watched Bob take the homeless man’s bag and escort him like royalty across the station floor, and a thought hit her that numbed her whole body: I have never, ever in my life had a real friend.

Tears started to come, a tsunami of emotion. I thought all these people at Les Fleurs were my friends, but they were conning me. I thought James was my friend, but . . .

But what? He hadn’t conned her.

But still I’m furious at him for taking away the best thing in my life, even if I know it’s not his fault.

Bob and the man disappeared into the crowd. Bob had even lost a little weight.

The last call for the 11:03 to Baltimore sounded.

She didn’t move.

The final call sounded. She jumped up, suddenly sure of what needed to be done. She raced down the escalator to track six and snuck through the doors of the train just before they closed, avoiding the conductor taking tickets at the other end of the car.

She watched the empty, dark platform as the train began to pull away.



“I can’t believe I’m here,” James said, picking up a bird skeleton. It was the second night after he had closed the restaurant; unable to stop thinking about the old Gypsy, Madame Prizzo, he had come to visit her. Roni was out of the hospital, feeling fine physically but too depressed to get off the couch. She had called him to her couch-side yesterday and confessed everything. Most of it was sad and depressing, especially because he would have given Troy whatever he needed if she had only asked.


But what stuck in James’s mind most of all was what Roni had told him about Madame Prizzo: that before she had been in on the con, she had summoned the voice from the beyond. Despite his lingering skepticism, it was too much to resist. Now that Amy was gone and the restaurant was closed, there didn’t seem to be much to lose.

Madame Prizzo shrugged. “Oh, you’d be surprised who ends up here.” The old woman was wearing a stylish black knit skirt and black wrap top. She looked like she was going somewhere swank. Like Les Fleurs. Not that he had any idea how he’d open the place again for anyone stylish and swank. He had gotten six messages on his cell phone in the last two days, including John-John, telling him about his new job over at the Fondy; Raul saying he was going to Ecuador to find someone named Esperita; and Denny asking for James to front him four hundred bucks for a flight to Nebraska.

Which he did.

Madame Prizzo was staring at him, and he shook himself into the present. What had they been talking about? Right, she was bragging about her clients.

She held up a Philadelphia Eagles jersey and flashed the signature on the back. James vaguely recognized the number of the quarterback, a nice guy who used to come in after Sunday-night home games. He’d leave huge tips and diners breathless, although the scribbled name on the shirt was gibberish to James, and he didn’t have the energy to decode it. “Don’t bet against them this weekend.” She moved around the trailer, holding up objects with a smile: a giant key with a long ribbon (“Ever meet the mayor? Key to the city”) and a firefighter’s cap (“He’s still with us; enough said”).

James wondered what Madame Prizzo thought her memorabilia proved. That people were suckers, no matter what their background? And now he was here, just like the rest of them.

“You’ll like this one.” She held up a wooden spoon that was signed down the handle. Luckily, Madame Prizzo was proud enough to read out loud: “To Madame Prizzo, much thanks, Frederico.”

“Frederico Pena?” He was the executive chef of the best Spanish fusion in town. James didn’t even try to keep the surprise and awe out of his voice.

“You don’t think he came up with that braised rabbit and tortilla soup without a little help from the other side, do you?” Madame Prizzo smiled proudly.

She sat back down and regarded him carefully through a haze of cigarette smoke. “So, what are you doing here?” She squashed the cigarette that had been hanging from her lips and lit another. “I just came from seeing Roni. Very sad.” Madame Prizzo faltered for a moment, but recovered. “She told me about Amy finding out about our scam. Her scam, really. I just came in at the end. I hope you don’t have any ideas about being a hero and bringing me to justice.” She inhaled deeply, enjoying the smoke like fine wine.

“Justice? Hell no. I’m in the restaurant business.”

Madame Prizzo took a long, hard drag. She expelled the smoke through her nose. James wondered how she ever tasted any of her food. You could serve a smoker like this cardboard, and she wouldn’t know.

“I want to know if you know any way for Amy to get that voice back and stay with me.”

She looked at her cigarette as if maybe it was speaking to her. Heck, maybe it was. He looked around the creepy trailer. Why was he even listening to this old woman? Just because she said the first channeling was real, how could he be sure? After all, Madame Prizzo had been conning Amy; what would stop her from conning him? But the power of what Troy had done was still with James. It was impossible not to hope for just a little more magic.

She sucked on the cigarette. “You know that if Amy stayed with you, she’d resent you forever for taking away the one power she ever had. Oh, don’t look so surprised. I’ve met Amy, remember? You don’t have to be psychic to know how she thinks. You’re the consolation prize, sweetie, and you’re wondering if there’s a way to fix that, because you love her and want her to be happy. It’s very sweet, James. But the answer is no. It’s you or her power. There’s no way around it. I’m sorry if she didn’t choose you.”

The black cat jumped into Madame Prizzo’s lap, and she stroked it thoughtfully. “But let me give you a word of free advice. You should stop worrying about how to make Amy happy and start thinking about yourself.” She took a long drag over the cat’s head like she was inhaling oxygen. “There’s something you need to know. The real reason you’re here.”

James’s blood ran cold. What was she talking about?

“You didn’t come here to find out about Amy. You want to know about you.”

“That’s not true.”

“Everyone always wants to know about themselves, James. You’re not any different.” She stroked the cat, who closed his eyes, in bliss. “James, your father is dying.”

“Dying?” He hadn’t talked to his father in years. “What do you mean? How do you know?”

“I deal in the land of the dead, James. It’s my specialty. I’d say he’s got about a week. And guess what—he doesn’t even know it yet. So forget about making Amy happy, because you’re about to get blindsided by a fate all your own.”





When all else fails, eat.

—AMY BURNS