At the end of the street was a large glass box with a female mannequin inside it, dressed as a gypsy fortune teller.<br /><br />“Now,” said Wednesday, “at the start of any quest or enterprise it behooves us to consult the Norns.”<br /><br />He dropped a coin into the slot. With jagged, mechanical motions, the gypsy lifted her arm and lowered it once more. A slip of paper chunked out of the slot.<br /><br />Wednesday took it, read it, grunted, folded it up and put it in his pocket.<br /><br />“Aren’t you going to show it to me? I’ll show you mine,” said Shadow.<br /><br />“A man’s fortune is his own affair,” said Wednesday, stiffly. “I would not ask to see yours.”<br /><br />Shadow put his own coin into the slot. He took his slip of paper. He read it.<br /><br />EVERY ENDING IS A NEW BEGINNING.<br />YOUR LUCKY NUMBER IS NONE.<br />YOUR LUCKY COLOUR IS DEAD.<br /> Motto:<br />LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON.<br /><br />Shadow made a face. He folded the fortune up and put it inside his pocket.