Page 7 of Silver in the Bone

Her smile was blinding as she read the painted message on the door. “Walk-ins Welcome!”

“I was going to ask when Olivia and I are getting back together—” Franklin protested.

“We have to save something for the next time, don’t we?” I said sweetly.

He grabbed his backpack with an uncertain look. “You ... you’re not going to tell anyone I came, are you?”

I gestured to the sign over my right shoulder, ALL READINGS ARE CONFIDENTIAL, then to the one directly below it, WE ARE NOT LIABLE FOR ANY DECISIONS YOU MAKE BASED ON THESE READINGS, which had been added three minor lawsuits too late.

“See you next time,” I said with a little wave that I hoped didn’t look half as threatening as it felt.

Neve swept into his seat, propping her elbows on the table. She rested her chin on her palm with an expectant look.

“So,” she said. “How’s it going, girl? Any interesting jobs lately? Any nefaaaarious curses you’ve untangled?”

I shot a horrified look at the door, but Franklin was already out of earshot.

“What question would you like answered by the cards today?” I asked pointedly.

I’d accidentally left my work gloves—made from a distinctly reptilian hide called dragonscale—hanging out of my bag two weeks ago, and Neve had recognized them and made the unfortunate connection about my real job. Her knowledge of Hollowers and magic meant she was likely one of the Cunningfolk, a catchall term for people with a magic gift. Although I’d never seen her around the usual haunts.

She reached into the pocket of her shaggy black fur coat and pressed a rumpled twenty-dollar bill onto the table between us. Enough for fifteen minutes.

I could do fifteen more minutes.

“Your life is so exciting,” Neve said with a happy sigh, as if imagining herself in my place. “I was just reading about the Sorceress Hilde the other day—did she really sharpen her teeth like a cat’s? That seems painful. How do you eat without constantly biting the inside of your mouth?”

I tried not to bristle as I leaned back against my chair and set the timer. Fifteen minutes. Just fifteen.

“Your question?” I pressed, wrapping Myrtle’s crochet shawl tighter around my shoulders.

In truth, being a Hollower was 98 percent boring research, 2 percent deadly misadventures trying to open sorceresses’ vaults. Reducing it to light, glorified gossip prickled every nerve in my being.

Neve tugged at her black shirt, distorting the image of the pink rib cage that covered it. Her jeans were ripped in places, the tears revealing the shock of purple tights beneath. “Not very talkative, are you, Tamsin Lark? Okay, fine. I have the same question I always have: Am I going to find what I’m looking for?”

I glared at the cards as I shuffled, focusing on the feeling of them fluttering between my fingers, and not the intensity of her stare. For all the bounce in her step and the cheeriness of her words, her eyes were dark pools, always threatening to draw you in deeper with their ribbons of gold. They reminded me of my brother’s tiger’s-eye crystals, and made me wonder if they were connected to her magic gift—not that I’d ever cared enough to ask.

After seven shuffles, I started to draw the first card, only for her hand to catch mine.

“Can I pick today?” she asked.

“I mean ... if you want to,” I said, fanning them out facedown on the table. “Choose three.”

She took her time in selecting them, humming a soft song I didn’t recognize. “What do you think people would do if they found out about sorceresses?”

“What they always do when they suspect witches,” I said dryly.

“Here’s the thing.” Neve hovered her fingers over each card in turn. “I think they would try to use their power for their own ends. Sorceresses have spells that predict the future more accurately than tarot, right? And find things ...”

And curses that kill things, I thought to myself, glancing at the timer. The part of me stirred that suspected all these visits might be a ruse to size me up for a potential recovery job. Most of the work Cabell and I did as Hollowers was for-hire; we went into vaults looking for lost or stolen family heirlooms and the like.

Neve laid two rows of three cards out on the table, then sat back with a satisfied nod.

“I only need one row,” I protested, then stopped. It didn’t matter. Anything to kill these last ten minutes. I gathered the remaining cards into a neat pile. “Go ahead and flip them.”

Neve turned over the bottom row. Wheel of Fortune reversed, Five of Wands, Three of Swords. Her face scrunched up in annoyance.

“I read the three positions as situation, action, and outcome,” I explained, though I suspected she knew all this. “Here, the Wheel of Fortune reversed is saying you’ve been drawn into a situation that is beyond your control, and you’ll have to work harder to see your search through. Five of Wands advises you to wait out the situation and not jump into things if you don’t have to. And the outcome, with Three of Swords, is usually a disappointment, so I’m going with, you won’t find whatever it is you’re looking for, through no fault of your own.”

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