Page 108 of A Winding Wave of Magic
“This is what she left us for,” I muttered. Then I took a deep breath and pulled.
One step inside, we were assaulted by a cloud of sage, followed by a few scents I recognized (patchouli and peppermint) and others I couldn’t quite place filtering by on lazy tendrils of smoke.
The waiting room we walked into fit a few folding chairs on top of layered Oriental and kilim-style rugs. Worn pseudo-ethnic tapestries hung from curtain rods around all four walls, breaking only for a door at the far side of the room and a gift I recognized mounted next to it. The kimono, brought back from one of my dad’s deployments overseas, had once hung in our house at Camp Pendleton.
“You didn’t tell me she was a fraud.”
Jonathan took a seat in one of the chairs as he looked around the room, his eyes shimmering through his glasses. He was inspecting a lot more than just the decorating scheme.
I sat next to him, shifting uncomfortably when the fears of the last person who had been here jolted through my legs. The woman was desperately hoping her dead husband would tell herexactly where he had hidden her jewelry before he died. She needed it to pay her rent.
As a distraction for both of us, I pulled off a glove and held out my hand. “Is she? I want to See too.”
I wasn’t sure if he would let me touch him again after his earlier disclosure, but surprisingly, he shrugged and took my hand in his. Immediately, the tapestries and chairs assumed the same kind of glittering iridescence I had witnessed during our hike a few months ago. This time, however, the objects in the room seemed far less brilliant compared to the brightly lit forest.
“It’s because it’s alive,” Jonathan explained to my unasked question.
Could he read my thoughts while we were doing this?
“Generally, yes,” he answered. “You really must learn to shield.”
I scowled and yanked my hand away. Shimmer or not, he didn’t need to See every embarrassing thought that was running through my head.
His grin turned his eyes back to their normal tranquil green. “I was looking for signs of magic. Seer magic usually has a sort of silver hue about it.”
“I thought I looked blue,” I said, thinking of Rachel Cardy’s comments.
“You do,” he confirmed. “But underneath, there’s a subtle tint of silver. You can See it if you know what to look for.”
“But it’s not here?”
“Oh, it’s here all right,” he said. “It’s very strong in you, but not in this place. I was expecting more, considering her history with divination. Whatever she’s doing in there, it’s nothing to do with the Sight.”
A scuffle of chairs sounded from the other side of the kimono-clad wall, and the door opened. A woman with grayinghair and pockmarked skin exited. She had dark circles under both eyes and makeup was streaked over her cheeks and eyelids.
Bad news.
Jonathan glanced at me.
I shook my head. “Not her.”
“Cassandra?”
Jonathan and I both stood and faced my mother.
We both turned toward a tall woman with fair skin and bushy hair standing in the doorway. She looked different, I thought, and somehow the same. Her hair, the color of red bell peppers, was just as unruly as mine. Her long-fingered hands bore several rings of different sizes and metals, and a large, turquoise-studded belt around a denim shirt dress and orange palazzo pants. A thick purple scarf was wound over at least four long gold chains hanging from her neck, and an enormous pair of filigreed brass earrings the shape of spades dangled from her ears. She was everything one would expect from a fortuneteller: cartoonish, even, as if the costume made up for her lack of abilities.
There were a few more lines around her eyes and mouth, but she hardly looked much older than she had the last time I had seen her—almost sixteen years ago.
“Blackbird” echoed faintly in the back of my mind.
“You know who I am,” I said.
Her gaze softened, and I saw that we shared the exact same oceanic eyes. “Of course I do. I’d recognize you anywhere.” She turned her attention to the customer still dabbing her eyes with a stained shirtsleeve. “Marion, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news. Shall we investigate more next week? I’m sure Harold will show up then. I’ll even give you a deal. Two hundred for five sessions.”
Marion nodded and shrugged into a wrinkled raincoat. She sniffed back a few errant tears, and after Sybil accepted a few bills, she left the shop.
Jonathan and I stood alone with my mother. And like a knife just honed, as soon as the door latched, she sharpened right up.
