Page 239 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

“A kook?”

Daria smiles. “I think the scientific term is, nutty.”

“Nutty is okay, as long as she knows her stuff.”

“She does,” Daria promises. “It is only her bedside manner that is a little unnerving.”

“I don’t mind that,” I say. “It’d be nice to talk to her all the same.”

“Okay then,” she says. “I’ll write down her address for you. It’s not far from here, about a ten-minute drive or so.”

* * *

Five minutes later and two books richer, I get back into the car and make my way to an uphill road. It’s barren and desolate, hardly anything growing at all, not even weeds.

That’s not the most promising sign for a woman whose job is theoretically nurturing life.

But I promise myself not to pass judgment too early.

At the peak of the hill is a lone cottage. Almost a shack, really. The front door is painted a violent red color.

I park, uneasy already, and trudge up to it.

I raise my fist to knock, but before I can, the door is yanked open inwards.

I step back with a start as I come face to face with a tall woman with the longest silver hair I’ve ever seen.

She could be anything between thirty and eighty, and she’s dressed in a long, flowing kaftan embroidered with elephants and birds. A dozen different, multi-colored beaded necklaces and chains hang from around her neck and massive hoop earrings adorn her ears, along with several other piercings.

She certainly looks the part.

“Hello,” she greets warmly. “I sensed you were coming today.”

I raise my eyebrows. “You did?”

“Of course. Please come in. I’m Aracelia.”

“I’m Esme,” I say with a hesitant smile.

I follow her into the house. It’s pared back more than I expected, considering her eccentric fashion sense. I’d even go so far as to call it “cute.”

“So, I came because I heard you were a midwife?” I say nervously. I’m wondering if maybe I’d gotten the wrong house.

“I have delivered my share of babies,” she nods. “And I do practice midwifery. As well as many other natural arts.”

I frown. “Like, um…”

“I tell fortunes,” Aracelia says, turning to me dramatically. “I can read people’s auras, perform seances when necessary and communicate with loved ones who have passed.”

I raise my eyebrows. She’s deadly serious. Daria was right—“nutty” is putting it lightly.

But I can’t help but be intrigued. My desire to speak to her about my baby has all but disappeared.

No sense in wasting the trip out here, though, right?

“Can you read my future?” I ask.

“Claro,” she confirms. “For only eight hundred pesos, I’ll give you a full reading.”

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