Page 240 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

I should keep my money in my pocket. Go back home, laugh about this crazy idea with Artem. He’ll tell me I was a fool for ever coming here, and I’d agree.

But I have an itch to do the exact opposite.

And for some reason, that’s the impulse I give into.

“Okay then,” I whisper.

She sweeps an arm to point me into the sitting room.

“Come this way.”

I follow her to an ornate table with a chair placed on either side. I half-expect to see a crystal ball, but there’s nothing in the center of the table except a small arrangement of flowers that smell fresh and fragrant. I can still see the morning dew clinging to some of the petals.

“Take a seat, please,” Aracelia directs me.

I expect her to join me at the table, but she turns around and goes back into the house. While she’s gone, I look around and admire her well-kept garden through the windowpanes.

I notice a pair of eyes on me, and I frown. But when I look, I see it’s just a massive tabby cat staring at me from between two flowering bushes.

“Hey there, little guy,” I whisper.

The cat yawns at me, bored already, and pads away out of sight.

A moment later, Aracelia appears with a pretty little pink teacup. Steam rises from the surface.

She sits down and sets it in front of me.

“It’s a special mix, made of entirely natural ingredients,” she tells me. “You must drink every last drop.”

I raise my eyebrows. “It won’t affect the baby, will it?”

She laughs. “Esmita, it’s only tea,” she says. “I need you to drink it so I can read the patterns in your tea leaves.”

“Oh,” I stammer. “Right.” My cheeks color a little as I accept the tea and take a sip.

It’s sweet, with a few slightly bitter notes, but it tastes comforting and I finish the cup in a few minutes. Aracelia watches me the whole time. Unmoving, unblinking.

She reminds me an awful lot of the tabby cat.

When I hand the mug back to Aracelia, she snatches it out of my hands and brings it right up to her eyes. She turns it this way and that, frowning and muttering to herself every few seconds.

“Hmm, interesting, very interesting.”

To be honest, the overall effect is a little cheesy. Like she learned how to be a psychic from watching bad infomercials.

But that itch that made me say yes to her offer in the first place hasn’t gone away. If anything, it’s intensified.

I lean in, trying to figure out what she’s seeing, but the cup is tilted up towards her.

I have to stifle a shriek when she slams the china cup back down and turns her huge gaze on me.

“You’ve had a strange life,” Aracelia announces.

It’s a pretty general deduction to make. I refuse to be so easily impressed.

I shrug. “Some might say that.”

“You’ve felt trapped in your past life,” Aracelia continues, unperturbed by my less-than-enthusiastic reaction. “You’ve dreamed of escape.”

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