“You were saying?” I prompted, putting my cup down.
Maggie drummed her fingernails against the table. “Well, not every vision of mine comes to pass. I forgot about it in the end. Although, seeing Adrianna for the first time certainly gave me pause. But still nothing happened. That is, until a week ago …” She watched me carefully as she added, “I saw you battling an eerie. Killing it. A feat even more impressive now I’ve met you and can’t detect magic in your veins.”
I willed my face into a neutral expression. A blank portrait.
Maggie studied every inch of my face, her concentration almost feral in its intensity. “Your outline’s all fogged up.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and continued. “You’re gonna be an ache between the ears. I can feel it.”
Irritation built in my chest, demanding to be let out. “Why bother with a reading then?”
Maggie’s hand dropped back to the table, and she peered at me from under a scowling brow. “You can’t ignore the visions, child.”
Child. Condescending hag, I thought viciously.
“Do we have a deal? What say you, Serena?” Maggie spoke my name softly. Almost reverently.
I took another sip of sweet tea to buy myself time. She might see me failing the trials … Ancestors help me, she might predict my death. No one should have that hanging over them. But running through the options, this seemed the best way. The only way to avoid potential bloodshed or becoming the victim of an ungodly curse.
“Fine.” I took a gulp of chamomile, seeking to steady my nerves.
Maggie bolted upright and marched into a back room beside the kitchen.
Liora inclined her head to me, whispering, “Are you sure?”
I wanted to say no, of course not. I shrugged instead and sought Adrianna’s advice across the table. “Will she keep her word?”
Adrianna’s nostrils flared. “Yes.”
She sounded annoyed by the fact. They had a history, obviously. Something she hadn’t been willing to share. I chose to ignore it. “Then, yes. I’m sure.”
All around the table were jittery expressions and tense body language. Definitely not reassuring. Anxiety got the best of me, sending my foot into a toe-tapping rhythm beneath the table. Something stalked and clawed at my insides, wanting to run away. But it felt too late to back out now. Maggie was rejoining us from the back room, muttering to herself. She carried a few items. One, a bundle of herbs wrapped in a silver ribbon that got thrown in the fire. Then, she set to laying the table with a black mirror, a card deck, and a velvet bag containing what appeared to be small bones.
Maggie was still talking to herself—I couldn’t understand a word.
All at once, the flames crackling in the hearth flashed purple. I flinched and watched as it became an inferno, licking the sides of the chimney, belching out pungent smells. Wood chips, rosemary, and cinnamon saturated the air.
Maggie settled back into her backless chair opposite me. The mumbling stopped, but her silver eye began to twitch. The amber one drifted. Staring into nothingness. “Give me your name: your full name,” she rasped. As if the words she’d spoken had taken a toll.
A hot, sick twist in my stomach followed. “Serena Smith.”
Sweat beaded on Maggie’s upper lip. “Smith doesn’t sound right. D’you go by any other names?”
The cabin’s walls, the fumes from the fire—the very air—seemed to close in. Trapping me. “I’m a Smith. That’s my family name.”
Maggie gave me a bland smile and waited.
Something itched beneath my skin. A flush of heat followed. I could taste burning. Whatever was inside—my magic—it was getting restless.
Frazer’s hand twitched atop the table. As if he wanted to reach out and grab mine. My eyes shifted to his, and he looked toward the door. You don’t have to do this. She can’t possibly take on all of us.
He meant it, too. That swell of anxiety—the itch … It settled as his presence anchored and sheltered me. Like a shadow in the midday sun, he stopped me from igniting; from being swept away by my own magic.
He gave me courage.
My eyes went to Maggie’s. “I don’t know what you’re looking for exactly, but my mother used to call me Ena. And recently, I’ve been called Kovaysi, Matea and … siska.”
A whisper of pleasure at the word played through our bond.
Maggie hummed, satisfied. “That’s more like it—Fierce One, Sweet One, and sister. One day, you’ll go by many more names, but for now, those will have to do.”
Wilder had called me fierce. A vain, pathetic part of me wished it’d been Beautiful One.
Maggie shuffled the silver-backed cards. We all followed her every move, transfixed. Liora reached out and clasped my hand. I was grateful.
The tarot went face down on the table. The pattern, a six card semi-circle above a cross. Maggie picked up the shard of black mirror in her right hand, and her silver eye stared into it while the amber eye remained locked onto the spread.
The witch sighed heavily, leaning in, studying the cards while biting her lip. “This cross anchors me in your past.” She traced the line of the four cards and moved up to the crescent spread to say, “And this shows me your present trajectory. I’ll leave scattering the bones until last.”
Finding my throat like burning sand, I drained my cup of chamomile dry. Maggie didn’t seem to breathe as she flipped the cards over one by one. “The Reaper, the Tower, the Six of Swords, and the World,” Maggie reeled off without looking up from the cross. “Death has brought you great sadness. You’ve known the loss of both parents. And yet, one recent death has also brought you release.” She tapped the Tower with a sharp nail.
Gus? His mangled body floated into my mind’s eye. I tried to shove it away, but it stayed there, branded on the inside of my eyelids.
Maggie nodded as if she saw the nightmares. “Whoever he was, shed no tears for him. He was rotten. If he hadn’t been stopped, he would’ve carved you up and slit your throat for good measure.”
I felt a sudden, unexpected rush of gratitude for Hunter. It was one thing thinking he’d saved my life but quite another to know he had.
Maggie held the black glass in one hand while using the other to bring a cup to her lips. She downed the rest of the tea. Only once she’d placed it down did she continue in a quiet, rasping voice. “Mm… The World and the Six tells me that the journey you made from the Gauntlet to Aldar is permanent.” My heart slammed into my ribs as she touched the World card. Maggie must be powerful—how else would she know I’d originated from the Gauntlet?
“If you ever go back, it’ll be because the divide is no longer what it is now.”
Adrianna couldn’t contain herself, exclaiming, “What in the burning rivers does that mean? You can’t ever be more specific, can you?”
Maggie silenced Adrianna with a look and a snap of her teeth. Her attention then fixed on me, adding, “Your life in the human realm has died. You must focus on what’s in front of you.”
A hole smoldered in my gut—anger and grief mixing. I’d known that. Sort of. It still hurt, deeply, to think that John and Viola were now part of my past.
With deft fingers, Maggie flipped over the cards in the crescent spread. There lay the Queen of Wands, the High Priestess, the Mage, the Ace of Cups, the Ace of Wands, and the Wheel.
The witch was frowning, nibbling her lip, rubbing her eyes. She dropped the mirror to pour herself another cup of tea and wipe the sweat from her brow.
A whole rutting minute passed. My impatience and stomach-cramping anxiety ticked upward. Adrianna’s and Cai’s glaring and fidgeting didn’t help, either. The rest of us stayed motionless. Frazer and Liora were like me—prone to turning to stone when the truly wicked nerves kicked in.
Maggie simply drank her tea, staring at the spread.
Finally, she set the drained cup aside and reached for the bones.