20 Birdie #3
I turn the cup once, twice, three times. Opening my eyes, I glance down at the saucer. Hortense placed a napkin on it while my eyes were closed. Feeling a little self-conscious, I flip the cup over onto the saucer. “Did I do it right?”
She chuckles. “I can see you’re a perfectionist. You and Jasper have that in common.” At my pointed look she adds, “There’s no wrong way to flip a cup, dear. Shall we read it?”
I nod, sitting forward in my chair.
Reaching over the rest of the tea things, she takes my cup from the saucer. Her heavily lined forehead scrunches as she narrows her eyes behind those thick glasses. As I watch, she slowly turns the cup, first this way, then that, muttering all the while.
I lean closer, elbows on the table. “What do you see?”
“Hmm, it’s just as I thought.” She points into the cup. “You have the snake here, dear. Clear as day. A sign you’ve been walking a difficult path. But the new moon is a good omen of new beginnings. And there’s a hook here too.”
“What does a hook mean?”
She glances at me over the cup, her eyes flashing with mischief. “It means someone’s recently gotten under your skin. A new lover, no doubt?”
I hate myself for flinching. I hate myself more for instantly picturing Jasper’s sharp jawline and his cutting grey stare.
Hortense smirks. “Careful, dear. Interest can quickly lead to obsession. But I see a wall here too.” She points into the cup again, tipping it slightly. “You put up barriers not easily crossed. You keep the world out, but at what cost if it also locks you in, hmm?”
Huffing, I reach across the table for the cup. “You can’t see all that.”
Hortie hands it to me with a laugh. “See for yourself.”
I turn it left and right. The bottom and sides are dotted with wet leaves, but nothing in any pattern of walls and moons and snakes. Okay, there is a little squiggle that sort of looks like a hook.
“Tell me what you see.”
I set the cup down on the table, gently pushing it away. “Yeah, I’m not falling for that again.”
“Falling for what?”
“Jasper played this game with me the other day with the tarot deck.”
Her brows arch. “He let you do a reading for him?”
“It wasn’t so much a reading as it was an awkward mumbling. I pulled the Death card and told him he was being haunted by his own obligations. Then, tonight, he was attacked so . . .”
Her lips twitch. “I hardly think the two are related. Just tell me what you see.”
Sighing, I pick up the cup again. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“You don’t need any deep knowledge of tasseomancy. I have plenty of that. I’m merely testing your instincts. Read the cup, dear.”
I tip the cup forward a little, then back. “Is there . . .” I point to a little clump of leaves. “This might be a dog.”
She nods. “Keep going.” Pickles tries to hop on the table, angling for the dish of milk, but she bats him away. He scampers off with a hiss.
“I do think I see the hook,” I admit. “Here near the top, right? I don’t see a wall or a snake, but this here at the bottom . . .” I tip the cup again, turning it slightly. “It looks a little like . . . a mushroom maybe? Is that significant?”
She beams at me, reaching for the cup.
“What does all that mean?”
“The dog is a symbol of loyalty and devotion,” she explains. “It tells me that when you give your heart away, you give it fully and without guile.”
The fine hairs on my arms prickle. A new moon for new beginnings. A hook for interest that verges on obsession. A dog for loyalty. A wall for barriers no one can breach. “And the mushroom?”
She smiles. “I think the mushroom was perhaps meant for me. A sign to keep my warty old nose out of other people’s love lives.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Why is that?”
“The mushroom speaks of a love that is slow to grow. You can’t rush it or force it . . . no matter how much one might wish to.”
“Does that mean you’ll hold off on your matchmaking schemes?”
She hums, setting my cup aside in favor of a slice of tea cake. “Perhaps.”
A moment of companionable silence stretches between us. “Can I ask another question?” I finally say.
“Of course, dear.”
“You don’t have to answer but . . . why does Jasper hate tasseomancy so much?”
She shrugs, cutting into her slice of lemon cake with her fork. “He just gets upset because I only ever see one thing in his leaves.”
I don’t know why my heart is suddenly skipping faster. “What do you see?”
“A swan,” she replies through a mouthful of cake. “Always a swan. Only a swan. It’s why he won’t let me read for him anymore.”
“And . . . what does a swan signify?”
There’s a twinkle in her eye as she smiles at me. “Swans mate for life, Birdie. In tasseomancy, the swan symbolizes a great love, a soul mate.”
My own smile falls as I cast a glance over my shoulder towards the back door. “And I take it Jasper doesn’t want a soul mate?”
Her smile turns sad. “No. He doesn’t. But the leaves can’t lie, Birdie. He’ll have one whether he wants it or not. Somewhere out there, Jasper’s swan is swimming, looking for him. Once they find each other, there’ll be no escaping fate . . . for either of them.”