Chapter 3
BLAIRE
Isit in Flora’s chair. This room smells like vanilla with a hint of the cigarettes she’d sneak after hours once the shop closed.
For forty-five years, she led countless people to this table to read for them.
I spent many weekends right here, watching her flip cups onto saucers.
She brewed the thick Turkish coffee and read the inside of the cup as if the message were written in cursive. That was always my favorite.
My vision blurs as the memory takes over.
“You use intuition,” she’d say. “That tingle deep inside your body. That’s magic. What do you see and feel when you look inside? Tell me.”
Now I’m sitting here, looking into blue-green eyes. It’s a color that’s hard to place. The man stares back at me as he finishes the rest of the lavender tea. He politely sets his mug to the side.
“Shall I call you Jamie?” I say in the low light.
“Yes,” he says.
His posture straightens, and he places his large hands on the table. I light the long candlesticks between us, allowing the flames to flicker. Our shadows dance against the wall, and the space grows more intimate.
“What are you hoping to get from this reading?”
“Insight,” he answers.
“Would you like me to focus on professional or personal?”
He chews on the corner of his lip. “Personal.”
“Okay.” I reach forward, turning the burner on that’s sitting to the side.
When I poured his tea, I prepped the coffee, making it exactly how my aunt had taught me. The liquid is thick in the cup.
Steam rises from the top, and he inhales. “Smells amazing.”
“Take a sip,” I offer. “Tastes great too.”
He does.
“I expected it to be bitter,” he says.
“Relax. You’re still tense. Close your eyes and take a deep breath in and then out,” I say.
His eyelids flutter closed, and his shoulders sag on the exhale. The candlelight moves over his face, and I follow the stubble along his jaw. I allow myself to memorize him. He’s too handsome for his own good, but underneath the confidence, there’s a weariness he can’t hide from me.
“You’re staring,” he says.
“I’m reading your energy,” I explain.
One side of his mouth tips up. “And what does the great witch see?”
“You’re a man who’s used to getting whatever he wants.” I keep my voice low, channeling my aunt. When she gave readings, I always wanted to lean in closer. “You’re not sure what to do when you’re not in control, and that keeps you up at night.”
His eyes open, and he pins me in place, like he has power over me.
“Hilarious,” he says in a calm tone.
“We’re just getting started,” I tell him, knowing I struck a nerve. “If you’re uncomfortable, you’re more than welcome to stop the reading here and leave.”
He grins. “I’m not letting you out of this. I’ll see it through.”
“Great.” I glance down at his cup, knowing we’re ready for the next step. “Now you’ll flip your cup onto the saucer in one motion.” I put the saucer on top of the cup and scoot it toward him.
He blinks a few times. “I’ll make a mess.”
I stand, grabbing another saucer and cup. I pour the rest of the coffee into mine, then add the plate on top. “We’ll do it together, okay? We’ll move it in a circle three times, clockwise.”
On the count of three, we turn them upside down onto the saucers at the same time, then move them in a circle.
“Now, make a wish,” I tell him.
Our eye contact doesn’t budge, and if I’ve ever wished I could read minds, it’s now.
“Done,” he finally says, and we set our dishes on the table.
For a moment, it feels like time stops.
“What was in that tea?” he asks.
“Lavender,” I say. “How do you feel?”
“Like you put a spell on me.”
My face cracks into a smile. “I’ve actually heard that one before.”
My response pleases him. He leans back in the chair, and we hold a silent conversation. Neither of us interrupts the moment, and I test how long until he grows uncomfortable.
“How does someone become a witch?” he finally asks.
“I was born with the gift.”
“Right.” He studies me like a skeptic.
“And what is it you do for a living?” I ask.
“I’m a classified troublemaker.” He smirks.
“I believe you.”
Electricity streams between us, and I wonder if he feels it too. That sensation should be a warning bell, something I’ve never experienced before. While I probably should, I don’t end our session here. Not when I need to make fifty thousand dollars in less than four months.
Overhead, the floorboards creak from one end of the building to the other.
Jamie leans in. “Can I ask you something? Do you really believe this? It seems like a really good costume and a tourist attraction.”
I tilt my head. “What do you think?”
“I’m not sure. It’s hard for me to read you,” he admits.
“Ahh. But somehow, I see through you like glass,” I say, clearing my throat. “We should do your reading.”
I scoot my chair closer to the table, sliding the candles and my cup to the side. Our knees find each other under the little table. We freeze, but neither of us moves away. Flora taught me to get close and give a reading as if I were telling the person a deep, dark secret.
I swallow hard, tilting his cup to read by the lamplight.
“There’s a bird near the rim.” I grab my pointing wand to show him. “News is on its way. Something you’ve been waiting on or maybe even dreading.”
“More generic advice,” he says, but he leans in further.
“There’s a road under it, and there’s a man walking with a valley behind him.
That’s you. You’re ready to move off the path that was set forth for you.
” I turn the cup a few degrees. “In the past, you were forced to do something you didn’t want to do.
It was meant to destroy you, but it only destroyed your ego.
You felt like you needed to prove yourself or …
” I close my eyes, taking in the energy.
“Not prove. Discover. You discovered who you were without the identity you’d once known. It’s behind you, in the distance.”
His jaw tightens. The easy charm slips, and what’s under it is a man who hasn’t slept soundly in months.
I lift my brow. “Shall I keep going?”
He says, “Yes,” but by how tense he is, I think the real answer is no.
“You’re respected. Well liked.” I laugh. “Oh, wow, really liked.”
Beside the road are scatters of fine, dark specks. They crowd the handle, dozens of them, reaching out like tentacles or hands.
“There are a lot of people who want pieces of you, and if you keep giving yourself away, you’ll have nothing left for yourself. Everything is an exchange.”
His eyebrows don’t lift this time. This is the moment the skeptic stops arguing and listens.
I let him sit with that for a few seconds, keeping my voice low and calm.
“I’m sorry for what you’ve been through.
It’s been difficult for you. Only the strong survive it,” I tell him, and I mean it.
“But your eyes are open now. There’s happiness waiting for you on the other side.
The darkness you’ve been living in, the lost feeling you’ve experienced, it won’t last. Change is happening. ”
I turn the cup the last quarter, toward the love line.
“And your love life is …” The rest of the sentence dies in my mouth.
Flora drew this shape for me once, on the back of an envelope. It’s the symbol for those who will find their one true love. It’s the real deal, love that can’t be ignored or denied. Twin flames energy. I’ve never witnessed it in a reading, and here it sits, in a skeptic’s mug.
“You …” I don’t finish that one either.
He’s staring at me, and I can’t find the strength to meet his eyes. I focus, keeping my wand pointed toward the bottom.
“I’m doomed,” he says, unamused.
I swallow hard. “Are you even ready for true love?”
“Pfft. It doesn’t exist.”
He’s already viewing every relationship through that lens.
“What is your current love life like?”
“I’m not discussing this with you.”
“Ahh. You’re a flinger.”
I know his type. Stubborn. Man-whore. Dangerous. He looks like the type of guy who falls hard and fast, then moves on.
Jamie rolls his eyes, like he can read my thoughts.
The lie flies from my mouth. “It won’t be anything more than a flirty fall fling.”
Guilt takes hold of me because what if I’m doing him a disservice by lying?
It’s the first time I’ve not told the truth during a reading.
But if he were to avoid his next opportunity, he might miss meeting the love of his life, his twin flame.
As I glance up at him, his eyes tell me he’d never accept a reading that says true love.
Skeptics. This is me protecting him, even though I shouldn’t.
“A fling.” He sighs. For half a second, he looks almost disappointed, which is wild for a man who came in thinking I was a joke.
“You can reject whatever doesn’t resonate with you.”
He nods. “I think I’ve actually heard enough this time.”
When he stands, the room shrinks around me.
“For what it’s worth, you almost had me.”
“I don’t think you’re ready to hear what I have to say.”
“Yeah, yeah. Is there anything else I need to know?”
I twist his cup until I’ve seen the entire reading. “See it through to the end.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” The corner of his perfect lips lifts, and then he shakes his head. “I didn’t get your name.”
“Blaire.”
“Blaire Witch?” he asks.
“Blaire Wardwell, but Witch also works. It was my roller derby nickname.” I don’t know why I just shared that with him.
“A derby girl?” His eyes flick up and down me. “I can see that.”
He drops a few hundred-dollar bills on the table before he leaves. “Thanks for a good time.”
“You already paid.”
“I’m tipping,” he says.
After what Doris Jean told me about the roof, I’m not about to turn his money away.
“Do I know you?” he asks.
My heart begins to thump. “Maybe in another life, but not this one.”
Our eyes lock for another second, and then he’s pushing through the beads that separate the back from the front.
Seconds later, the bell over the door rings, telling me he’s gone.
I let out a breath and move to the front, where Josie is restocking crystal necklaces.
She turns toward me. “How’d it go?”
“Just another one of those overly attractive douchey dudes who treats me like I’m a party favor. Is everything going okay up here?”
“Yep, it’s perfect.”
“If you need me, I’ll be cleaning and resetting the private reading table. Let me know if it gets too busy up here,” I say with a smile just as a group of ladies enters with bright smiles.
“I got it,” Josie says, waving me away and greeting them.
After I blow out the candles, my own cup is still face down on the saucer, so I turn it back over.
The grounds have run down the sides, and I read my cup like I’d read a stranger’s. I almost feel like my aunt is standing at my shoulder, telling me to stop overthinking.
My cup also has a road, near the rim, except it doesn’t drift away; it runs toward me, up a mountain—no, a volcano. There’s a wall with a rope, like it’s set up for me to climb. I turn the cup clockwise, and at the bottom is the same symbol that was in Jamie’s cup … two hearts interlocked.
I set the cup down next to his and glance inside both. My head is woozy, and I place both palms on the table.
“Impossible,” I whisper.
“You okay? See a ghost?” Josie asks, nearly scaring me out of my skin. “Do we have any more amethyst on chains?”
“Oh, check in the jewelry locker. I think I saw some overstock at the bottom.”
“Great, thanks!”
She walks away, and I grab my phone, taking a photo of the grounds at the bottom of the cup for reference.
I lied to Jamie about his love life when I shouldn’t have.
“I don’t accept that reading as my own,” I say out loud, speaking it into existence. “Love like that only leads to heartbreak. Especially when someone isn’t ready.”
I reach to clear the cups, and the mood ring on my pointer finger stops me. It’s the violet Flora called the color of love. That purple only shows up once the body underneath stops bracing.
I work it off my finger and push it into my pocket, where no one can see it, not even me.