“Well, talk about pedestrian and commonplace. Is that what you think? You have eyeliner and a leather jacket, so you’re some hot shit familiar? That’s pretty fuckin’ cringe.This,“ she gestured to herself, “is an aesthetic. It doesn’t make me anything other than well-dressed. Seems like you’re the only one playing dress up, cat boy. Poorly, if we’recounting backward. I don’t know whatyou’retrying to do, but your shirt and your pants are two completely different colors, and neither of them is the same as your boots. Amateur effort, three out of ten. Mid. At best.”
He was laughing before she had even finished. “Aesthetic does not make a witch. On that, we completely agree.”
Harper crossed her arms, unmollified.
“And my shirt ismeantto be lighter, I’ll have you know. But that doesn’t answer my question. Are you a witch or not?”
She swallowed hard, shrugging miserably, annoyed at the humiliation that filled her.He’s a familiar, an imp. He’s used to dealing with real witches, not drop-outs. As soon as you tell him the truth, he’s probably going to scratch your curtains and throw up in your shoe.
“I-I don’t know that I am.” She laughed weakly, a pathetic, limping sound even to her own ears. “I’ve been in the junior coven all my life. I attended the Collegium for all of my pre-recs and cores—“
“I went to the Collegium,” he interrupted her again, a wistful expression taking up residence on his handsome, angular face. “With my witch, of course. Such an excellent experience for a witchling new on her path. That’s where you truly learn the meaning of sisterhood for the first time and the strength of the circle. Together, we are strong. When those bonds of sisterhood are broken, well . . . one is no different than any other human. Just with better books. What is it that you’re studying?”
Harper opened her mouth to correct him, that she studied at the Collegium no longer, that she hadn’t chosen a discipline, that she was the one no different from any other human, but he had whipped away, staring at an empty corner beside her loveseat. His attention was a herky-jerky thing, picking up conversation threads and abandoning them just as quickly.Typical cat.
He was snooping through her entire house, she realized in exasperation. Opening cupboards, peeking at the pile of mail on the table, opening her refrigerator and peering inside.Maybe he’s looking for evidence that you’re even a witch. Fat chance of him finding it. Or maybe he’s still deciding whether or not to kill you.
“Divination?” He whirled in triumph, gesturing to the line of unwashed tea cups on her counter, dark eyebrows arched in waiting, and she heated. “Tasseomancy?”
She had got the idea in her head after her last visit to Azathé, that perhaps reading tea leaves might be the specialty she had been searching for.
When she had entered the tearoom that day, Harper had hesitated at the host stand, taking a deep breath. The little cat meowed, leading her to a small table on the opposite end of the room from where she normally sat. There was no scroll in sight. Instead, Harper was obliged to use a small arrow marker to denote the time, date, and location of her birth. Her order would be based on her ascendant sign, her moon sign, and her sun sign. No other input was taken.
Once she had moved the arrow marker to the correct points, she had fidgeted in her seat. Her fingers itched to pull out her book, quieting her mind and losing herself in the familiar, but she decided that day she would try something new. Her focus instead shifted to the line of books beside her table. To her surprise, they were all on methods of divination. Tarot meaning journals, runic keys, a chart showing how to read bones. And there, just on the end of the shelf, a book on reading tea leaves. She pulled it out with interest, thumbing it open and quickly losing herself in the instructions.
When her tea cart rolled up to the table, it contained a dainty sampling of three different finger sandwiches — each representing her astrological signs — a steaming pot of black tea with peach and ginger and three individual teacups. Harper had looked up sharply, glancing around to see if the cart would be rolling on to deposit the cups elsewhere, but when it did not move, she realized they were all for her.
“To practice your tasseomancy.”
The voice melted from the shadows once more, a ripple of black satin that shivered down her spine, and her thighs had tightened. Harper didn’t know what it said about her that she was so turned on by merely a voice. A disembodied voice, no less.What do you mean you don’t know what it says? It means you’re so horny you could crawl out of your skin.
Depression, she had learned, was a fickle thing. It wrapped around her like a well-worn blanket most of the time, but on the rare occasions she was able to shake it off — like that afternoon in the tea shop — her other impulses flared to life, leaving her ravenous. If there had been a menu option to bend over the table and let that mellifluous, silky voice rail her into next week, she would have ordered two and a third to take home.
“Oh, um, thank you. That’s perfect. I read tea leaves in one of my core classes, but it was a short section. For as much tea as I’ve been drinking, I’ll be an expert in no time,” she joked, unwilling to allow the voice in her head to remind her it would likely be one more thing at which she tried and failed.
“Well, we’re thrilled to have you practice your craft beneath our roof,” the voice had hummed, a note of amusement warming it. “Tea is more than hot water and some dried-out leaves. It’s an elixir of health, and it reminds us to make time for simple joys. Nothing can rush a steeping leaf, and there is no problem that cannot be paused to enjoy a hot cup. Tea forces us to slow down and exist uninterrupted in a small moment. That’s what’s left at the bottom of your cup — the dregs of your problems. Reading the leaves will help you realize what you need to do to banish them from your life.”
“That’s a very good way of looking at it,” she’d murmured, telling herself the heat she felt in her face was from the steaming tea cup and nothing more.
The shadowy voice was neither male nor female, only dark and sinuous, a whispering presence that comforted as much as it confounded.Intelligent and kind and completely fuckable. She was not attracted to people the same way her school friends had been. She needed to know the person first, be attracted to something aboutthem, not merely the hormone-triggering idea of them, and regardless of what they may have looked like, the owner of the shadowy voice had captured her attraction.What if they really are just the menu? Can you grind on a menu?
“That’s one of the reasons I like coming here,” she continued after a moment, ordering herself to get it together. “To quiet my mind.”
“Mmm, yes. It is a good place for that. Quieting our minds is one thing; better still to fill them with knowledge and compassion. Less room for despair. In any case, there’s no vexation on either side of the veil that cannot be eased with a hot cup of tea and a good book. I’ll let you get back to your studies.”
Harper wasn’t sure if she’d fully grasped the hang of reading the leaves yet, but it gave her something to practice in the evenings. She was going through an insane amount of tea, but at least she was hydrated.
Holt arched an eyebrow expectantly.
“Tea leaves,” she admitted sheepishly. “But no, I haven’t chosen a discipline yet.”
“Divination is a very worthy area of study. One of the finest and most difficult. But be aware — heavy is the head that wears the laurel of knowing. With knowledge comes power, and with power comes responsibility.”
“Did you just give me a superhero speech?”
“Responsibility,” he went on peevishly, “inevitably leads to sacrifice. You must bear all at once, and it is a burdensome thing.” His tone had grown somber, and his eyes seemed to glow.
“I don’t think I have to worry about that because I’m not very good.”
