After Rae Campbell is murdered by her abductor, she wakes in a world that exists parallel to ours- one which diverged in 1761, when a band of Scottish Highlanders joined with the Skin-Walking Kituwah tribe to oust the British from Appalachia.
Rae b...
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I float in a fog as I sit with the women before the fire. A white, porcelain teacup set on a delicate saucer is pressed into my hands, and somewhere in the distance, I hear the whistle of a kettle. The next moment, one of the crones is sprinkling leaves in my cup, and the next thing I know, it is filled to its rim with hot water.
The scent of the steam that wafts off the liquid is strange- I get hints of orange peel and root beer; an odd combination for a tea, I find myself thinking.
I begin to sweat- the heat from the fire and the heat between my palms is overwhelming.
"Quatie is gifted in tasseography," the whisperer informs me as Nana- Quatie- steps forward.
Tasseography. It is a word that I have never heard.
"The leaves will tell us your future, child. For this to work, you must concentrate. Drink your tea- with every sip, focus on this question: 'What is my fate?'"
I do as I am bid. The liquid burns my tongue, and the curls around my face spring forward, dampened with sweat. As I drink, all of the women but Quatie begin to chant again.
The teacup rattles against the saucer in my hand.
When I am finished, Quatie snatches the cup from my grasp. She twirls it counter clockwise- once, twice, a third time, and then tips the cup upside-down onto the saucer. She pauses, takes a deep breath, and mutters something in her mother tongue before twisting the saucer three times as well. Then, she lifts the cup back up from the saucer and peers inside.
Another woman- I don't see who- hands me something and orders me to chew it. I grimace at the bitter taste, but do as I am bid, focusing on the expressions that flit over Quatie's features to distract myself from the flavor.
Her brows furrow, deeply, and her eyes squint as she focuses on the leaves that remain stuck inside the cup.
"I see a dragon shape at the rim- you will have many large and sudden changes in your immediate future. This wavy line indicates that your journey will be a difficult one."
Her forehead clears, and a small, satisfied smile plays across her lips. "A heart beside a moon- you will find great happiness and experience a deep and abiding love."
Her eyes slide further down the cup, and her smile vanishes. Her skin grows pale, and the lines around her face deepen. "Snakes and worms are intertwined, here- secret enemies will be a great danger to you. You must beware. And at the bottom of the cup..." she pauses, and then drops the teacup back onto its saucer as though it has burned her fingertips.
Her face is bone-white, as white as the roots of her hair, as the pearls around her throat.
"A kettle," she whispers, and all of the crones suck in their breaths.
I look around at their pale faces, all filled with varying shades of terror and trepidation. Even Vanora, who took such an immediate dislike to me, looks concerned.
