The Price Guide to the Occult(11)
As Nor climbed the stairs to the Witching Hour, she passed by the bakery, where she could see Bliss Sweeney, her hands deep in a billowy ball of dough, talking animatedly with a customer. A line a few people deep zigzagged its way out the door.
Nor was holding her breath when she walked inside the little shop, but whatever she was expecting, it wasn’t there. A few tourists perused bins of healing crystals; others awaited Vega, the on-site palm reader, to tell them their fortune. A group of chatty older women awaited this morning’s guided walking tour. Fern Blackburn’s book was prominently displayed by the cash register, but it didn’t seem to be garnering much attention. In fact, it didn’t look like they’d sold many copies at all.
Though her mother had been gone for years, there had never been a time when Nor hadn’t feared — even expected — her return. It had always seemed inevitable, a recurrent nightmare that leaked into her dreams. Even on the brightest of days, the dread of Fern’s return was a black smudge on the window, blocking out the light.
Perhaps her fears were unwarranted; perhaps her mother’s charismatic hold over people wasn’t quite as strong as Nor feared it might be. Or maybe she’d changed, transformed into someone benevolent and kind. Maybe they’d be lucky this time? But as soon as Nor allowed that thought to comfort her, she remembered this — no one in the Blackburn family had ever been considered lucky.
By late afternoon, the farmers’ market had been disassembled. The last whale-watching tour of the day had returned hours ago, and though Savvy had popped in a while back, Nor had quickly lost her to the tented space Vega used to conduct his readings.
In an attempt to keep herself from falling asleep behind the counter, Nor started to unpack a box of incense onto a nearby shelf. The names of these things had always amused her: Citrus Linen, Fresh Waterfall Mist, Heaven.
Who in the hell has to decide what heaven smells like? she thought. I would hate that job.
The sound of clanging bells drew Nor’s attention to the door. Madge entered the shop, followed by a handful of tourists, all buzzing with excitement from the afternoon tour. Nor held her breath, but most of them were more excited about purchasing a breakup spell kit or protection charm than her mother’s book.
Madge lowered the hood of her cloak. Wisps of her glossy straight black hair were stuck to her flushed cheeks. Nor searched Madge’s face for any sign of yesterday’s distress but thankfully saw none.
“Think you could pop over to the Milk and Honey Spa and pick up some essential oils for me?” she said to Nor. “Otherwise, Vega’s evening readings will be sans aromatherapy.”
“That would be quite the travesty.”
“Mock if you must, but most people find having their fortunes read very comforting,” Madge insisted. “You of all people might benefit from letting him take a look at yours.”
“Fat chance of that happening,” Nor said, “but don’t let that stop you from trying.”
“You know I won’t.” Madge tugged on Nor’s wild hair fondly, and though Nor rolled her eyes, she smiled nonetheless.
“Just make me a list of what you need,” Nor told Madge. “I’d hate to get ylang-ylang when what you really need is sandalwood.”
“Now that would be a travesty,” Madge agreed. She handed Nor a quickly jotted list as well as a stack of flyers for Nor to leave on the spa’s counter. As she did, Savvy emerged from Vega’s tent looking suspiciously delighted by something.
Madge seems to be back to her old self. Even Savvy and that exasperating look on her face are about as normal as it gets, Nor thought, feeling relieved.
“So tell me,” Nor asked Savvy as the two traipsed toward the Milk and Honey Spa.
“Tell you what?” Savvy asked, feigning innocence.
“Don’t give me that. What did Vega say? Are you going to unexpectedly receive a large sum of money? Meet a tall and handsome stranger in a darkened alley?”
“Okay, first of all,” Savvy said, “if I meet any kind of stranger in a dark alley, I’m going straight for their tender parts. I don’t care how handsome they might be. Second, Vega said I am going to face an unexpected challenge, if you must know.” She absentmindedly tugged at the silver hoop in her left eyebrow. “And that it’s important I make a good impression this week.”
“A good impression on who? No one new or interesting ever comes here.” She caught a dirty look from a tourist walking by, and Nor leaned in closer to Savvy. “You know Vega’s predictions never really have anything to do with you specifically, right?” she said. “He’s probably told that fortune to ten other people today.”
“Well, if you’re suddenly such the expert fortune teller,” Savvy teased, offering Nor her outstretched palm, “you give it a try.”
Nor stared at Savvy’s hand. The last Blackburn daughter capable of palmistry was predictably Rona Blackburn. The closest anyone else had ever gotten was Greta, the second daughter, who had been given the heavy Burden of prophetic dreams. To the rest of the Blackburn daughters, foresight of any kind — reading tea leaves, palms, runes, or tarot cards — might as well have been a foreign language. To Nor, palmistry was just another piece of Rona Blackburn’s legacy in which she had no interest. She shook her head and looked up at Savvy, who was still grinning at her expectantly. “Just looks like a bunch of lines and squiggles to me.”