My stomach flipped. “Like you…?”
“A seer.”
“Licia?” I said. Her name felt like foreign in my mouth. Like I’d forgotten how to say it.
“She’s been dreaming about you for years.” The mask didn’t shift.
“She’s been—how—?” The words came in pieces. “About me?”
“If you want to know your purpose,” the seer said, “she will know.”
“How do I find her?”
The seer’s hand jerked so suddenly I flinched, and her shoulders stiffened. Her lips twitched.
Then she spoke, but not to me.
“No,” she snapped. “Shut it. Show me the girl. I don’t want to hear it—show me the girl.” It was like she was arguing with someone inside her own mind. I mean I could do that to sometimes, argue with my own thoughts, but not out loud. Her hands clenched the edge of the table, knuckles white, trembling.
“Kera,” she said, voice urgent. “Get me the bowl on the right shelf, the one with the dried petals.”
I pushed to my feet, stumbling slightly as I crossed the room. The shelf was cluttered, jars filled with teeth and salt and curled things I didn’t want to name, bones tied in thread, shards of colored glass. There were so many things, but finally I saw it.
A wide clay bowl, shallow, filled with vibrant petals curled in on themselves. Some were browned at the edges. Fragile. Almost powder.
The seer ripped it from my hands as soon as I was within reach and slammed it onto the table. She seized a nearly burnt-down candle and pressed it deep into the bed of dried petals.
Her lips began to move, chanting something low and guttural, and every word made my skin crawl.
Then she screamed.
“Show me the girl!”
The petals ignited. Not slowly. Not softly. Theyerupted,a flash of searing pink flame that tore through the bowl like it had been waiting to burn. I staggered back, choking on the smoke, and my hand flew to my mouth. The seer’s chair shot backward as her whole body jerked like something had yanked her spine, and her head snapped backward with a crack.
“Gods—!” I lurched forward instinctively, reaching out for her. ”Are you—”
But before I could touch her something else spoke through her.
Low. Rumbling. Deep. Not a woman’s voice. Not a human voice.
“Golden buildings.” It said. ”A serpent. Paintings.”
The words rolled across the walls like thunder in a cave.
“Sheis waiting for you.”
Every hair on my body stood upright and something inside me recoiled. My body begged me to run, but I was locked in place. Staring. I needed answers. Then her body lurched again.
She gasped and tore the mask from her face with shaking hands. Her lips were pale. Her eyes, unreadable, wide.
“Something’s wrong,” she mumbled. Her voice was her own again.
Before I could ask, she was moving. Fast. Disoriented. She shoved the chair aside and nearly tripped over it as she reached for a bundle of dried sage. Her hands fumbled for a match and the edge of the sage flared orange, then flared white with smoke. She didn’t explain. She didn’t look at me. She started pacing the room, sweeping the bundle through the air with frantic movements. The smoke poured out in thick coils, trailing behind her as she muttered beneath her breath. The words were jagged. Hushed. Desperate. I only caught pieces.
Something about protection. Warding. Sealing.. She circled the table, then she circled me. The smoke clung to my skin like it was trying to hold me still.
“What was that?” I asked, forcing the words out. “What did you see?”
