Page 112 of Hearts Storm

Quickly clearing her throat, she grabs her purse and stands up so fast she almost knocks over her chair. “Well,” she squeaks. “I think that’s enough research for today. Thank you, Madame Solis, for your time.”

We all jump out of our seats, chairs scraping loudly against the floorboards, practically tripping over each other as we race for the door, spill out onto the porch, and hurry down the steps.

The crisp afternoon air has me immediately wrapping my sweater tighter around myself as we walk, keeping my eyes on my feet.

“Holy shit,” Sasha breathes. “Remind me to never do ‘research’ with you again, Noia.”

“I don’t know,” Lizzy mutters. “I thought it was pretty enlightening. Though I might need a stiff drink to process the fact that my brother is a freaking firestorm.”

She’s not wrong. If only he would open up, maybe we can move forward from the past.

forty-seven

So now, here I am, standing in front of the infamous purple cottage, hoping Madame Solis will pick up where she left off after I pulled away, breaking the connection.

Shoving my hands into the pockets of my hoodie, I try to ignore the way my heart is attempting to claw its way up my throat, failing miserably.

Will she be able to “see” me having sex with Logan in his office and what happened after he brought me home? Or, how about Brex’s dick down my throat in Portland, and what happened in the woods after our near-death experience?

Heat floods my cheeks, and I have to physically shake my head to clear the images from my brain.

What if she sees how I want them both and have absolutely no idea how to choose between a man who makes me burn and a man who makes me laugh?

Taking a deep breath, I climb the porch steps and knock before I can chicken out.

The door swings open almost immediately.

Jeez, it’s almost as if she’s been waiting for me.

“Ah.” Madame Solis’ smile is warm. Genuine. Not the cryptic, knowing smirk I expected from the last time we met. “I was wondering when you’d come back.”

Her salt-and-pepper hair is piled loosely on top of her head today, a few strands escaping to frame her face. She’s wearing a flowing burgundy skirt that brushes the floor and a simple black top, multiple silver bracelets clinking softly as she steps aside to let me in.

“Come in.”

When I step over the threshold, I immediately notice that the air smells different. Unlike the cinnamon and sweet orange from before, smoky sage curls lazily from a smudge stick resting in a ceramic bowl on the entryway table, and the earthy sweetness of sandalwood burns from a holder on one of the bookshelves.

The room is dimmer too. The bay windows are draped with sheer violet curtains that filter the afternoon light into something soft and dreamy.

“It feels different from last time,” I murmur, glancing around.

“Some readings require a certain atmosphere.” She gestures toward the table. A single candle flickers in the center, next to a single teacup and saucer waiting beside a steaming pot. “Please.”

Lowering myself into the chair, I press my knees together to keep them from knocking under the table.

“In order for me to get the most out of this reading, I need you to drink this,” she says, pushing the cup toward me.

I wrap my fingers around the warm porcelain and bring it to my lips. The first sip hits my tongue, and I’m surprised. It’s stronger. Bitter, with an undercurrent of something herbal I can’t quite name. Maybe rosemary? Whatever it is, it’s nothing like the sweet, honeyed chamomile she had us drink before.

Madame Solis watches me with those dark, knowing eyes as I take another sip, then another, until the cup is empty aside from the leaves at the bottom.

“Now.” Her voice is firm but soft. “Turn the cup upside down onto the saucer and rotate it three times counterclockwise.”

I do as she says, fingers trembling slightly as I turn the cup over and spin it.

“What is that going to do?” I ask, watching as she lifts the cup, peering into its depths, expression focused and intense.

“Help me see,” she explains simply, tilting the cup toward the candlelight. “The leaves form patterns at the bottom of the cup—symbols, if you will—revealing information the tea has drawn from your energy.”