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I step forward tentatively. I’m not much of a hugger, but Aunt Angelica wraps her long, thin arms around me and refuses to let go until I return her embrace with equal pressure. My throat feels tight, and my eyes burn, and I have no idea why.
I take a step back and clear my throat, throwing my hand out like I’m waving on the next act. “This is Roman.”
Aunt Angelica scoffs. “Montague. I know.” She looks at him over my shoulder, scrutinizing his every feature. “You remind me of your father.”
Roman’s face turns stony and I can practically feel the anger radiating from him. “I’ve never found that we have much in common.”
Angelica shrugs, unbothered by his sharp tone. “Don’t look so offended. You might be nothing like him in personality, but you could never go into hiding. Your face screams ‘Montague.’“
Roman glances away, his lips pulled into a thin line. Angelica looks at me with a knowing smile before turning and striding toward the back of the shop. “I can’t think out here. Too much incense, you’ll have to come sit down.”
Everythingsmells of sage and frankincense. I can’t see how it would be better over there, but nevertheless I follow her behind the velvet curtain, Roman trailing behind me.
“Let me get another deck,” Aunt Angelica says loudly as we duck under the fabric. “I use different cards for humans and witches, and then of course I’ll use different ones for you two.”
Glancing around, I’m slightly taken aback. I was expecting some sort of booth, like at a carnival, with perhaps a tiny table and some folding chairs, but the curtain hides a whole other room the same size as the magic shop. There is a table in the center, covered in several silks and surrounded by comfortable looking velvet armchairs. The lighting is tinged pink, and there are celestial paintings on the walls, giving the whole place an otherworldly feel.
“We didn’t actually come for a reading,” I tell Aunt Angelica quickly.
She cocks her head at me, her manicured eyebrows furrowing. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Well, come, sit, sit.” Aunt Angelica runs around to the far side of the table. “Let me just clean up then, and then we’ll chat. That last couple had the worst vibe. Can you feel it? I need aDustbuster,or something. Ugh!”
Her slightly manic demeanor as she buzzes around the room fills me simultaneously with warm nostalgia and slight anxiety.
Beside me, Roman is stiff, his entire body tight, as he breathes steadily through his mouth.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“The smell is giving me a headache,” he bites out.
I get the feeling that’s not all that’s giving him a headache. He hates my aunt’s erratic energy, the ghost tours, the smell of cheap incense, and the cobblestones.
What would he do if I reached out and took his hand? I’d like to offer comfort, in what is clearly an uncomfortable environment for him...maybe thanks for tolerating it on my behalf. I bite my lip, unmoving, and stretch my pinky finger forward.
“Got it!” Aunt Angelica cries.
“Fucking hell,” Roman mutters under his breath.
“Got what?” I ask, blinking a few times. I didn’t even notice she’d walked away from the table.
“I don’t have aDustbuster,but I do have a rose quartz, which some might say is just as good.” She glances around, before scrawling a quick rune over her crystal, causing it to glow slightly. She winks conspiratorially at us. “Don’t tell. I tell people they’re salt lamps.”
Roman’s scowl deepens, and he stares at the crystal like it personally offended him.
I sigh. “Do you want to wait outside?”
He debates it, then nods. He jerks his head toward the door. “I’ll be over there if you need me.”
I fight the almost uncontrollable urge to run after him, as I watch Roman exit the shop and stand directly outside the door with the posture of a sentry. As I watch, he tilts his face up to the sky, as if reveling in the fresh air then his shoulders slump—frustration, or exhaustion, it’s hard to say.
“He doesn’t like me.”
I turn back to Aunt Angelica and find her watching me watch Roman. A hint of embarrassment colors my cheeks. Although, as I’m about to tell her we’re getting married, I suppose it’s alright if she sees me watching and draws whatever conclusion she likes. “I’m sure that’s not true. He’s just...” I cast around for something she’ll understand. “A Scorpio.”
She doesn’t laugh as I expected, instead seeming to take my statement seriously. “Yes, I can see that. I’ve seen his whole chart before, back when I used to look at all the new babies, you know,” she waves a hand. “But I can’t remember all of it off the top of my head. I’d die to know all the placements. I’d bet there are some fire signs in his first house.”
