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Solana picks out a few things for him, some soap, one of my oil blends, and a crystal, which really raises his brows. And finally, after a brief argument about whether she will take his money or not, he tosses a hundred-dollar bill onto the counter and tells her to keep the change.
Before we can say our goodbyes, the bells above the door jingle as Madame Dubois, the shop's in-house fortune teller, steps inside. Azrael stiffens at the interruption, and they meet each other’s gaze, something strange crackling in the air as Madame Dubois takes him in.
“Madame Dubois,” Solana greets her. “This is Willow’s—”
Madame Dubois holds up her hand, effectively silencing Solana before she disappears behind the private curtain of her little booth, only to return a moment later with a deck of tarot cards. Her gaze remains on Azrael as she shuffles, watching him with a strange fascination. Discomfort radiates from his body as he tightens his grip on my waist, waiting for whatever Madame Dubois is about to reveal.
It isn’t the first time she’s acted strangely. The woman is known for it. But it is the first time I’ve seen her so fixated on something.
We all watch as she draws a solitary card, her mouth tightening as tension creeps into her features. Her gaze snaps up to us as, without a word, she returns the card to the deck and goes back to her booth.
“What the hell is she doing?” Azrael grumbles under his breath.
That question is answered when Madame Dubois returns with something in her fist, an almost glazed expression on her face as she walks right up to Azrael and reaches for his hand.
He stiffens but doesn’t pull away as she drops a piece of raw obsidian into his palm and closes his fingers over it.
“Keep it with you,” she tells him under her breath. “Always.”
She doesn’t give him the opportunity to answer, probably sensing he doesn’t know what to say. But she does look at me, offering me a sympathetic glance that also sets my nerves on high alert.
“Congratulations, my dear.”
With that, she disappears into her booth and shuts the curtain, leaving us all dumbfounded.
“Well, that was odd,” Solana says, trying to dissolve the tension.
“That’s an understatement,” Azrael mutters. “I think we should get going.”
“I’ll bring you some new stock soon,” I tell Solana. “We can chat more then.”
She nods and pulls me in for a hug, whispering in my ear. “I like him.”
Her approval makes me smile, and I’m glad I never told her about the history between the Delacroix’s and my family. I doubt she’d feel the same if she knew all the hell we’ve been through so far just to get to this point.
“Thank you for the stuff,” I tell her. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”
With one last goodbye, Azrael ushers me out onto the street again, where a guard takes the bag from his hands and offers to store it in the car while we continue on.
“Where are we going now?” I ask.
Azrael leads me down the sidewalk, his arm secure around my waist as he scans the crowd. “Shopping.”
I look up at him in confusion. “Shopping for what?”
His eyes drift to my belly, warmth returning to his features. “Baby things.”
16
AZRAEL
Willow seems more at ease than before as we walk into Esmerelda’s, a boutique shop for baby and children’s clothing and custom pieces of furniture. The IVI guards stand outside. They look conspicuous, but that’s the point. If Caleb or any of those Disciples are out here, I want them to know Willow won’t be so easy to get to.
“Who was that woman at the shop?” I ask, wondering about the strange French woman who’d behaved so oddly.
“Oh, that’s Madam Dubois. Don’t worry about her. She’s a little eccentric.”
“A little?” I drop the rock she gave me into my pocket and put the whole strange experience out of my mind.
“Welcome,” an elderly saleswoman says, looking up from where she’s folding clothing for newborns at the counter. She smiles warmly before she glances discreetly at Willow’s belly then at me. “You two will make beautiful babies,” she says, which has Willow blushing and me feeling a little awkward. “No need to be shy.” She winks. “First time shopping for baby?”
“We’re looking for a present,” I say defensively, feeling weirdly confronted by her question. Not wanting anyone else to know about the baby just yet.
“Are you?” she asks, one eyebrow raised. She knows I’m lying. “Well, I have a large selection for newborns right there.” She gestures to the far wall while resuming folding the smallest onesie I have ever seen. I try to remember if Bec was that small when she was born. I’m sure I wasn’t.
Willow walks to where the woman points, and I follow her.
“You know, pink looks lovely on little girls with red hair,” she says, that knowing smile still playing on her lips.
