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Florentia clucked her tongue. “That is not possible,” she said. “It’s essential to meet each of you individually, as it allows me to see each of you uniquely—with the magic of each of your auras surrounding me.”
Charlotte groaned. Naturally, the woman only wanted to meet each of them separately because they would then have to pay for each separate session. It was entirely clear to her that this woman wanted to rip them off; why couldn’t Louisa see the idiocy?
Then again: what sort of friend was Charlotte if she didn’t allow her friend to experience whatever magic she wanted to believe in?
“Louisa will go first,” Charlotte interjected.
Louisa’s eyes brightened. “Are you sure?”
“Of course,” Charlotte said. “We’ve come too far to turn back.”
Louisa all but leapt from her chair. She tapped her hair across her now-dried curls and beamed at Florentia, as though she was an angel incarnate. “I’ve looked forward to meeting you for quite some time.”
“And I, you,” Florentia said.
“Does this mean you felt me coming?” Louisa asked.
“Of course, darling. I first saw you in my dreams about three months ago,” Florentia said. She dropped a hand onto Louisa’s back as she led her towards the hallway.
“Three months? That’s impossible. I didn’t yet know about you,” Louisa returned.
“Darling, nothing is impossible,” Florentia cooed. “I’m sure you felt me coming in your inner soul.”
Louisa giggled nervously as they turned into the dark hallway. “Perhaps I did.”
Moments later, Charlotte and Margorie listened as the door to the next room clipped closed. This cast them in darkness, solitude. Charlotte half-worried that the man who’d brought them into the house would return and demand they order more tea. She glanced at Margorie to suggest this, only to find that Margorie had begun to cry once more.
Charlotte heaved an inward sigh, then reached forward and gripped Margorie’s wrist. She nearly leapt out of her skin.
“What is it?” Margorie demanded.
“Nothing,” Charlotte returned. “I just wanted to ask you if you’re all right.”
“Of course I’m all right,” Margorie spat. “Has someone suggested that I’m not all right?”
Charlotte blinked. “Do you suspect that this woman is trying to steal from us?”
Margorie adjusted in her chair. “Oh. That. I don’t know. It doesn’t seem entirely harmful, does it? I think it’s better Louisa actually experience the world, rather than sit in that library poring over texts. Don’t you?”
“I just don’t know if it’s essential that we give a reckless woman like this any sort of money,” Charlotte said.
“What is it about you, Charlotte? Why must you always believe you’re correct?” Margorie scoffed.
Charlotte felt the words like a smack across the cheek.
She sensed how correct these words were. She did enjoy that feeling of correctness—of knowing she existed above something, that her intellect drew herself higher than the pure drivel of everyday conversation.
Even more, she detested the fact that the words had been drawn forth by the likes of Margorie. After all, in the wake of Margorie’s ex-husband’s abandonment, Margorie had seemed eternally dumbed down; her eyes never reflected much emotion or light. Apparently, she’d been picking up information, despite it. She’d drawn up a rather horrendous portrait of Charlotte.
Charlotte lifted her cup of tea and peered into it once more, her heart pattering wildly.
“Did Louisa tell you what she wanted to ask the mystic about?” she asked, an attempt to pull them from this seemingly horrendous conversation.
Margorie clucked her tongue. “As Louisa truly believes in the magic behind this current situation, it stands to reason that she wouldn’t have informed me of the inner workings of her mind.”
Charlotte dropped her cup of tea back into its saucer. “I simply think it’s essential that we don’t give such strength to something that could very well harm Louisa.”
Margorie cleared her throat. “I don’t feel as though a bit of silly mysticism could possibly hurt her. Not the way people can.”
