directions left me scrambling to produce a result.
So far, the only thing I could taste was failure.
By the time the family left, I resisted the urge to cover my face with my hands.
“Did you see something?” Aunt Evelyn asked.
“I didn’t.”
She frowned. “They were here for a while. Are you sure your mind is clear?”
“Yes. Auntie, I didn’t see anything. I did what you asked, but no prediction.”
She placed her hands on her hips. “Focus is hard. If you can’t reach a certain level of meditation, you won’t see anything.”
The creeping frustration in her voice annoyed me. I was trying, but quarrelling with my aunt wouldn’t help me see a prophecy. “Can’t we just go back to the tea? We know that works.”
“That isn’t an option. You can’t rely on that, Vanessa.”
I exhaled and kept my breathing steady. Aunt Evelyn walked to my side and placed her hand on my arm. “You will have plenty of opportunity to try again today. Focus and I’m certain that by the end of the day, you’ll get this.”
As if on cue, a busload of German tourists entered the shop. I assisted my aunt with their orders, taking down the specific glass jars she needed and helping pack purchases into printed lavender paper bags. All the while, I kept myself open and clear for any predictions to come to me. I searched for one around every tooth in my mouth, hoping it was hiding and all it needed was a gentle prod.
Nothing.
Despite her preoccupation with the customers, Aunt Evelyn managed to sneak in a quizzical look in my direction. Her glances increased with every ring of the cash register, as did the tempo of her elegant pumps tapping the wood floor. Clairvoyance wasn’t required to sense her growing impatience.
When the group cleared out, she leveled her gaze at me. “There were twelve people that passed through here. Surely you saw something.”
“I tried, Auntie.” I rubbed my temples. “This is new territory for me. I don’t know if this is possible.”
“Of course it’s possible. Many women before you have done this—for hundreds of years.” She paused, and closed her eyes. “I don’t understand why your gift behaves the way it does.” She started pacing parallel to the counter. The click of her brisk steps echoed in the empty store. Aunt Evelyn was taking in my failure as her own.
“I’m kind of behind. Think of me as the mature student,” I said with a nervous laugh.
“There’s nothing amusing about this. You haven’t gotten a vision. I’m worried you won’t. You should have seen something. It didn’t have to be specific or important. I’d accept a weather report at this point.”
“But it’s not like I’ve lost my power. I can do it if you let me have the tea.”
“You said you wanted control. You’re not in control if your predictions are at the whim of what you drink. You can’t have control if you refuse to change. Predictions are a part of you. You are clairvoyant. We’re special.”
I kept silent. I didn’t want to tell her that I didn’t see it the way she did. I wanted control, but not as an investment in becoming a better fortune-teller.
“If only you saw something. It would mean we’re on the right path in your education.”
I made the decision then. I wanted to ease her fears and to show that there was still hope.
“I mean, I might have seen something,” I lied.
A hanging light fixture fell from overhead, striking my shoulder before shattering on the floor. It happened so fast that I almost didn’t feel it. I stared at the spot where the glass fell, unsure of what had happened, when my brain registered the pain. My hand pressed against the growing soreness. The sound of a crash echoed in my ears alongside the phantom noise of squealing tires.
“Vanessa!” My aunt rushed to my side and checked my shoulder. “Are you all right?”
Bits of glass and fragments glittered in the sunlight streaming through the shop windows. The pattern of particles traced out skid marks from tire treads, down to the grooves and ruts running in parallel.
She finished her examination. “Nothing’s broken. You will get a bruise later though. You’re lucky it missed your head. If you had been standing an inch in the wrong direction, it could have been catastrophic.”
“Auntie, I’m sorry. I lied.”
I had broken one of the cardinal rules of fortune-telling. My shoulder throbbed.
Twenty-Seven
Aunt Evelyn kept the shop closed. I asked her to reopen, but she refused.
“Family above all