Olly stared after her for a stupefied moment before deciding her quip about old people so soon after his own couldn’t be more than a simple coincidence. Jem, of course, smiled smugly.
She led them into a sunroom, where a pitcher of iced tea waited for them already, cold sweat gathering on the glass. They settled on wicker chairs, and she filled their glasses, and her own too. The windows stood open, and the summer breeze billowed the sheer curtains.
Olly sipped his tea. The aroma surprised him—mellow with spicy undertones. “Is this Celestial Seasoning?” he asked.
She shook her head, and a green stone in her earring caught the light. “White tea and an herbal blend made by my son. Bran’s an expert in herbs. It’s meant to be soothing. Do you like it?”
Olly took another sip. “Different, but nice,” he agreed.
“Good. You’re not left-handed, are you?”
Olly shook his head.
“Give me your right hand, then.” She held her own out over the table.
Olly put his glass down and placed his hand palm up in hers. She held his wrist with one hand and laid the other on his. Her eyes drifted closed while she mapped the lines of his palm with her fingertips. As if she were reading an amusing story, her lips pursed and twitched. Up close, Olly noticed the fine lines fringing her lips and gathering around her eyes. She had to be considerably older than he’d first thought.
Mme. Layla opened her eyes but kept hold of Olly’s hand. “You’re an atypical young man, Olly. So reliable, so sensible. I suspect you learned self-reliance early and out of necessity. Don’t forget to have some fun.” Her fingers moved in small circles. “Not much luck in love, I see.” She halted and tilted her head as if trying to make out a faint sound. “Your heart is like a moth searching for a flame,” she said in a hushed tone.
What she said first fit, but it was generic enough to suit anybody, but her last remark touched him deeply. Because it was exactly how he’d felt for some time now, only he hadn’t been able to put it into words. Maybe there was something to Mme. Layla after all. At the minimum, she was phenomenal at reading people.
She let him go and sat back with a smile. “Well, let’s see if we can sneak a peek into your future.” She took the lid off a box sitting next to her and pulled out a red cloth, which she spread out on the table. Next, from a velvet pouch she extracted a handful of small white objects.
“Are those chicken bones?” Olly asked.
“Possum. Now hush.” She cupped the bones between her hands and held them to her forehead. After a few seconds of stillness, she moved her hand away and shook them vigorously, finally tossing the bones down. Some landed off the cloth, and those she picked up and put aside.
She leaned forward with a frown of concentration. “Hm…interesting. Let’s see… You’ll be forced to make an important decision soon. Someone is in great need of your help, but giving it might take an effort. I see relationships forming and changing. Friendship and maybe even love. You have a tumultuous time ahead.” She tilted her head and glared at a particular clump of bones. “Be careful. Not all is what they seem. Secrets are all around you. Someone will mean you harm. You must be cautious whom you trust.” She studied the bones for a few more minutes, but the only other thing she came up with was advice for Olly not to accept drinks from strangers.
Olly was hoping for something more concrete, not necessarily next week’s winning lottery numbers—although he wouldn’t have turned those down—but maybe a clue where he’d find a man to have sparks with.
“We usually chance upon the things we need when we’re not looking,” she said with another uncanny insight, and brushed the bones back into their pouch. Mme. Layla packed her implements away, and the three of them shifted into small talk about the weather and the 710 Freeway extension plans. When it was time to leave, she gave Jem a bulging canvas pouch. “Bury this by your front door at the next new moon,” she instructed him. “Doesn’t have to be deep, about six inches or so.”
“Protection against visitors with malicious intent,” Jem explained to Olly.
“Also keeps the door-to-door solicitors away,” she added.
Jem handed her his credit card, and she swiped it through the thingy attached to her phone. “Sent the receipt to your email,” she said and handed the card back.
Olly found the combination of low-tech sorcery and high-tech business amusing, but Mme. Layla was very matter-of-fact about it. She walked Jem and Olly out, all the way to the front gate. The air had grown dusky, and the bird racket hit a crescendo as they settled down for the night. Olly was just about to say his final good-byes when he heard a splat and felt something wet land on his left shoulder. He twisted his head and saw a white streak on his T-shirt. One of the feathered bastards shat on him!