Body of Stars by Laura Walter (free ebook reader for iphone TXT) 📕

chimes jangle. Inside, we were met by plumes of incense smoke curling from the mantel. The room’s décor matched that smell—candelabras, scarves, crystals dangling from the fireplace. The proprietor, Chloe, was nowhere to be seen, but a handful of customers waited for her services: three women, one man who stood upon our entrance and planted himself in the far corner, and two boys too young to react as men would to our presence. But like all children, they gravitated toward us. With gentle hands open like starfish, they patted our legs, our hips, our stomachs, anything they could reach. Their mothers stood back, watching wearily, and when one of them met my eyes, she looked away, like she was ashamed for the both of us.

Miles studied a long strand of crystals and frowned. It mattered to him, that there was a dividing line in the world between the real interpreters, like Julia, and the charlatans, like Chloe. The sheer scarves tossed over lampshades, the incense, the set of runes on the mantel—it was all an affront to his own aspirations. As a boy, he couldn’t even rise to the level of Chloe’s false work.

I had long ago accepted that the interpretation district was a place of contrasts: light and dark, virtue and greed, beauty and terror. So I was not surprised when a young girl of about twelve appeared from the back rooms projecting both innocence and calculation. She wore a lavender dress with a broad ribbon tied around the waist, but she also carried a clipboard and cast a shrewd gaze upon the customers.

The lone man waved to get the girl’s attention.

“Is my wife about finished?” he asked.

The girl checked her clipboard. “Soon. Aunt Chloe is just being thorough, I’m sure. It’s important to be thorough in a reading, isn’t it?”

When Miles heard this, he laughed.

“In the meantime,” the girl continued, “I’d be happy to bring you some tea. Just give me one moment.” She looked over to Cassandra and me, her eyes narrowing. “What about you?” she asked. “Will you be joining Ms. Chloe for a reading?”

I shook my head, but Cassandra’s response was immediate.

“Yes,” she said. “I’d love a reading.”

The girl pulled a pen from the top of the clipboard and held it poised over the page. “What do you prefer—tarot, crystal ball, palm reading? Focus on love, health, financial success?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m a changeling. I’d like a reading of my markings.”

The girl gave a slight nod. “Good choice. We prioritize changeling readings. Chloe will be ready for you soon. If you need anything in the meantime, please call for me. My name is Angel—I’m Chloe’s niece.” She turned to leave.

As soon as Angel disappeared into the back, I pulled Cassandra toward me. I had a bad feeling, something creeping along the edges of my mind like a lingering nightmare.

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” I said.

Cassandra gently shook me off. “Celeste, it’s packed in here. There are witnesses all over the place. Nothing could happen.”

“She’s right. There’s less risk for you here than out on the streets,” Miles said. He paused. “Maybe you should get a reading, too, Celeste. It wouldn’t be real, not like if Julia did it. This could be for fun.”

“I don’t want a reading tonight, Miles.”

“Fine, I’m sorry. It was just a suggestion.”

Angel reappeared carrying a tray containing a teapot, several thick clay cups, and a stack of ginger cookies. She set the tray on the coffee table and offered tea to the man waiting for his wife. She held out the next cup for me.

“Here,” she said, and this time her smile felt genuine. I brought the tea close and inhaled. It smelled sweet and mild. It made me think of meadows and sunshine and childhood.

Cassandra and Miles both turned down the tea, though Miles accepted a cookie, which he ate in three bites. Angel left the room again, and I took a tiny sip of tea. It tasted marvelous, like honeysuckle and fresh rain, and its warmth spread through my body.

Feeling relaxed, I wandered over to the couch and sat. The cushions were worn and well used. I sank down and sipped my tea. I could taste everything, from the earthy scent of the soil the tea grew in to the sunshine that dried the leaves. When I blinked, tiny blond sparks lit up near my eyelashes. Cassandra was right to tell me to stop worrying and enjoy this time. Being a changeling truly was astounding.

I closed my eyes. A moment later, the couch shifted, sinking a little deeper. When I registered the new smell—a pungent soapy scent, with a dash of cologne—I opened my eyes.

It was the man from the corner. He blew gently across his cup of tea.

“Just keep looking straight ahead,” he said. His words were so slow and deep I almost didn’t hear him. “How does five hundred sound?”

“For what?” My voice faltered.

“One hour,” he said. “We’ll get a hotel room. It will take a little planning to make sure my wife is distracted elsewhere, but I can handle that.”

I swallowed. “What do you think I am?”

“I know exactly what you are.” Slowly, gently, in a way that I wasn’t even sure it was happening, his left hand shifted to brush against my thigh. I was wearing long pants, but I felt his hand like a jolt anyway. “You’re ripe,” he said. “I know how you girls are. When it comes down to it, you want it as much as us.”

“Five hundred?” I repeated. I was thinking of girls who had lost their way, girls without homes or parents, girls who were compelled to accept offers like this. If everything went quickly, they would never have to file a report or go to a hospital. If they were careful, their records would remain clean.

“Okay,” he said. “Six fifty.” His hand was hot against my leg. “But I won’t go higher than that. It becomes a bad deal. Some girls go as low as three hundred,