Back Cover: The ad in the newspaper says Alana is a witch. She isn’t. She is something far more important… a Giftsnatcher, able to
discern, identify, and steal the spiritual gifts of others. For years,
she and her older sister have made a living selling them to paying
clients. But when Lord Tremain wants her to bestow a particularly
powerful gift on his grandson, for the first time in her life, Alana
can’t. It doesn’t work. Author's Notes:
I can’t seem to escape
tackling controversial topics, in this book the idea of family curses,
although it’s changed from a more tangible and realistic curse (such as
alcoholism) into a fantastical idea. Excerpt: The ad in the newspaper says I am a witch. Everyone who believes it comes in for a
reading. They sit at the small round table in our parlor, place their
hands in mine, and ask me for the power to accomplish all they desire. I
bestow a gift upon them. It never lasts long, but it is effective enough
to make them return for more. Today, the rain interferes with our usual stream of clients. Large drops hit the street and run into the gutter. My sister is out, leaving me to the solitude of our front room. With the exception of the scarlet and black curtains, it is deceptively normal. I stare at the cards in front of me. Irina has more talent with them; to me, they are simply unconnected symbols. “You will never learn how to read them if you
don’t do it properly.” I look up as our maid, Kasaria, enters the
room. Her gypsy blood is strong, giving her dark skin and exotic
features despite her advanced age. She pulls out a chair across from me
and sits down. Nimble fingers shuffle the cards and fan them in a
semi-circle on the table. “Tarot is an old kind of magic. You cannot
choose the cards on impulse but must let them speak to you. You must
sense them.”
“I sense nothing in them,” I answer. “These
are cards, nothing more. There is no power in them, nothing for me to
draw from. It is false, just as my sister’s séances are false, just as
that mirror has a light behind it, to reflect ghosts in the room, just
as that picture is on a wire so it levitates. Irina researches her
clients, and chooses her cards according to the little bumps she has put
in them with a needle. Her predictions are not genuine, but fabricated.
Look, here, this bump means the Death card.” I turn it up, its grotesque skeletal face leering at us. Kasaria frowns and turns it over again. “Your sister is ingenious in her deceptions but ignores her own potential. She chooses farce rather than devote time to learning the true craft. You possess the real gifts. Let the card choose you.” She moves her hand over them, drifting along until her brow furrows. Her thin fingers turn up one, then another, and another. The color drains from her face. “You must not see your clients tonight.” “Lord Tremain is paying us a fortune for a
private session,” I answer, unimpressed as I stare down at the painted
cards. “I can assure you, not only will we see him and his grandson, we
will put on a grand performance.” Disapproval lurks behind her unflinching,
eerie gaze. “The cards tell me that his presence in this house will
threaten everything you have built. He is a grave danger to you. It is
too great a risk.” Pushing away the cards, I lean toward her. “What does it risk?” “Your talent. Your life.” Her eyes return to mine. “Your soul.” This sends a shiver up my spine, but I shake my head. “Nonsense. He is a client like any other, and you worry too much.” “You don’t worry enough,” she counters, stacking the cards. “You have so much confidence in your ability to steal what gifts you need that you are not careful to protect the ones you have acquired. I promised your mother to look after you, to protect you from harm, but if you will not allow me to do that, I will take matters into my own hands. You are less important than the power you have accumulated.” Gloom lurks in the space around us, the rain diminishing slightly. The gaslight flickers as, with deliberation, I ask softly, “Is that a threat?” “It is a warning.” Kasaria rests her weathered fingers on the tabletop. “If you do not heed my advice, you may return one day to find me gone. I serve your mother, but I will not serve you if I am unwanted.” Feeling cold under her penetrating gaze, I answer, “It is your right to leave, but it would not be prudent to take anything that isn’t yours.” “Is it theft to steal from a thief?” Lightning flashes in the distance and cold stirs in the air. Kasaria’s intensity fades and she reaches across the table to take my hand. “I do not mean to alarm you, child. Your mother told me to protect you, and if I could not do that, to protect the magic. Your sister uses it carelessly; its true purpose is not to give and take it in exchange for profit. In the wrong hands, it is dangerous. Lord Tremain is dangerous. Do not enter into business with him lightly. This card is a bad omen.” Footsteps cross the front porch and the door opens. Irina enters, shaking water from her umbrella, a basket under her arm... |