Robert believed he was using the gentlest of tones, but a chill still crept down Jenkins's spine. He shot his father a pleading look, but the older man remained unmoved.
"Yes, Father."
Jenkins hoped the despair lacing his voice would register with Robert, but his father seed oblivious. As he was leaving, he even told Jenkins to co ho for dinner soti.
Soon after Robert left, silence reclaid the shop. Jenkins could practically hear his own heart thumping. His right hand rested on the briefcase, his mind racing, endlessly searching for a solution to his end-of-the-month predicant.
Even though he had twenty-eight days before he had to face it, Jenkins knew all too well that the more he tried to convince himself it was "still a long way off," the faster ti would fly.
Chocolate let out a bored yawn, completely unaffected by the young man's despair. The cat, however, was rather looking forward to the end-of-month dinner—not for the food, but simply out of curiosity to see what choice Jenkins would ultimately make.
The street outside was shrouded in fog. Figures continuously erged from the mist, only to vanish back into it. Jenkins wished desperately that so kind young lady would suddenly push open the door, agree to have that dinner with him, and then conveniently disappear forever afterward.
"That would be perfect..."
"What did you say would be perfect?"
He was so lost in thought that he hadn't noticed Audrey push the door open and step back into the shop. This ti, she was alone; the peculiar Brolignans was nowhere to be seen.
"What's wrong, Jenkins? You look dreadful, almost as if soone's forcing you into an arranged marriage."
She remarked with a laugh, completely missing the way Jenkins's expression froze for an instant. She'd hit the nail right on the head.
"Why are you back... I an, what brings you to the shop? My apologies for cutting our conversation short earlier. That was my father, and I was worried sothing had happened at ho."
He apologized quietly and moved to get out the tea set again, but Audrey shook her head, content to stand before the counter.
"I'm sorry about that as well. My friend probably startled you. But don't worry, she's always... peculiar. Oh, I'll be on my way in a mont. I just have three things to tell you.
First, et at this address on Saturday night. Our divination lessons are long overdue."
She handed Jenkins a yellowed slip of paper. After a quick glance, he imdiately set it alight.
"Second, that... Miss Brolignans is a friend of mine. A very good friend from the Church. But she can be a little... unusual. I hope you understand."
"I understand."
Jenkins nodded imdiately.
In truth, he'd always pictured diviners as a mad bunch—speaking in riddles, yet sohow all-knowing. He considered Audrey the exception, the true anomaly among her kind.
"Good. My friend is simply curious about you. She ans no harm. I an... yes, she's really just curious."
Now Audrey was starting to sound a little illogical herself. Jenkins worried she was picking up a few habits from her peculiar friend.
"About my father... Since she's also a diviner, that business about him supposedly dying thirty years ago..."
Jenkins began, his words hesitant, trying to ask what that was all about.
"Her divination was flawed."
Audrey nodded, stating it as an indisputable fact. As she spoke, an expression of pure, triumphant joy spread across her face, as if she'd just won a long-fought battle. She made no effort to hide it, and the feeling was so plain that even Jenkins, who was notoriously poor at reading people, could see it.
"Yes, her divination was flawed. Terribly flawed."
She emphasized the point again, a grin playing on her lips. She seed to be in an exceptionally good mood; Jenkins had never seen such an expression on his astrology teacher before.
"Right, I get it. Her divination was flawed. So, what's the third thing?"
The whole situation was bizarre, and now even Audrey was acting strangely. Jenkins decided it would be best to ask Papa Oliver about it later.
"Oh, yes. The third thing. I perford an impromptu divination yesterday—it happens from ti to ti. The results were a bit cryptic, but I believe they concern you."
With that, she pulled a small paper packet from her coat pocket and handed it to Jenkins. When he opened it, he found a dozen or so stone fragnts inside—nothing more than common, irregular pebbles you might find on any roadside.
"Er... what's this supposed to an?"
Jenkins and the cat tilted their heads, staring at the stones for a long mont, but failed to discern any sign that they could speak.
"It ans sothing terrible is going to happen in this city. Sothing involving a cetery, a black cat, and an elder tree."
All three things Audrey ntioned were considered deeply unlucky by the common citizen. A cetery and a black cat needed no explanation, but the elder tree was seen as a dwelling place for spirits, evoking negative connotations of witches and misfortune. Even today, in remote country villages, superstitious folk still believed that burning elder wood or bringing it into the house was a harbinger of bad luck.
"But what does that have to do with ?"
Jenkins asked, bewildered. While he did own a burial plot, he had neither a black cat nor anything made of elder wood.
"A skilled diviner rarely performs a divination on a whim. But when they do, it almost certainly signifies a highly accurate result..."
For a mont, it felt just like one of their interesting divination lessons, with Audrey once again assuming the role of teacher.
"This was a divination for you. A prophecy, you might say. While its accuracy remains to be seen, you must be especially wary of anything related to these things for the next two months."
Jenkins finally understood and gave a nod of comprehension.
"What kind of 'terrible thing' do you think it will be?"
He asked, his voice laced with worry. Based on past experience, the woman's divinations were always remarkably accurate. If this one proved just as precise, Jenkins feared he was in for so serious trouble.
"I don't know. It is only a prophecy."
But no matter how much it vexed him, the prophecy was ultimately an uncertain event in the distant future. His imdiate concern was the shop. Perhaps because of the two sets of uninvited guests that afternoon, not a single custor had entered since they left.
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