HorrorAddicts.net Press Presents:
Dark Divinations edited by Naching T. Kassa
Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/ilQ-BfW6BRs
It’s the height of Queen Victoria’s rule. Fog swirls in the gas-lit streets, while in the parlor, hands are linked. Pale and expectant faces gaze upon a woman, her eyes closed and shoulders slumped. The medium speaks, her tone hollow and inhuman. The séance has begun.
Can the reading of tea leaves influence the future? Can dreams keep a soldier from death in the Crimea? Can a pocket watch foretell a deadly family curse? From entrail reading and fortune-telling machines to prophetic spiders and voodoo spells, sometimes the future is better left unknown.
Choose your fate.
Choose your DARK DIVINATION.
**********
An excerpt from Dark Divinations
Miroir de Vaugnac
Michael Fassbender
Buckinghamshire, 1863
Lady Beatrice Guilford opened the parcel carefully, concealing the intensity of her anticipation. She cast aside the protective textiles surrounding her prize, and her eyes caught the glimmer of silver. She ran her finger along the rim of the bowl, and then she tilted the parcel for an easier perusal of its contents.
Gazing therein, she saw her own face reflected in the polished silver bottom of the bowl. Her inverted face smiled back at her as she regarded her newest treasure.
Mason took several steps nearer his mistress. He had served her late husband, the Brigadier, even before Beatrice had married him. Doubtless he took her delay in retrieving the Miroir from its parcel for some measure of difficulty with its weight. She halted his progress with a single shake of her head. She could manage the small exertion, and well she must, for she alone would handle the Miroir.
She lifted her treasure from its parcel and set it upon the center of the serving table to her right. She turned it slowly, tracing the outer surface of the bowl, noting the small distortion in the outer wall cited in the dealer’s catalogue. Reportedly, a previous owner had been so careless as to drop the bowl in the midst of a particularly distressing scry.
By all accounts, its efficacy had not been impeded. The minor blemish served only in the authentication of the sale.
“Phelps, is it?” Beatrice stood upright and addressed the porter. The porter nodded. “All is in order. You may inform Mr. Pennington that the delivery has met with my satisfaction. Good day to you.”
Phelps managed to mutter, “Good day, ma’am,” before Mason showed him out.
Beatrice carried the Miroir to a comfortable chair, and sat down for a lengthy perusal. The designs lining its surface matched the illustrations she had seen. A thrill coursed through her as she traced one of the serpents slithering across its outer walls. The stories of the Miroir promised an undeniable power, even if they also urged caution.
So be it. She would exercise caution. Although her fingers ached to prepare a short scrying session to see just how potent de Vaugnac’s work would be, she resolved to employ the Miroir only in earnest.
A suitable occasion presented itself several days later, when Agnes Fremantle arrived at the estate. Beatrice and she had been friends for many years despite a difference in their ages, owing to the shared sacrifices of the wives of military officers. Mrs. Fremantle would not pay for this service, of course, and so it presented a fine opportunity to try an untested tool.
Beatrice rose from her seat when Mason ushered Agnes into the sitting room. They exchanged the typical pleasantries and then Beatrice bade Agnes sit at the table while she dismissed Mason with a nod.
Taking her own seat, Beatrice said, “So, you write of your concern for Arthur.”
“I have every confidence in my son, even if he has delivered himself into that frightful war without any sanction.” The tightness of the other woman’s face belied the smile she affected. “It is only the absence of any word from him since he took passage to the Americas that troubles me. The war grows longer and more bitter by the day. One man amid such destruction can do only so much on his own behalf.”
“Yes, and I read just the other day that the Southrons now mount another invasion of the North. The resourcefulness of General Lee raises much consternation in the North.”
Agnes sighed. “And therein lie my own cares. We receive our reports from New York, more than Richmond, and Arthur was bound for the Southrons.”
Beatrice placed her hands primly upon the table before her. “I am sure it is only the naval blockade of the South that defeats any word from reaching you. It is such beastly business to use the Navy thus. It may be that I can bring a report from those distant battlefields.” She rose and placed the Miroir before her seat. “This is the Miroir de Vaugnac. It was used by a great seer four centuries ago. He employed two reflective surfaces, the silver mirror on the bottom and the water he poured above it. It demands greater concentration but promises keener sight.”
Beatrice raised an ewer and poured water into the bowl up to a depth of three inches. She lit two candles and placed one on either side of the bowl. At length, she drew the curtains and returned to her seat. The candles focused the light on the water in the bowl quite nicely.
“Are you ready to begin?” she asked. Agnes nodded.
Beatrice gripped the outer surface of the bowl with both hands and gazed into the water.
To read more, go to: Amazon.com or order the special edition, signed copy with hand-painted tarot cards at HorrorAddicts.net