The diviner worked in a little apothecary shop on a side street off of the large market square. The shop was closed so late at night, but he knocked on the back door anyway. After a moment, the witch cracked the door open, looking out at him meekly.

“Mister Thorne,” the woman said. “What are you doing here?”

“I need yer help, Owena,” he said. “Can I come in?”

She opened the door fully, stepping aside to let him in. “What can I do for you?”

“I’d like ye to give me a readin,’ if ye dinnae mind.”

She blinked, raising a hand to the silver collar around her throat. “Of course,” she said. She lifted her gray-streaked hair off her neck and turned, showing him the clasp of the collar. It couldn’t be opened by magic and required a key. Or a lockpick.

Dixon opened the collar and Owena visibly shivered as her magic flowed through her again. She sighed and rubbed her neck. “How long has it been? I can’t remember the last time I had my magic.”

“Ach, I wish I could do more for ye,” he said. “But the king would have my head if he knew about it. Wil too.”

Owena shook her head. “It’s all right. I’m luckier than most.” She led Dixon to the small table in the corner, draped in a cloth. They sat and she rubbed at her neck again. “So what can I do for you?”

“Somethin’s startin,’” he said. “I need the names.”

Owena gave a sharp intake of breath. “Really?” she asked. Her voice was quiet.

Dixon only nodded.

The witch peered down at the table, drumming her fingers on the cloth. “Right,” she muttered. She stood and went to a small chest on a shelf. She dug through its contents and came back to the table with a small drawstring bag. She dumped its contents into her hand; a collection of small bones tumbled into her palm. She sat, shaking the bones in her closed fist.

When she tossed the bones onto the table, they rolled over the cloth before coming to a stop. Dixon couldn’t read what the bones said, but Owena pored over them intently, her fingers hovering over the bones.

“Get me a piece of parchment and quill, my dear,” she said softly, her eyes still on the bones. He stood and grabbed them for her, setting them in front of her wordlessly. Keeping one hand hovering over the bones, she took up the quill and scribbled on the parchment. Dixon leaned over the table to peer at the list she wrote. Divination was a rare gift, one that Owena wielded skillfully.

Finally she breathed a sigh, setting down the quill and setting her hands on her lap. She looked healthier with magic flowing through her veins, color blooming in her cheeks. She pushed the list across the table to him.

He picked it up, reading over it. He peered up at Owena. “Thank ye, truly,” he said.

Owena nodded, giving him a small smile. “I do what I can. Is there anything else?”

Dixon shook his head. “That’s it,” he said.

“I suppose you have to put the collar back on.”

“For now, aye,” he said. “I cannae raise suspicion. I’m sorry.”

Owena shook her head. “No, I understand. It needs to be done.” She stood and took a steadying breath before lifting her hair off her neck. Dixon put the collar back on, locking it once more.