She couldn’t disrespect the rituals her grandmother had drummed into her, even for a slapdash reading like this. Not that she expected much. The days when she could find meaning in the grounds were few and far between. Huda wondered if it was her fault, if she lacked something deep in her soul, but she knew she wasn’t alone. All the ancient arts were suffering. The coppersmith and the carpet weaver were packing up shop, driven out by plastic plates and nylon prayer rugs at Cheap Ahmed’s Discount Store. The great poets languished in obscurity, with barely enough dinar to buy bread. The Sufi dervishes had almost disappeared.

Huda eyed her cassette player, its tiny wheels spinning around and around. If she was a true patriot, she’d be listening to a maqam or muwashshah, but try as she might, she couldn’t give up Bryan Adams and his ballads of love. Could it be that the luxuries of modern life—of Western life—all the televisions and microwaves, were to blame? Was all this radiation and static interfering with messages from the universe?

Outside the window, a crow wailed. Huda knew whether or not she found signs in Ally’s grounds, the mukhabarat would be pleased. They wanted her to draw the girl close, to ferret out her secrets. The cold ball of fear Huda had carried since the mukhabarat’s visit suddenly ballooned. She had a vision of the Bolt Cutter clenching her teacup in his meaty fist. She swiveled away from Ally, breath shaky and shallow, and busied herself with paperwork.

“Is it ready?” asked the girl, a minute later.

Huda eyed Ally’s upturned coffee cup warily. Perhaps she would find a kernel of truth in the grinds, not just for Ally’s future, but her own as well. Huda lifted the cup from the saucer. Fine flecks of coffee adhered to the curved interior, dark islands mapped on a white sea.

“What do you see?” whispered Ally.

Huda stayed quiet. Make them wait, her grandmother always said. That way they’ll value your insight more. Huda squinted into the cup. All she saw were grainy puddles of brown. She squared her shoulders and sat up straight.

“I see birds flying.” She shaped her lips into a wide smile. “That means you will soon have good news. There is also a kite—that is a sign of change ahead.”

She handed the cup back to Ally. While the girl peered into its depths, Huda glanced at the saucer. Patterns leaped at her: swords, towers, snakes slithering across the porcelain. Clear as day. Abruptly, the fine hairs on her arm stood to attention. She looked up. Amira Hindawi was at the door, watching her.

“Amira, I didn’t see you there.” Huda switched to Arabic. “How may I be of assistance?”