by Jenn Stark
Sighing, I gathered up the cards, then shuffled them a second time. As I did so, a slender woman with golden-blonde hair in a pit dealer’s uniform stepped into the dealer’s position at the blackjack table.
“We tend to frown on gamblers bringing their own cards,” she said with an easy smile.
“Totally understandable.” I nodded. “But would you mind if I take up this table for another thirty seconds or so? I promise you I won’t be long.”
“Those are Tarot cards, aren’t they?” she asked, leaning over as I continued shuffling the cards. “You’re a reader?”
I leveled a glance at her and could tell without even activating my third eye that she had no Connected ability.
“I’ll be quiet, I promise,” she whispered, and I proceeded to drop the cards.
There are ten cards in a Celtic Cross reading, but how you lay them out is a matter of personal preference. As usual, I ignored the Significator card entirely and dove straight into the reading itself. I laid two cards out—one upright and one crossing. These formed the first impression of the reading as a whole, and in my case, they were doozies. The Magician crossed by Temperance.
The fact that I’d drawn the Magician for the second time in a row was not lost on me, there was something here I should be paying attention to. But Temperance as a crossing card was also interesting, because we did not currently have a Temperance on the Council. In fact, I’d never even heard of a Temperance Council member. And yet Lainie had pulled the same card, so clearly something was going on.
Taking Temperance purely at its more esoteric meaning, this was a card of taking a pause, finding harmony as I pursued a middle path, blending disparate forces, and mixing primal magic. Since this reading was technically about what I was about to walk into, pulling two Major Arcana cards right out of the gate meant today’s meeting was not going to be the typical Monday morning overview. Fair enough.
A shiver played along my arms as I dropped the next round of cards in quick succession, forming a clockwise circle around the first two: What lies beneath me, what lies behind, what crowns me, and what lies before me. These cards made a little more sense. What lay beneath me was the Six of Cups, or an issue with deep roots in the past, or it could simply have represented all the kiddos at the psychic fair. What lay behind me was the Five of Wands, the garden-variety fight card that’d also already played out earlier today. What lay above me, or crowned me, was the Seven of Swords.
I wasn’t a fan of the Seven of Swords. This was the card of diplomacy and guile and being strategic, all things I was never very good at, so having the Seven in the crowning position meant I wouldn’t be playing to my strengths.
Then there was what lay before me, the Six of Swords. Another interesting card, it meant travel over water, or the idea that there were smoother waters ahead. It could also portend a journey toward a great psychic deepening. I was already pretty deep into my psychic best, so I wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing, but either way, I felt quite sure I’d be packing my bags, and soon.
Next came the staff of cards that lay alongside the Celtic Cross, four cards that helped to define and flesh out the reading. Once again, I dropped these quickly, all in a vertical line. The first card made me smirk because it was Justice. I always enjoyed it when the cards were literal. The second card, which traditionally represents the environment or what other people are thinking was…the Moon.
I studied the card, frowning slightly. The Moon is a fascinating card in the Tarot deck, because it was one of the ones that was dependent upon the reader as much as the answers being sought. It could alternately mean deception, trickery, and deceit—or the deliberate confusion of the matter—or it could mean the embracing of psychic ability, the magic of the world around us, and the acceptance of the unknown.
In other words, super useful. Moving on.
The ninth position card was what’s commonly called the Hopes and Fears card, or the Manifestation card, and generally signified the attitude of the person asking the question. I was not at all happy with that card either, as it was the Nine of Swords, traditionally known as the nightmare card. Neat. Clearly, I needed to cowgirl up and stop making such a big deal out of whatever was about to befall me.
Or, that would ordinarily be my take on the reading, if it wasn’t for the last card I laid out. Death. Also a card I’ve been seeing way to much of today.
Taken in general terms, the Death card was pretty straightforward, no matter where it fell in the reading. It meant transformational change, just like death can evoke in any person’s life. But given that I was about to go into a meeting with someone who’d taken on the mantle of Death, and she was significantly involved in the deep history of my newest case, I wasn’t entirely sure where all this was leading me. I spread the remaining cards in a quick fan and drew three more cards. Then, looking up at the dealer, who was still watching with wide-eyed fascination, I asked her to draw a card as well and hold it. She did, and I dropped my three cards faceup, both of us leaning forward.
The cards I’d drawn made me feel better, I had to admit. The first was the Ace of Pentacles, demonstrating a healthy new beginning, the second was the Two of Cups, signifying unity, and the third was the Devil. While in a lot of cases the Devil was a card that could incite fear and panic, I happened to have an in with the guy. Chances were good that the Devil held a key to all this, and unlike many of the members of the Arcana Council, he was a big fan of sharing the truth, no matter what. Granted, his truths generally ended up being more than you wanted to know, but I’d still take it.
The dealer practically bounced on her toes opposite me. “I don’t know what all that means, but it looks pretty awesome. Are you ready for the card I drew?”
“Sure,” I said, gathering up the rest of the deck as she slapped her own card down. Then she watched me with patently worried eyes.
“This doesn’t look so great. Are you going to be okay?”
I smiled slightly, squaring the card on the baize table surface as I took in its dire imagery.
“Oh, it’s okay,” I murmured. “That’s the Ten of Swords. Like most of the cards in the deck, it can mean a lot of different things. It could mean the end of the line, that something’s going to end whether you like it or not. Or, it could mean a realization that’s been a long time in coming—a truth you knew but didn’t want to face. It could also mean something like back surgery, depending on who’s asking the question.”
“Back surgery!” she said. “You don’t mean me, do you? I can’t afford that.”
“I’m sure it’s not you.” I glanced up at her, quickly surveying her circuits with my third eye. Still not Connected, and not in line for back surgery. “Though you might want to get out into the sunshine a little more. Your energy’s low.”
As her eyes bugged out, I glanced back to the card. “But no matter what it means or what ending is presaged, it also speaks of the shattering of an illusion that needed to be shattered, the turning of the corner, and the bringing of the new dawn.”
“Dawn,” she echoed, pointing at the card. “Like what’s behind the dead guy.”
I nodded, my eyes still fixed on said dead guy. “That’s right. The only problem is, before the sun rises, like it or not, you’ve got to get through the darkness. That’s what this card is all about.”
A couple showed up, another man right behind them. “Are you open?” they asked the dealer eagerly.
By the time she looked back to me, I was gone, with barely a glowing ember to mark my passage. I was feeling pretty good about that.
Right up until I poofed into the middle of chaos.
Chapter Twelve
The Council of the Major Arcana was in nearly full force. Up until a short while ago, it’d been positively sparse, with only a few core members holding it together. Then Armaeus had taken it upon himself to recall the sitting members who had drifted away, and added a few new members as the opportunity presente
d itself. Most of those members were now there, with a few notable absences—Gamon, whose role was Judgment, and Willem of Galt, whose role was the Hermit. Both of them were inveterate recluses who didn’t play well with others, but witnessing the group before me now, they’d clearly chosen the better course.
Half the room was screaming.
It appeared the altercation was divided more or less along party lines. The traditionalists of the Council, those who favored strength over subtlety, were lined up on one side of the long conference room table: the Emperor, the High Priestess, the Hanged Man, and the ever-bickering duo of Lovers. On the other side, stoically allowing all the shouting to continue while restricting themselves to a few shots across the bow, were the Fool, the Magician, and the Devil. Standing off to the side, looking like they wanted to be anywhere but here, were the Hierophant…and Death.
At issue seemed to be a name I’d already heard once today, and one too many times at that: Temperance. I jerked to attention, trying to follow the thread of the argument.
“There is no way you can install Conal McCarthy into the role of Temperance just because he’s a troublemaker,” the Emperor ground out, his haughty voice matched perfectly to his elegant Aryan features and fastidiously styled blond hair. He wore a vaguely military-cut suit, adding to his air of Emperor Asshattedness. “It’s unthinkable.”
“You do know that’s how you secured your spot,” Kreios observed blithely.
“That is not at all the point.” Eshe, the High Priestess, snapped. I focused on her, wanting more than anything to warn her about the young woman about to seek her out, but now was not the time. Especially when she was in full dither. Granted, even in full dither, Eshe was a stunning woman, her rich Greek features, long dark braid, and flashing eyes the perfect complement to her usual toga, this one fashioned in a deep, gold-trimmed midnight blue. She tightened her glossy lips into a stern rebuke.
“We have grown too quickly. Look at these two, they can barely stop fighting with each other long enough to make any sort of valid contribution to the whole.” Eshe’s far-flung gesture swept toward the Lovers, another duo dressed in traditional Greek garb, but her criticism was not unwarranted. After they’d been trapped on this side of the veil during last winter’s Showdown of the GodsTM, Hera and Zeus had been accepted into the Council in large part to keep them from making any more trouble than they already had. The Emperor, Viktor Dal, had been installed for the same reason. To say that the Arcana Council was a collection of misfits and menaces was perhaps an overstatement, but nevertheless had some merit.
“Oh?” Hera turned and addressed the High Priestess. Surprising, since the goddess rarely took her eyes or her attention off her husband. “You are one to talk. You’re simply jealous of me as you have always been jealous of me, High Priestess Eshe.”
“Oh, for the love…” Eshe muttered, rolling her eyes.
“If Conal McCarthy is as strong as early indications say that he is,” the Magician said in his most reasonable tone, his voice containing the weariness of a man who has repeated himself too many times, “then we owe it to ourselves to bring him to the Council. Not only for the world’s safety, but to control and target his abilities more effectively.”
“For your benefit, perhaps,” the Hanged Man sneered. With his ascetic, sharply cut attire, sleek black hair fastidiously combed back from his face, narrow features, and excessive early twentieth century civility, nobody could sneer like Nikola Tesla.
A new voice sounded beside me. “Do you know what’s going on?”
Startled by the sudden presence, I turned to see Gamon eyeing the chaos with the same level of bemusement I had. So that meant only one person wasn’t present and accounted for: the Hermit. Given his role of holding together the veil between the worlds, I remained perfectly okay with him skipping out on this little meeting.
Gamon, Judgment of the Arcana Council, stared around the room, her wonder at the arguing Council members obvious in her hard, dark eyes. In all her mortal years, which were particularly long-lived in her case, she’d made it a policy not to negotiate with anyone. If they’d been in her way, she’d simply rolled over them.
“The short of it?” I asked. “There’s a guy in Ireland making a lot of noise, and he’s apparently determined to raise the ancient dead gods and hand Earth over to them. Along with stopping that little plan of action, the Magician wants to maybe possibly elevate the guy to the Council as Temperance.”
“Temperance? Seems reasonable enough,” Gamon mused, eyeing the escalating anger in the room. She was another of the Council members who’d gained her seat in part to muzzle her abilities. Still, she shot me a look. “I thought you’d stopped the gods from coming through. Beyond Hera and Zeus, obviously.”
“So did I. It looks like there were a few back doors I wasn’t aware of. And this guy seems to have a fistful of keys to them.”
As I said the words, I shot a look at the Magician. How much did he really know about Conal McCarthy? If the pattern of the past held, far more than anyone else in the room—but if so, why hadn’t Armaeus warned me about Seamus’s son? For once, there wasn’t anger driving this question…merely curiosity. But it was curiosity I needed to have resolved.
“Then we should probably bring him on board,” Gamon said. “So what’s the problem?”
Eshe turned on her, her robes flying, though Gamon’s question had been muttered only to me. “The problem, Judgment, is that this idiot human has done nothing more than stake his claim in Connected dirt with his band of followers. I hardly think that’s enough cause to raise him to the Council. Even you caused more trouble than that.”
“Nothing more?” This time it was Death’s voice that sounded over the room, and her dire, resonant voice immediately silenced everyone. It seemed to swell out from her, icing my very bones. She didn’t move from her slouch against the wall as she continued. “We have just fought a galactic war to keep the gods on their side of the veil. And not only did this Conal McCarthy manage to set loose an entirely new set of gods to attack two mortals in barely the blink of an eye, he did so without us even noticing. That’s not Connected-level skill, it’s Council-level skill. And yet there was only one position on the Council who could conduct such magic so stealthily, utilizing the In Between, and it’s not the Magician.”
My brows shot up. The In Be-what?
Death’s gaze shifted to Armaeus, but to my surprise, he only nodded. “Temperance,” he murmured, sounding more intrigued than dismayed. That was okay, though, I had enough dismay for both of us.
“You think a past Temperance has returned?” I dared to venture as my mind tried to wrap my head around that idea. So was Conal McCarthy acting as himself, or was he a past Temperance reborn…and if so, how was that even possible? When it came to Council-level woo, any level of weird was possible, but still. Explanations. I needed them.
“If the ancient tomb passages connecting our world to the far side of the veil are opening, we have to consider it,” Death said. “We have lost too many of our own to those mists and shadows. More pressingly, the first wave of gods has slipped through the old passages, breaking the hallowed seals. They won’t be the only ones to do so.”
I pursed my lips. The Fomorian lizard people had appeared to walk through a sort of door to enter Dixie’s chapel, so had that door opened from this In Between place? The term sounded vaguely familiar, but only in a pop culture kind of way.
“I saw Simon’s video too,” Eshe countered, recalling my focus. “If those were the ancient gods you so fear, I’m not impressed.”
“Dude, I’m telling you. They were totally Sleestaks,” Simon countered. He was now practically bouncing, his young face bright and inquisitive beneath his mop of dark hair barely constrained by his skullcap. He wore a short-sleeved T-shirt over a long-sleeved T-shirt and faded jeans above his Chucks, and he looked around as if expecting a bigger reaction. “You don’t mess with Sleestaks.”
“Y
ou dismiss the Fomorians at your peril,” Death continued mildly, ignoring Simon, which was probably for the best. In her voice, the word Fomorians took on an odd, arcane sound, menacing and foul. “As Seamus McCarthy did once before—and yes, Sara.” She nodded to me. “He will be protected. If he’s smart, he’s already in the wind.”
“Thank you.” Seamus had enough problems without being hunted down by lizard people. And I still needed him to keep a leash on the spectral opposition warriors.
Death turned her attention back to Armaeus. “But again, the rogue Fomorians are not our only problem now, and neither is the idea of a past Council member returned. Whether he is Temperance reborn or not, if you think for one moment this self-appointed messiah is going to be content with the adulation of his little sect of followers after having stirred such an ancient power, you are deeply and profoundly mistaken. Because regardless of what he wants, those he has awoken want far, far more. He has rekindled in them a desire for nothing less than to rule Earth as theirs. They’ve done it before, and as they always promised they would do again.”
“Fairies,” the Emperor sneered, sounding so much like me only a day ago, my stomach turned. “You’re talking about fairies.”
Death’s gaze on him was withering. “I’m talking about the Tuatha Dé Danann. They have been silenced for many an age, waiting and wanting and dreaming,” she said. “For all your strength and fury, Emperor Dal, you are no match for them. In their haunting, harrowing songs, they will gather the souls of the unwary and stitch them together into cloaks of fire. In their fiery need for power, they will not, cannot stop. Should they set their eyes upon you, they will draw the very blood from your veins and turn your bones to water, all to paint their magic upon this world they loved so long ago—and lost.”
There was absolute silence for a long, harrowing moment.
Then the shouting started up again.
Chapter Thirteen
It took another twenty minutes before all the arguing settled down, and then mainly because the Council members all seemed to lose steam at once. I surveyed the group suspiciously as my right hand started to tingle, the Nul Magis detecting the slightest flare of unexpected magic. Unexpected magic was only to be expected with this group, of course, but it still put me on edge.
