“I’ll get them!” Katie jumped up.
“No, Katie, really I—“
“I don’t mind, really! They just go in the washer anyway, right?”
“But you don’t have to do that…”
I have to do something for you, Katie had her mouth open to say; she glanced at me and said instead: “I really don’t mind!”
“Really, I insist—“
“No, really—“ Katie started.
“Katie!” Liz smiled gently. “Do shut-up, sweetheart.” Then she turned the smile on Byron. “And Byron, dear, never insist with a woman, it will get you nowhere. Goodness, no wonder Donna left.”
“Mom!” I cried.
Liz lit up like a bulb.
Pointed rapidly at Katie and Byron excitedly. “You’re witnesses! He called me ‘mom’! Jesus, Joseph and Mary, he hasn’t called me that since he wet the bed!”
“Mom—Liz--please!”
“Elliot, try to me more like Katie, can you, dear?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means shut-up, sweetie. Please.” She turned to Byron again. “Now dear, why don’t you go out to your shop and work on that broken clock like you wanted to?”
Byron nodded—then frowned. “How did you know I was working on a clock?”
“You mentioned it, dear, earlier!”
“I did? No I didn’t.”
“Well, perhaps not, who knows, it’s this prescient thing that runs in the family. Anyway, you run along and work on your clock, it’ll take your mind off things!”
“What clock?” from Katie.
Byron started to stand and Liz pulled him back to his chair. “But before you do, let me show you something first!”
And she got up, got her purse from the kitchen counter and headed smiling back to the table again.
Byron looked at me. I just shrugged.
Liz sat down, put the purse before her and dragged out her Tarot cards. They weren’t the Tarot cards she had used when I was a child. Those had colorful, old fashioned storybook type illustrations on them.
The new set was decorated with blatant Steampunk designs. Realistic, disturbing illustrations that I didn’t like a bit.
“Oh, Liz, for the love of Pete!” I groaned.
Katie looked down at Liz’s hands in surprise. “Tarot cards?”
Liz winked at Byron, began shuffling the cards in her hands quickly. “Katie isn’t sure about the Tarot, are you, dear?”
Katie said, “Well…”
“But she’s still a young woman,” giving Katie a warm once-over, “a very attractive woman,” shooting me a look across the table, “a woman of child bearing years.”
“Liz—“
“Do be still, dear. Now then…” she spread the cards face down in front of Byron, “…I believe we were talking about people coming back? People reconnecting and such? Byron, darling, please pick a card.”
I buried my face in my hands. “Liz, this isn’t the time or the place for—“
“Actually,” Katie said, “the Tarot started as a legitimate game of cards way back in 1425.”
“That’s my girl!” from Liz. She elbowed Byron, leaned close. “Didn’t start with all that occult stuff until 17—“she turned, “when was it, Katie--?”
“1781, Antoine Court de Gebelin, Swiss clergyman and Freemason. He asserted that the symbolism of the Tarot de Marseille represented the mysteries of Isis and Thoth. The word ‘tarot’ from the Egyptian tar, meaning “royal”, and ro, meaning ‘road’. In other words a ‘royal road’ to wisdom.”
“Very nice, Katie! Isn’t she a smart thing, Byron? So sweet! You’d think someone would notice! No, Byron, not you, dear. Please pick a card now.”
“You don’t have to do this, Byron,” I pleaded.
“Now Elliot, you know as well as I that the Tarot has its share of science mixed with the occult!”
Byron looked at me. “Does it?”
I looked at Katie. “Does it?”
“If you follow Carl Jung,” she said.
“And who doesn’t?” from Liz.
Katie grinned at Liz; I think she was getting a kick out this, having Liz around. You could almost feel the mutual affection and respect bubbling between them. “Jung regarded the cards as representing archetypes,” Katie continued, “fundamental types of persons or situations embedded in the collective unconscious of all humans. Since the cards represent these different archetypes within each individual, Jung felt that ideas of the subject’s self-perception could be gained by imaging it in term of the archetypal ideas associated with each card.”
“Thank you, dear. Byron?”
Byron selected a card at random.
“Hold it up, please!”
He held it up.
The face of the card showed an illustration: a nude couple--Adam and Eve-like—standing in a primitive garden below the protective form of an angelic woman. The short legend at the bottom read: The Lovers.
“There you are!” Liz announced triumphantly. “’The Lovers’! Long associated with the star sign Gemini! Its key word interpretations: Union, Passion, Sexuality, Bonding, Romance! Feel better now, Byron dear?”
“If I may,” I leaned forward against the table, “not all interpretations follow A.E. Waite’s theology. Tarot decks may have different meanings, and different interpretations of cards may be presented by different users. In The Marseilles Tradition, for instance, The Lovers represent words completely contrary: like Choice, Doubt, Dilemma, Temptation.”
“Pooh!” from Liz. “You read too much, Elliot, dear!”
“There’s no science to it, Byron, it’s a card trick!” I said. “One my always unpredictable mother has apparently become quite adroit at.”
Katie gave Liz a sympathetic look.
Liz waved me off, scooped up the cards. “Never mind, never mind, Elliot is entitled to his opinion--” she handed the cards to Byron. “--drab and unimaginative pragmatic as they are! You shuffle them, dear.”
Byron did.
“Now lay them face down as I did before.”
Byron did.
“Pick. Any card.”
Byron picked a card. held it up: The Lovers.
Liz beamed.
“Pretty good!” Byron smiled.
“Oh, brother!” from me.
“They rarely lie!” from Liz, scooping up the cards again, shuffling.
Katie giggled. “Liz two, Elliot nothing!”
I ground my teeth. “Do me,” I blurted.
Liz’s hands shook, spilled cards across the table top. Her always cheery smile altered a fraction.
Katie gave me a warning look.
Liz collected her cards again. “Very well…”
“No!” from Katie, so sharply I jerked toward her. “Enough cards! Um…how ‘bout we go for a morning walk!”
Liz shuffled, fingers flying confidently again.
I reached over, clamped a hand on her wrist firmly if gently. “Not the card trick, Liz. I want the real deal. A full reading.”
Liz hesitated. Looked at her wrist.
I pulled my hand back. Liz began to shuffle again.
Katie slapped the table next to me. “Elliot, don’t! You don’t know what you’re messing with!”
Liz’s expression remained cool. “She’s right about that, dear...”
“A full reading,” I repeated. Leaned back, arms folded, and regarded Liz. “Isn’t that why you came to San Diego? To read for me, Liz?”
FIFTEEN
Liz began slowly, almost reluctantly, to shuffle the cards.
“Hey, what about my wish?” I piped up. I’d see her do this hundreds of times before and knew the ritual by heart.
Liz looked up at me, her face solemn. “Fancy you remembering that.” She held out the deck for me, face down. “Now put your wish in the deck,” she said by rote.
I wish there were no Animal People, I thought fervently as I touched the cards. Liz just sat there staring at me. “Oka
y. Done.”
There was definitely something wrong with my mother. Her jubilance had flown; she seemed burdened, which was not like Liz at all. Something was worrying her.
“What happened to the old deck, Liz, the one you used to use when I was a kid?” I asked peevishly as she peeled off five of the wretched cards and arranged them clockwise, face down, with the fifth card in the middle.
“They wore out, dear,” she said absently, staring intently at the cards that lay on the table before her.
I looked down at them. “Five card spread, right?” She nodded. “I hate these cards! They look like a punk rocker’s fantasy of what it would be like to be Harry Potter!”
Liz didn’t answer, continued to stare intently at the cards.
After a moment of silence everyone was staring at her. I finally asked gently, “Aren’t you going to read them?...”
This seemed to bring her around a bit. She cleared her throat and began briskly, flipped over the first card in the 9 o’clock position.
“First card. Seven of Cups.” The card was illustrated by a man in a top hat looking into a shop window at rows of loving cups. Not too obvious.
“In the moment,” Liz went on gravely, “all possible futures exist for you, until you pick one. The one you pick leads directly to the second card…” Liz turned over the second card, which was sitting at the noon position. Everyone’s eyes followed hers. I saw Katie’s eyes widen with alarm.
“The Devil,” my mother said. She cleared her throat again. “This indicates that the path you choose will be contrary to your best interests. The card represents ignorance, wrong doing, submission. This is your challenge card…” Her eyes slid away from my face and she seemed to frown at some inner warning.
After a moment she turned brightly to the others. “This is silly, Katie’s right! Why don’t we all see what’s on TV?”
“Come on, Liz, you started this!” I grinned at her. “Read the rest of them.”
Her face seemed to drop again and after a moment she flipped over the third card, in the 3 o’clock position. “The Tower,” she said, and sure enough there was an illustration of a lightning struck tower growing out of the trunk of an enormous twisting tree. “An unexpected event will change everything for you.” She looked up at me again, the frown back.
Katie interrupted. “What does the Tower card represent?”
Liz stopped for a moment, then looked up at Katie. “It usually means upheaval, adversity, in some cases ruin.”
Byron laughed. “This isn’t looking too good for you, Elliot!” he joked. “I prefer The Lovers myself!” Katie and Liz both looked disturbed. “Go on, Liz,” Byron smiled, “Give us the next card! It looks interesting! Can’t wait to see if Elliot survives!” He laughed again but Liz looked up at him sharply, almost stricken. I was beginning to regret the whole stupid reading.
“Fourth card,” Liz spoke carefully. She turned over the card in the 9 o’clock position. It showed a blindfolded maiden surrounded by eight threatening-looking swords connected by a clockwork mechanism. “This is the Eight of Swords.”
“No kidding, Mom.”
For once she ignored my slip. “This card indicates inner conflict and turmoil. You will be facing down your fears in a doubly precarious situation.” Katie put her hand on my mother’s arm gently. “Liz, you don’t have to do this.” Liz nodded, her face grim, then proceeded to turn over the last card, the one that laid in the middle of the formation. There was an angel in a white gown with black wings riding a horse, grasping a huge sickle.
There was a general gasp in the room as we read the card.
“Death,” Liz pronounced, not surprised, as if she knew it was coming.
“What does it mean?” Katie whispered to her.
Liz was silent. Then: “It might mean a lot of things…generally it indicates a change or ending. Sometimes mortality. It is the outcome of whatever path Elliot chooses. The final product. It could mean an ending that makes a transformation possible. Or it could mean—“
“Death,” Byron provided thoughtlessly.
Liz sat there looking down at the offending cards, then suddenly swept them up with a flourish and shoved them back in her handbag. She seemed to regain her composure, and beamed at her audience. “Just a silly game, that’s all. You always thought Tarot was phony anyway, didn’t you, Elliot dear?”
I shrugged. “Steampunk Tarot cards. How can I take that seriously?”
“Byron, go work on your clock. Katie, grab Elliot and go take that walk.” Liz got to her feet and began clearing the table, but her heart wasn’t in it…
SIXTEEN
Byron went out to his carriage house shop in back.
Katie waited a few minutes before taking my hand and wandering through the backyard garden, then conveniently visiting Byron in his shop, though the fact that she had her shoulder bag with her may have spoiled the feint a bit.
The shop smelled sweetly clean after being in the dark old Victorian, of fresh cut pine and sawdust; not that the house itself smelled bad, more like it…felt bad.
Byron turned from his workbench, screwdriver in hand, as we knocked at the open door and came on in. “Mind visitors?”
He looked a bit less peaked after Liz’s Tarot card sessions and even offered us a small smile. “Not at all. Come forth into my lumber-stacked wilderness!” He paused at the bench, looked up at the zillion tiny floating motes outlined in the shaft of light from the carriage house window. “You know, maybe it would be easier for me to just to move in here. I could just store all this crap in that damn nursery.”
I didn’t detect any overt sarcasm but Katie’s brow knitted a bit with guilt anyway.
“Byron…” she began awkwardly, picking her way through the maze of boxes and stacked boards, “…I know you’re disappointed…”
Byron returned his attention to his bench. “I’ll get over it. Every wife goes home to mother at least once during a marriage, right?”
Katie smiled limply. “Disappointed in us, I mean, Elliot and me, our handling of your…case.”
“Is that what we are, a ‘case’?” He smiled. “I know you’re doing your best, Katie. Donna knows it too. You’re good people. And as for your mother, Elliot—“
“Oh, crap.”
“—‘crap’ nothing, if I weren’t already married I’d be chasing that, just to warn you. That woman can’t really be old enough to have birthed an ugly brute like you; she’s too gorgeous, for one thing. I do believe I have a major crush.”
Katie chuckled, came over to the workbench. “Same thing happened to me when I first met her. Don’t worry, you won’t get over it. Working on the nursery clock, the one over the mantle? Get that puppy in working order at last.”
I moved next to her and saw Bryon turning the clock in his hands. “Getting this puppy in working order to see if I can sell it. Along with my other antiques. We need the money. Badly. Most of the stuff in the house should fetch a decent price, excluding that silly carpet ball.”
Katie and I traded looks.
“About the ball,” I said, “sorry, I can’t remember, did you say you only had the one?”
Byron twisted screws, checked springs. “Just the one. I’m told they’re not that rare but I’ve never run across any others. Thought it was an unusual piece.”
Katie unslung her shoulder bag. “Unusual’s the word for it, all right. You’re absolutely positive you only own the one? The same one you took from the nursery when it fell that time and put it in the master bedroom for safekeeping?”
Byron gave her a curious glance. “I’m sure. I may not be able to tell my ass from my elbow on a road trip, but I know my collection. Every piece and pretty much what they’re worth.”
“You’re positive?” I pressed.
Byron hesitated, then put down his screwdriver and turned to us, clock in hand. “Yes. Positive.” He glanced back and forth between us. “What’s going on?”
I turned to Katie, who was already pulli
ng a carpet ball from her bag, holding it up. “Is this it?”
Byron frowned, leaning on one hip with amusement. He grinned at me. “I see. You steal it first, then you ask me if you can have it. Take the damn thing, for chrissake!”
Katie held up the second ball. “Which one?”
Byron pushed off his hip, staring at both objects in her hands. “I don’t get it.”
I nodded, leaned against the bench. “Neither do we.”
Katie held out the nearly identical onyx spheres to him. “Which one is yours?”
Bryon studied both a moment, finally reached out and tapped the slightly smaller ball. “This one. I think.”
Katie handed him the bigger one. “This is the one I picked up off the nursery floor that first night. Same color and design, but slightly bigger, as you can see.”
Byron took the ball from her. “Same vintage too, I’d guess. Where did you get it?”
“I told you, off the nursery floor.”
He looked confused. “Where it fell from the toy shelf, you mean?”
Katie glanced at me. “The one you bought was still on the toy shelf, I saw it there, shoved back in the shadows, the night Rankin was shooting. I switched it with the bigger ball later when you weren’t around.” She took the bigger ball back from him. “They look so much alike you obviously didn’t notice.”
Byron hesitated, shook his head like a dog shakes off water. “I don’t—then where did the bigger ball come from?”
Katie traded looks with me again as if to see who was going to volunteer first.
“We don’t know,” I said finally. “But it’s the one Nathaniel always carries around. My ball, to quote his royal pants.”
“But actually…we have an idea where it might have come from,” Katie added.
Byron waited patiently, looking back and forth at us. “Yeah--?”
Katie took an uncertain breath. “We don’t know exactly where it came from yet,” she said measuredly, “but we think it may be the same place Nathaniel went.”
Byron just stared at us.
You are about to be fired, a voice said confidently in my head.
But instead of doing that, Byron took the big ball from Katie again. Held it close. Turned it slowly in his hand. “What exactly are you guys saying…?”
NIGHT CHILLS: A Bracken and Bledsoe Paranormal Mystery Page 16
