by Tessa Adams
My second card, past influence, is the nine of swords—one of the worst cards to see in a tarot reading because it symbolizes deep emotional pain and prolonged suffering. When looked at with the other cards on the table, it also means that a dark point in my life is about to make a resurgence.
My future card, the third to be laid on the table, is the Devil. Again, not a necessarily bad card on its own, but in this combination, it isn’t good either. It promises I’ll be attacked from both within and without by forces I have no hope of controlling.
None of which sounds like a good time to me.
Even worse, the fourth card is the seven of swords. It’s the thief’s card, and is all about trickery, deception and vigilantism. It calls into question my entire belief system, at least in reference to the awful situation that seems to be brewing, and in the fourth position also signifies something deliberately put in my path by someone who wants to hurt me.
And finally, in the last position—which is all about possibilities—I’ve got the five of swords. It’s pretty much the worst card in the entire tarot deck, particularly in this spot because it basically says that no matter what I do, I’m going to be defeated. I’m just not strong enough to stand up to the malignant outside forces that are bent on my destruction.
So, all in all, I’m feeling pretty screwed right about now. If only I knew how and why.
I know I could just say, so what? They’re just tarot cards and I’m pretty sure, in the end, that’s what I’m going to wind up doing anyway. But these aren’t just any tarot cards picked up at the local bookstore and read by any charlatan.
Lily’s deck is amazing. It’s been passed down in her family for five generations, has been handled and blessed by some of the most powerful clairvoyants ever born. Plus, Lily herself is incredibly talented. The fact that she’s as nervous as she is by the way these cards turned up means there’s a lot she isn’t telling me.
Normally I’d demand to know what she’s hiding, but I’m kind of at the end of my rope today. I’m not saying I’ll never ask, but tomorrow over breakfast is more than soon enough. Especially if I’m supposed to go out on a date tonight and not act like a raving lunatic.
Speaking of which…I glance at the clock. It’s six thirty. “What time are Brandon and Kyle coming to pick us up?” I ask.
“Oh, shit!” Lily scoops the cards up and puts them back in the deck before making a mad dash for her room. “They’ll be here in half an hour!”
Thirty minutes is plenty of time for me to get ready—after all, I’m going for presentable instead of knock-his-socks-off. After that reading, it’s not like I’m anxious for Kyle to hang around. Lily may swear that the cards aren’t about him, but when it comes to guys, I’m more of the better-safe-than-sorry ilk. Declan taught me that a long time ago.
Still, I meander back to my room, figuring it can’t hurt to put on a little lipstick and mascara. But before I even make it to my bathroom, Lily comes in like a whirling dervish. She has a makeup bag in one hand and what looks like a silver thong in the other.
“Come on,” she says, shoving me down onto the bed and all but straddling me. “We don’t have much time to get you ready.”
“Get me ready? Shouldn’t we be focusing on you?”
She shoots me an incredulous look and I have to give it to her. Lily is one of those naturally beautiful women, inside and out. She looks good in just about anything and a dab of lip gloss goes a lot farther on her than it does on me.
Still, I can’t help being nervous when she empties the contents of the makeup bag on my bed. “That’s not all going on my face, is it?”
She sighs hugely. “No. More’s the pity. But I’m smart enough to know I’ve only got about ten minutes before you lose patience.”
“More like seven. And the clock started the second you climbed on top of me.”
“Then shut up and let me get started.”
True to her word, Lily’s done with my face in six and a half minutes and even I have to admit I look pretty good. “Is that purple eyeliner?” I ask as I look in the mirror she handed to me.
“It is. I picked it up for you at the MAC counter the other day because I knew it’d look sizzling hot on you. And I was right. It really makes those crazy eyes of yours pop.”
“You make me sound like a piece of bacon.”
“Whatever. You look good and you know it.” She finishes gathering up her makeup and reaches for the silver thong.
“I’ve got my own underwear, thanks.” Sometimes it pays to head Lily off at the pass.
“Well, I hope so. What does that have to do with anything?”
“Nothing. I just thought you were going to make me wear that.” I nod to the thing in her hand.
She bursts out laughing. “I am. But it’s not underwear, it’s a halter top.”
“Well, then, I’m definitely not wearing it. It’s thirty degrees out and that thing looks like it belongs on a beach in the Bahamas.”
“Don’t worry about it. Kyle will keep you warm.”
“I’ll keep myself warm, thank you very much.” I cross to my closet and pull out my favorite black cashmere sweater. It’s soft and warm and just clingy enough to be interesting.
“Oh, God. Not the sweater. Not again.” She throws herself down on the bed, hand dramatically covering her eyes.
“There is nothing wrong with this sweater.”
“There’s not much right with it either—at least not for a first date.”
We bicker back and forth for a little while until finally we reach a compromise. I get to wear the sweater as long as I also wear the super-tight skinny jeans Lily finds at the back of my closet (of course, they’re at the back of my closet for a reason) and a pair of fuck-me red, five-inch Jimmy Choos that are her current pride and joy.
When she dashes back to her room to get her own clothes on, I check myself out in the mirror and admit the compromise actually worked out pretty well. The shoes are gorgeous, the sweater looks good with my hair and if I could just take a full breath, I’d probably be more fond of the jeans as well.
All in all, it’s better than I expected when Lily came marching through my bedroom door. And at least I’m not wearing a thong for a shirt.
Brandon and Kyle are right on time and the date starts out smoothly enough. Both guys are attractive, though I don’t think Brandon is quite the golden god I remember Lily describing him to be. He’s got a good sense of humor, though, and keeps us laughing the whole ride over to Haddington’s, which is awesome.
Kyle’s a little more reserved, but he’s got a great smile and he seems really nice. Which is a good thing because we haven’t been seated more than five minutes before Lily and Brandon end up deep in discussion about the historical significance of a set of religious artifacts recently found in Chile.
It’s an interesting enough conversation for a while, but after listening to them debate it ad nauseam, I’m considering choking on a toast point just to break up the monotony.
Kyle catches my eye and grins. “Is she always like this?” he asks.
“Are you kidding? She’s just getting warmed up.”
“Him, too. Maybe we should get our own table.”
It’s obvious he’s kidding, so I glance around the crowded restaurant to play along. “Nah, too much trouble.”
“Guess we’ll have to make the best of it, then. Can I get you another drink?” He nods to my empty glass.
I think about saying no, but I’m not driving and a second glass of wine just might smooth the last of the edges out and help me relax. Something I could really use right about now. Not that Kyle is doing anything to make me uncomfortable—he’s not—but I can’t quite get over the tarot cards from earlier.
On the plus side, there’s zero chemistry between the two of us, which is more than okay by me. Especially since Kyle seems to recognize it, too. With the pressure off, I end up having a pretty good time just talking and joking around with him.
We’re w
orking our way through dessert—sharing a sticky toffee pudding—when I finally get up the nerve to ask him about the ACW. My parents and Donovan haven’t had a good thing to say about them in years and I’m curious about the opinion of someone on the other side.
“So, what’s your favorite part of working for the Council?” I ask, after we spend some time talking about the places they’ve sent him. “All the travel?”
He doesn’t answer at first, just looks thoughtfully at me across the table. “You sound like you don’t think I could have a favorite part.”
“No, that’s not it at all,” I assure him, though I guess that is what a small part of me believes. “I’ve just heard that they can be difficult to work with sometimes.”
He shrugs. “Yeah, well, that can be true of anyone, right?”
The waiter chooses that moment to stop by with the check and Kyle takes care of it before the rest of us can offer. But his movements are slow, deliberate, and I get the impression that he’s using it to buy himself some time to think. I just don’t know why—unless he doesn’t like the direction the Council is going in any more than the rest of us do.
When he finally does answer, his voice is deliberate, like he’s being very careful to weigh his words. “The Council is made up of twelve indomitable personalities, all of whom are convinced they are right one hundred percent of the time. Which can be…challenging when they’re at different ends of the spectrum and I’m stuck in the middle, trying to figure out whose orders I’m supposed to follow.”
“So you actually work closely with the Council members?” I ask, surprised. Lily had given me the impression that he was on the outskirts of the organization, though now that I think about it, she never actually said that.
“As close as it gets. I’m head of public relations for the entire Council, which means I’m in charge of getting their message out to the media—and everyone else—in a manner that can be easily understood and digested. Sometimes they make that easy on me and sometimes they don’t.”
“You’re a spin doctor.” The words pop out before I know I’m going to say them.
He flushes a little. “Not exactly.”
I back off—I don’t want to interrogate him, or make him feel uncomfortable, but still, I’m fascinated. “But you are in charge of their image? Making them look good?”
“Well, yes, but I’m not the only one. I head up the group of PR people who take care of all manner of publicity for them.”
“I find that so strange.”
“Why?” Now he does look a little offended. “I don’t look like your typical PR guy?”
“No, no, of course you do—”
“Ouch. I think that was an insult.”
He makes a face at me and I laugh. “No, it wasn’t, and you know it. It’s just, I always thought of the ACW as this untouchable group of witches and wizards who don’t actually care what people think of them since they’re appointed to the Council for life. It’s strange to imagine that they actually employ a whole department to make them look good.”
“Yeah, well, their image isn’t exactly Mary Poppins right now. Imagine what it would be like if we didn’t exist?”
It’s a good point, one I’d like to explore more. Donovan is always complaining that the Council has taken a dark turn, that it’s skirting Heka laws for itself even as it enforces them for everyone else. No one around here gets too upset about it though—including me. They’re in Europe, we’re here, and as long as we don’t do anything too heinous, they pretty much leave us alone.
And as I have no power to abuse, anyway, it’s not something I’ve ever spent much time thinking about. But now that I am thinking about it, I’m curious.
“What kind of stuff do you cover up for them?” I ask. “Or is that too off-limits?”
“Well, I can’t give you specifics or anything…”
“Oh, right. Of course not. I was just talking generally.”
“Mostly it’s just things that would make the individual members look bad if they got out—for example, one member of the Council having an affair with a much younger witch even though they’re both married, another one unwittingly invested money backing a Ponzi scheme. Stuff like that.”
“What about things that affect the witch community as a whole? New laws that have passed—”
“That’s not my area. They have a separate department for that.”
I start to ask why that is—after all, how much spin does one group of people need?—when Brandon looks up from his conversation with Lily for the first time since we ordered. “We should probably get going,” he suggests. “The show starts in fifteen minutes.”
I’m a little surprised that so much time has passed. I may not be attracted to Kyle, but he’s a great conversationalist. Once we started talking, I didn’t even feel the time pass.
The theater is only about a half mile walk from the restaurant, and parking down here is a bitch, so we decide to hoof it. But we’re only on the street a few seconds before I start to feel sick. Really sick.
My stomach is churning, my legs feel shaky and I’m having a hard time catching my breath—and this time it has nothing to do with the jeans. Plus I’m breaking out in a cold sweat despite the fact that that temperature has dipped down to the high twenties.
Food poisoning? I wonder. But I didn’t eat any meat or seafood, so that seems unlikely.
The flu? God, I hope not. After taking last week off, I can’t afford to be away from Beanz any more than I have to be.
I keep walking, up Nueces to Sixth Street, but I’m getting shakier by the second. Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong. The smell of alcohol and crush of bodies on Austin’s famed party street only makes things worse.
I figure I’m doing a pretty good job of covering because we’re at Guadalupe before Lily notices. She breaks away from Brandon and wraps an arm around my waist. “You doing okay?” she murmurs.
I force a smile I’m far from feeling. “Something at dinner must not have agreed with me.”
“Do you want to go home?”
The offer’s sincere—she’s that kind of friend—but I know she’ll be crushed if I end the date early, so I just shake my head. “I’ll be fine once we get inside and I can sit down.”
“You sure?”
No. Not at all. “Yeah, absolutely.”
By the time we make a left onto Congress, the nausea has died down a little, but the shakiness is worse. My legs feel like they can’t support me and suddenly, the Jimmy Choos don’t seem like such a good idea. Not that there’s anything I can do about it now—Lily’s shoes are even higher and more precarious than mine.
We stop outside the Paramount and Brandon and Kyle walk up to will call to get our tickets. Normally, I love this place. It’s an old-time movie palace in the tradition of Hollywood’s Golden Era. One big theater with sweeping arches, rounded ceilings and elaborate gold paint, it’s one of the most popular places to perform in Austin. When they don’t have comedians or musicians booked into it, they have movie marathons that run the gamut from B movie thrillers to Golden Era romances like Casablanca and Gone with the Wind.
I can’t begin to list the number of happy times I’ve had here, curled up in the huge, red seats drinking beer and eating popcorn while B movie villains plotted to take over the world. But today I don’t want to go in. A feeling of dread overwhelmed me the second we stopped in front of the box office and it’s only grown worse the longer we stand here.
Brandon and Kyle still have a few people in front of them at the window when I glance up at the marquee to check who we’re seeing. I’m not a big fan of illusionists, but there are a few I wouldn’t mind…
The world stops. Literally stops. Or at least my small section of it does, my entire being freezing where I stand. Except my heart—that starts pounding so fast that for a moment I fear it will explode right out of my chest.
He’s here. Right here. In Austin. Even though he’s supposed to be eight thousand mi
les and half a world away. Not that I’ve been keeping track or anything.
I look again, just to make sure. Just to be certain. And there it is in huge black letters that can’t be ignored. THE WORLD FAMOUS DECLAN CHUMOMISTO, IN TOWN FOR THREE NIGHTS ONLY. MAGICAL ENCORE TO THE DARK ILLUSIONS WORLD TOUR.
Eight
The sick feeling I’ve been having for the past ten minutes intensifies into a full-blown panic attack and suddenly it’s not just about being unable to take a deep breath. It’s about not being able to breathe at all. I turn away from the theater so I won’t have to see his name and noisily try to suck air into a windpipe that has narrowed to the size of a pinhole.
He can’t be here. He just…can’t be here. Not here, in Austin, where I am. Not when I need him to be anywhere but here.
“Hey, Xandra, are you getting worse?” Lily’s moved so that she’s right in front of me, her concerned face inches from mine. “You look like you’re going to throw up.”
I feel like I’m going to throw up. The nausea from earlier is back triple-fold and all the weird feelings, the not-quite-feeling-like-myself awkwardness oozes through me. I glance back at the marquee, one more time—just to prove to myself that I’m not imagining this. Imagining him.
I’m not. Lily is waiting for an answer, the look on her face both impatient and concerned. I want to point, to show her what it is that has me so uneasy, but she doesn’t know. I never told her about my one night with Declan. I probably should have, but as a princess of Ipswitch, so much of my life is for public consumption that it felt good to have this one little secret. This one thing that no one else knows about. Even if it ended up not meaning anything—to him anyway. As for me, it was the final proof that I’d never fit into the life my coven expected me to lead. Which is a good thing—I should be shaking his hand for the lesson instead of feeling like I’m about to shake apart.
The thought steadies me and I finally suck in one breath, two. I can do this, I tell myself. Seeing Declan again is nothing. I’m part of the audience in a sold-out show—he’ll never know I’m here. Not that he probably remembers me anyway, but still. It’s not as if I have to worry about running into him in the lobby.
