Not in the Cards

by Amy Cissell

  Misty sighed. “Knowing he’s guilty and proving it are two very different things,” she agreed. “But maybe we have enough for Vincent to do something…or at least to convince him to postpone the sale a little bit longer.”

  “You’re going to the costume party with him tomorrow night, right?” Drew asked.

  “Yeah—he’s gonna wear something that fits with our group costume,” Sandy confirmed. “But I don’t know what.”

  “Did you tell him who you’d be?” Drew asked.

  “Yep. I guess he could show up as Sam. That’d fit.”

  “Costuming is not important,” Misty said. Everyone looked at her, as this had been her idea. She amended her statement. “Costuming is absolutely important. But even more important is making sure this tradition can live on to next year and the year after because we’ve preserved our town. We need a plan.”

  “You have to tell Vincent what you’ve learned,” Drew agreed. “What did his last reading say? Refresh my memory.”

  “I will if you tell me more about your crystal ball.”

  He signed dramatically. “Yet another person only interested in me for my balls.”

  Sandy rolled her eyes at him, and he laughed. “Deal.”

  She closed her eyes, brought back the memory, and recited the ten cards she’d turned over for him, then summed up. “Someone from his past set him up out of spite, he fears the loss of financial stability, and he needs to use logic and draw on his friends to figure it out. His fortunes are changing, but if he makes the right decision—and doesn’t base it on material gain—his life is going to be amazing.”

  “We’re the friends, and he needs to use logic to solve it. We know who the person from his past is—your pathetic ex—and we know why he needs to make the decision. We just don’t know what that decision is and how to trigger it.”

  “Argh!” Sandy said. “Why can’t we have all the answers? What kind of psychics are we if we’re just getting bits and pieces?”

  “Morgana has a theory about that,” Ceri said. “All of us were drawn here because we have the gift. It manifests in different ways in each of us, but it’s there. Oracle Bay enhances it—pulls out the secret parts of us that can foretell the future. But we are none of us like an oracle of the past. She thinks the longer we stay, the stronger we’ll get, and the stronger we get, the stronger everyone else gets. We feed the town, which in turn feeds us.”

  Sandy leaned her hand on her chin, fascinated. “Do you think there are oracles like the ones of legend out there somewhere?”

  Ceri shrugged, tossing her red hair over her shoulder, and said, “I don’t know. That’s a tremendous amount of power to flow through one person, and it originated with the gods. They aren’t around as much anymore, so it may not be possible for one person to be the receptacle of that much power. If you’re ever interested in a longer discussion about our powers, how they originated, and why we’re the ones chosen to exhibit the abilities now, let me know. I have a lot of theories.”

  “She does,” Drew confirmed. “And it is interesting, but it doesn’t solve our immediate problem.”

  “Back to square one,” Sandy said.

  “Oh, no,” Misty said. “We’re at least on square two or three by now. We know the guilty party. We just have to prove it.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Sandy futzed with her costume and ignored the headache between her eyes. The festivities got underway at five so that families with young children could attend. There were categories for best individual costume, best couple’s costume, and best group costume. The psychics were gunning for the best group costume. They’d lost each of the last three years to a group of, as Misty put it, ‘punk-ass kids with too much time and money and not enough sense.’ Apparently, it was turning into a West Side Story level of rivalry—at least on the side of the psychics. The kids—all juniors and seniors in high school this year—didn’t seem to be as invested as the psychics.

  “It’s our last chance to beat them!” Misty’d said. “After this year, half of them will be off to college, or Seattle, or Portland, and it won’t be the same. It’s our last chance!”

  After that, Sandy hadn’t had the heart to argue, and instead, found herself waiting for her ride while wearing the most ridiculous—and, if she was honest with herself—ridiculously and awesomely nerdy costume she’d ever put on.

  A knock on the back door startled her out of her musings, and she hurried to answer it. Drew, in a long dress and blond wig, stood on the other side. “What do you think?” he asked. He tucked his hair behind his ears, revealing tiny points at the top.

  “Very elvish,” Sandy said. “The prettiest elf I’ve ever seen, in fact.”

  “Don’t tell Misty when you see her. She thinks she’s going to hold that title.”

  “She might outshine you, Drew. I haven’t seen her yet, and I do like me some archers.”

  “Whatever,” he pouted. “I am clearly the number one elf.”

  “Of course,” she said, patting his arm. “But if you want to keep your pretty face, and I want to keep my hairy toes, we should get to the community center before Misty loses her mind.”

  “You’ve got her number already, I see.”

  “Not completely. I just know she’s taking this very seriously, and since I have a vested interest in keeping on her good side, I’ll do what it takes to keep her happy.”

  “Speaking of happiness,” Drew said, “you seem happier than when you first got here.”

  “Distance from my old life, I guess,” Sandy shrugged. “Plus, I’m making friends on my own for the first time in…I don’t remember how long. All my friends previously were friends of Aaron’s or spouses of his co-workers. I can’t remember the last time I had a friend that I made on my own. You know the kind—ones you go shopping with, or to happy hour, or plan group costumes with.”

  “I’m glad you’re liking it here. I noticed you didn’t mention a certain tall, dark, and handsome in the happiness equation. Trouble in paradise?”

  Sandy snorted. “Paradise? Really? We’ve been out a handful of times. My soon-to-be ex-husband framed him for embezzlement, and I’m still married. Nothing in that equation equals paradise.”

  “You like him.” It was not a question.

  “Of course, I do! He’s a very nice man and seems to really care about Oracle Bay.”

  “Don’t be an ass, Sandy. You know what I mean.”

  “We haven’t even kissed yet.” Sandy’d meant to sound more matter-of-fact than whiney, but in that respect, she failed.

  “Oooh, so that’s what’s got your panties in a bunch. You want some nookie.”

  “No one calls it nookie in real life, Drew.”

  “I do. Why don’t you just go for it? When’s the last time you were kissed—like really kissed? I mean passion and heat and heart emojis and fireworks?"

  Sandy rocked back on her heels, tilted her head back to one side, and thought about it. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "I know how long it's been since I've been to bed with a man, and the panty-melting kisses disappeared long before the sex did."

  "The fact that you can't remember means it's been entirely too long. You need to grab that man and plant one on him. Just be careful—the heat building between you two could melt more than just panties. It’d be a shame to burn down Oracle Bay before we learn our fate.”

  Sandy punched him in the arm.

  “Hey! Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to hit a lady?”

  She snorted. “Whatever. You might be the prettiest elven woman I’ve ever seen, but you’re no lady.”

  “So rude, half-pint.”

  It felt so good to be engaging in light-hearted banter. That was another thing that was in Sandy’s distant past. Friends, romance, happiness…it’d been too long since any of those things had been on the regular menu.

  “Tell me about our competition,” she said.

  “The group costume field is pretty small. There’s us—last year we went as the V
illage People, and the year before as the Spice Girls—the kids that always win, and two very, very large families that always dress like the hottest kid’s movies of the year and never have a shot of winning. Last year, one of the families dressed everyone—both dads and all five kids—up in cardboard boxes and tried to convince the judges they were characters from the Lego Movie. It was so bad that I was embarrassed for them.”

  “And the winners? What do they dress up as?”

  Drew heaved a huge sigh. “It doesn’t help that they’re all teenagers with teenage metabolisms who look great in spandex. Last year, when we were the Village People, they went as Power Rangers, and the year before, they dressed up as various X-Men. I still don’t know how they managed to pull off the Wolverine costume, but it was impressive.

  “This year, though… It’s our year. If we lose to them again, Misty will go ballistic and start a fight with Andy about his refusal to add liquor to his menu. Every year, it’s the same fight. I think he would start serving liquor if she’d let it go. At this point, he’s just doing it to irritate her.”

  “Are all of you single?” Sandy asked.

  “That came out of nowhere.”

  “We were just talking about my lack of love life. It seemed fair game.”

  “Yes. Currently, everyone in the union is single. Probably. Misty’s into someone, but won’t say who, and no one knows if it’s a secret dating situation or an unrequited crush. My money’s on crush.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s the worst at keeping secrets. If she made it to second base without adding it to one of our meeting’s agendas, I’d be shocked.”

  Sandy laughed. “And you?”

  Drew looked at her, then turned away. “We’re here! Let’s go find the others.”

  “C’mon. I just told you secrets.”

  “There’s someone, but I screwed it up, and I don’t know if I can ever fix it. Now let’s go.”

  Sandy adjusted her tunic and breeches, steeled herself with a deep breath, and walked into the community center where the family-friendly portion of the Halloween festivities were taking place. She patted her costume sword at her hip, adjusted her curly wig, and slipped off her shoes to walk into the room barefoot, trying hard not to think about all the things she might be walking through.

  It didn’t take long to spot the rest of the group. Drew steered her towards Paska who towered over the rest of the group. His long, blond wig, accentuating a suit of armor, stood out in the crowd. Jezebel was almost as noticeable in her white robes and white, pointy hat. She was leaning on a long staff and looking extremely disgruntled. Morgana was carrying a huge sword and wearing a crown with her outfit and had somehow managed to give herself a five o’clock shadow. Misty and Ceri—an elf with a bow and a dwarf with an axe, respectively—were grinning like fools, although Ceri’s dwarven beard made it difficult to see her face.

  “Frodo! Over here!” Ceri called. “I have a ring for you!”

  Sandy walked over to the Fellowship and smiled. This was the most fun she’d had on Halloween since college. “Are you proposing, Ceri?” she asked. “It’s all so sudden.”

  The group parted, revealing a man in gold, lamé pants, a gold a tank top, a curly gold wig, and gold, elvish script written up and down his arms.

  “Oh my god, Vincent,” Sandy said. “That is dedication to a costume.”

  “Can’t have a fellowship without the one ring,” he replied.

  “You…I don’t even have words.”

  “Sick costume, dude,” a teen dressed in a green skirt with a white and green blouse, and a long, brown ponytail wig said. “Looks like we’ve got some real competition for a change.”

  “Are you…Sailor Jupiter?” Misty asked.

  The kid flashed her a smile. “I look good in a skirt, right?” He sauntered off to find the rest of his group and Misty shook her head, sighing loudly.

  “Vincent, my man,” Drew said, looking him up and down. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

  “It was either this or the Eye of Sauron, and I didn’t want to ward off questions about fiery anatomy all night.”

  “Good choice,” Misty said. She was wearing gloves with her costume. “Too many people accidentally touch in situations like this,” she whispered to Sandy when she noticed her noticing. “I don’t want to see everyone’s secrets if I can prevent it. I’ll take them off for the judges.”

  The party was a little raucous—filled with the laughter and screams of young children as they went from spooky booth to spooky booth collecting candy and showing off their costumes. The teens were lounging in tight groups, sipping punch and pretending to be disaffected, but an aura of excitement ran through them, too.

  The two families who entered the group costume category were apparent. One dressed like the Frozen cast’s poor cousins, complete with a sad Olaf and a sadder Sven; the other was a little more hardcore, dressed like the main characters in Monsters University.

  “No contest there,” Misty declared. “Our movie may be older, but it has staying power, and our costumes don’t look like they were sewed by—”

  “You?” Ceri said.

  “Exactly. I’m terrible with arts and crafts and related things. My talents lie more in the…” she trailed off.

  “Oh, Misty! You have talents,” Ceri said. “You’re a beautiful singer.”

  “I don’t think she’s listening,” Sandy said. “Look.”

  They followed Misty’s gaze to the tall man in a flannel shirt, overalls, and boots who’d just walked into the room.

  “Is he dressed like a…farmer?” Sandy asked.

  “He probably came straight from work. He is a farmer. That’s Joseph McEwen. He raises goats and sells the milk and cream to Bill. He also makes and sells cheese.”

  “Bill the baker from the coffee shop?” Sandy asked.

  “The very same,” Drew said, bitterness heavy in his voice.

  “Why’s Misty staring at Joseph?” Sandy asked.

  “She’s probably considering yelling at him. He is such an asshole that he’s sure to have pissed her off somehow recently,” Ceri answered. “Go ahead, Misty. You can yell at him if you want. We’re here to support you.”

  “What?” Misty asked, breaking her thousand-yard stare and looking around.

  “If you need to go tell Joseph off for whatever’s he’s done now, we’ve got your back,” Ceri said again. “But only if you tell us what he’s done this time.”

  “Oh, nothing. I was just remembering the last time I yelled at him.”

  “He tried to pull out of the Autumn Bazaar after he’d already agreed to donate cheese for the sale. It’s always one of the best sellers with the out-of-town people, and he tried to cite ‘personal problems’ and ‘none of our business’ as reasons to back out. Misty went to his place to yell at him, and I don’t know what she said, but the next day, he personally apologized to each of us, reaffirmed his commitment to the Bazaar, and has been unfailingly polite ever since,” Drew said.

  “It’s weird,” Ceri added. “I don’t know how to live in a world when Cranky Joe is nice to me.”

  “Don’t call him that,” Misty snapped.

  “Whoa, okay. Settle down, Legolas.”

  “Misty’s right,” Jezebel said. “Calling names is beneath us. And Cranky doesn’t begin to describe his typical attitude. Since we’re adults here—except maybe Mr. McEwen—we will act like adults and not insult him no matter how much of a jerk he can be.”

  Ceri and Drew laughed, but Misty didn’t join in. Instead, she looked back towards Joseph, and the tiniest hint of a suspicion grew in Sandy’s mind.

  “The contest’s beginning,” Morgana announced.

  “Not a moment too soon,” Paska muttered. “I don’t know why I let you talk me into this.”

  “Because you want to beat the snot out of those kids as much as I do,” Misty said.

  “That’s definitely not it,” he replied. “I couldn’t care less about winning an arbi
trary contest.”

  “Because you didn’t want Misty bitching at you for the next three weeks?” Drew suggested.

  “That’s right. Now I remember. Let’s go get this over with so I can get this wig off. I do not look good as a blond.”

  Sandy leaned back in their booth at the Pour House, flexing her freezing toes in her wool socks and wool-lined boots. “Who knew my commitment to hobbit-kind would’ve resulted in such cold feet?” she asked.

  “You were barefoot on a gymnasium floor for over two hours,” Drew pointed out. “I’d be more worried about what diseases you picked up than how long it’s taking your feet to warm up.”

  “I can’t believe those assholes beat us again,” Misty muttered into her beer. “I was sure we had it in the bag this year. We had the one ring!”

  “Maybe if we’d had more hobbits?” Paska suggested. “A full Fellowship and the ring would’ve been more thematic.”

  “Drew wanted to wear a dress,” Jezebel said. “And when Drew wants to wear a dress, we humor him.”

  “Next year’s our year,” Sandy soothed, taking a long sip of the Imp-erial Stout Andy’d poured her. The place was all decked out for Halloween—flickering red lights lined the pub, giving the impression of flickering flames and hellfire. Cutouts of demons and monsters were scattered around, catching the light and creating spooky shadows on the walls.

  “Next year, there won’t be any real competition,” Misty sulked.

  The sound of shattering glass and raised voices cut through the cacophony that was the adult extension of the Halloween party.

  “What you mean, I’m cut off?” a man’s voice shouted. “My money’s just as good as anyone else’s here.”

  Silence reigned in the bar.

  “You broke several glasses, and you’re swaying,” the bartender said firmly. “Let me call you a cab.”

  “Like hell! I’m an angel, and I can drink where I want.”

  If he was dressed like an angel, it was not like any angel costume Sandy’d ever seen before. He was in black jeans, a white t-shirt, and a black leather jacket. Maybe a Hell’s angel, she thought.