by Aurora, Lexi
Chapter 2: Fiona
I spread the cards out on the table, watching as my friend Constance chose five of them from the deck. I arranged them in a cross position, the one that Constance liked best when I was reading the tarot for her. It was an easy job, one that I didn’t have to work too hard to do. Constance started every session with the latest gossip, and from that I was able to weave a tale of her fortune in a way that was specific enough to keep her coming back.
I looked up at Constance. She was leaned over the table, studying the cards as if she was going to read them herself. She liked to get a good look at everything before I started reading.
“What’s this one mean?” she asked, frowning, pointing at the Death card in the center of the cross.
“It means that you’ve got to make a change,” I told her. “It’s a card of transition.”
“So I’m not going to die?” she asked. I shook my head, smiling at her.
“Not as far as the cards say,” I told her.
She relaxed a little bit, her body less tense. She settled in across from me to listen to the reading. Reading cards was something that I loved to do, one of the first things I’d learned from my grandmother, who had raised me in this house before she died. I had taken over her business as a spiritualist and was doing well for myself—I expanded my practices beyond my home and had become distinguished among the local nobility, sought out for my talents.
“How are things going with your husband?” I asked her, pointing to the lower card, which featured a grim picture of a woman in bed with several swords hanging over her, resting almost as if she were dead.
Constance shook her head. “Terrible,” she spat. “It just keeps getting worse.”
“What do you mean?” I asked her, my brow furrowed.
“He’s having affairs,” said Constance, her voice dry. “I’ve been trying to ignore it, but—“
“That’s what the card says,” I told her, nodding. “It means that there’s pain you can no longer tolerate.”
“Really?” she asked, looking at the card. I nodded at her.
“But this one,” I said, pointing to the card on the right, the one that was my favorite. “The Wheel of Fortune. It means that something is going to surprise you, stir things up.”
“Like what?” Constance asked. I looked at the other cards for some spark, some idea to give her that would make sense in the reading. I had gotten good at making up stories for the tarot, giving my clients not only the words they wanted to hear, but needed.
“A woman,” I said, pointing to the Empress card. “Maybe one of his girls.”
Constance’s eyes narrowed and she wrinkled her face with disgust.
“That’s the last thing I need,” she said. “You know the party is coming up in one week.”
I nodded. Constance was a duchess, high-born and high-class. She had invited me to perform a séance at her latest party. Constance was the reason I’d been to the haute monde in the first place—she had always tried to convince my grandmother to join her at one of her parties and my grandmother had always adamantly refused. It wasn’t until her death, when I had taken over the business, that Constance was able to convince me to perform for her. Once I started, I loved it, and the money had been pouring in faster than it ever had when my grandmother was raising me.
“This is interesting,” I said, pointing at the next two cards. “Because this one indicates a strong male presence as well.”
“My husband?” asked Constance. “And what about the other one?”
“I don’t think it’s your husband,” I told her. In fact, the card indicated something else, something unfamiliar. “But the last card is a warning.”
Constance swallowed, looking at me with wide eyes again. “A warning?”
I nodded. “Both of these people need to be paid attention to,” I told her. “Don’t ignore them.”
“How am I supposed to know who they are?” she asked, running her hand through her short hair. It was worn shorter than the normal fashion and had caused quite a stir among the high society ladies, but Constance was the type of woman who didn’t care. I admired her for that.
“You’ll know,” I told her, keeping my voice low and mysterious. This was the part that clients enjoyed most about my readings—not necessarily the answers, but the mysteries surrounding them. I knew that Constance in particular enjoyed the juiciness of a good cliffhanger, so that’s where I left her reading, gathering the cards up and putting them back in the deck.
“That’s maddening,” she said, although there was a grin on her face. “Truly.”
I shrugged. “I know. Sometimes I don’t get all of the answers that I need.”
She nodded wisely, as if she understood the whole thing.
“Are you ready for the party?” she asked me, looking around my place.
“I am,” I told her. “I’ve hired a boy to help me travel with my things.”
“Good,” she said. “I hope he’s handsome.”
I laughed. “He’s thirteen.”
Constance grimaced and shook her head. “I don’t see why you don’t get yourself a man,” she said. “You’re so pretty.”
“Men aren’t worth it,” I told her, reciting the words my grandmother used to speak to me. Grandmother had been strict about men and courting when I was younger, and had never tried to set me up with a husband, nor had she encouraged me to meet any young gentlemen. When I’d had callers, she turned them away. I had gotten used to the absence of a man in my life and had no inclination to change that, no matter how handsome he might be.
“Have you ever been with a man?” she asked. “Ever?”
I blushed, turning my face away from the table. Usually, I was good at keeping my cool, remaining calm and poised. But personal questions threw me off, especially when they were about men.
“Once,” I told her, remembering the boy who had taken my virtue. I had met him in school the year my grandmother sent me off. It had only been one year, but I had fallen for him as only a girl of sixteen could fall for someone. When she took me out of school, brought me back, I was heartbroken. “A long time ago.”
“Well, it’s been too long,” said Constance. “I want to set you up with someone.”
I snorted in a rather unladylike manner. “A nobleman? Right.”
“Maybe,” said Constance. “Why not?”
“I’m a commoner,” I told her. “And a spiritualist. No sane man of nobility would dare come near me for anything more than a night.”
“A merchant, then,” said Constance. “Somebody rich and handsome.”
I shook my head. “I’m not interested in a man,” I told her. “I make my own money.”
“And you do very well for yourself,” said Constance. “But I don’t want you to be lonely.”
I smiled at her. “I’m not lonely, Constance, I assure you.”
She peered at me for a long moment and nodded. “Well, I’m going to keep my eye out anyway.”
I laughed and rolled my eyes. I loved Constance, but I knew this was one thing she would never drop. Despite the troubles in her own marriage, she was a lover at heart, and lived vicariously through the romances of those around her. It was why she arranged so many set-ups—she wanted to watch love blossom, and be up-close and personal with it. But I wanted no part of love, and I told myself that no matter who she introduced me to, I wouldn’t allow myself to be the least bit interested.
“Why do I have a feeling you already have an idea in your head?” I asked her. She laughed, giving me a sly smile.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, feigning innocence. “But if a handsome man dares to approach you at the party, don’t turn him away.”
I rolled my eyes again, shaking my head at her. There was nothing else I could do but laugh.
Constance and I spent the rest of the afternoon talking about the local gossip, the things she had heard from the other nobility. It was good for me to know in case any one
of them decided to use my services once they’d seen what I could do at the party. Of course, Constance didn’t know that I used the information she gave me to my advantage in business, and I only felt a little bit bad for using her confidences to meet my own needs. But that was the way the business worked—you paid attention so that you could tell them what they wanted and needed to hear. My grandmother had never told me how she managed to perform séances and card readings so accurately for people she barely knew anything about, but I had learned to do it my own way once she’d refused to teach me certain secrets of the trade.
Once Constance left, I shut off my porchlight and went inside, turning the lights out as I went. I thought about the card reading, something that I didn’t often do—I didn’t believe in the cards and knew that they were just a tool for storytelling. But this one had told an admittedly interesting story, one that left me almost wondering if it was truly a warning that Constance needed to look out for.
Chapter 3: Julian
My brother had taken over our father’s study and called me in two days after the funeral. I hadn’t seen him since that night; he had been gone a lot, dealing with the official business of inheriting Father’s title. I had the suspicion that he had also been off on his own, investigating what he thought was foul play in Father’s death.
I rapped the backs of my knuckles on the back of the door before peering in. My brother gestured me inside and I closed the door behind me before approaching his desk and sitting down. It was almost surreal to look at the man sitting across the desk from me and see my golden brother rather than my stern, silvery father.
“I need you to do something for me,” he said. “There’s a party at the Duke of Rembrandt’s estate in three days. I need you to be there.”
I raised my eyebrows at him. “Why?” I asked. It was never something that I would have asked of our father, but I felt comfortable enough with my brother to question him, even if he was the earl.
“There will be a spiritualist there,” he began, looking at my face with a tentative gaze, as if wary as to how I would react. I looked at him with my mouth open, confused.
“A spiritualist?” I asked him. “Who?”
“Her name is Fiona Temple,” he said. I nodded. I had heard of Fiona Temple before but had never attended one of her parties. The spiritualist craze was never something that I had believed in or been fond of, though my brother had attended many séances. I had never accepted his invitations and was completely uninterested in the whole idea of contacting the dead for fun.
“Why do I need to go?”
“I need to contact Father,” he said. For a moment, I didn’t think he was serious. The whole idea seemed preposterous to me. And yet the look on his face told me that he wasn’t kidding.
“Jason, I—“
“You will be there,” he told me sternly, channeling our father. I didn’t like the way he was behaving, how obsessed he seemed to be over our father’s death.
“A medium, Jason?” I asked him. “You think you’re going to get your answers from a medium?”
He shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “It’s worth a try.”
I stared at him for a moment, unable to find words that would convince him not to go through with this silly plan, and forcing me to do it. But he was giving me a look that said he would brook no argument, so I simply nodded and asked for the details of the party to be relayed to my valet, Smith. Jason nodded and dismissed me, going back to whatever he had been writing before I’d walked in.
I did not look forward to the party as the nights passed, nor was I ready for it when the time came to prepare. My valet helped me into my coats after I’d slipped into the dark satin breeches that had been prepared for the party. My shirt was crisp and white and itched my neck, and the jacket was too heavy. I knew that I would be uncomfortable for the rest of the night, though my brother would be satisfied with my attire.
We took a curricle to the party, which was faster than taking the carriage. It was a cool, brisk night, one that felt refreshing as we rode in the cool air to the Rembrandt estate. Jason drove the horses while I sat beside him, wondering just how the night would go.
When we arrived, an attendant took our horses while Jason and I descended from the curricle, walking along the groomed, velvet green grass up to the top of the hill where the house sat. I saw many people there who I knew but none of whom I would consider a friend. It was going to be a long night. As we walked, we greeted other people who were just joining the party.
“I’m going to stay out here for a moment,” I told Jason as he was walking into the manor. “For the air.”
He looked at me but nodded, clearly distracted as he gazed over my shoulder. I had a feeling he was looking for Markwell but I didn’t ask him about it, instead just watching him disappear into the house. I waved at a few people and spoke to some before I made my way around the back of the house to find some peace and quiet before I had to join the others inside.
It was dark on the back lawn of the estate and there was nobody else there. I found a bench in the gardens on which to sit down, one made of old wood that had probably been there for centuries. I looked inside the windows as I sat, watching people laugh and drink, wondering exactly why my brother had dragged me here in the first place.
It was then that I heard a noise behind me. I turned around, shifting on the bench, to see a woman standing just a few feet from me, also gazing into the window. It seemed like she didn’t notice I was there. I cleared my throat so as not to startle her by calling out, and she looked over at me. Her pale skin was illuminated in the moonlight and her bright red hair looked like fire in the glow. It was long and down, not worn up as the current fashion, but in a curtain of curls around her shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
“I’m doing the same thing you’re doing,” I told her. “Trying to get away.”
“Is that what I’m doing?” she asked, giving me a small smile that lit up her pretty face.
“Looks like it,” I told her. She took a step closer to me, then another. I could see then that her eyes were green and lovely, as lush as the carpet of spring grass beneath our feet.
“What are you hiding from, sir?” she asked me.
“Everything,” I said. “I don’t like these parties.”
She laughed, the sound soft and melodic. She really was beautiful, even in the dimness of the moonlight.
“You should give it a try,” she said. “It might not be so bad. I’ve never seen you at one before.”
“Nor have I seen you,” I said. “What is your name?”
She looked at me shyly then, gazing at me through her long, thick lashes.
“Fiona,” she told me. “Fiona Temple.”
“Ah, the witch,” I said. She looked at me with wide eyes and I grinned at her.
“I’m just kidding,” I promised. She relaxed then, a grin on her face.
“Don’t ever say that in front of anyone,” she said. I made the sign of a cross over my heart.
“I would never,” I told her. She sat down next to me on the bench then, surprising me. I didn’t think she would get close.
“What is your name?” she asked me.
“Julian,” I told her.
“Julian?” she asked. “Just that?”
“Castellano,” I said. “Julian Castellano.”
“Oh,” she said, licking her bottom lip. She stood quickly. “My lord, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so—“
“It’s fine,” I told her, gesturing for her to sit down. She didn’t do so, instead standing in front of me with an abashed look on her face. “Don’t worry about it. I’m no lord.”
She shook her head, biting her lip. The gesture was infinitely distracting on such a perfect mouth. I couldn’t help but gaze at her lips, couldn’t help but wonder what they tasted like. It was a thought that I tried to push away; I didn’t think of women that way, or get distracted by them, no matter h
ow beautiful they were.
“Are you doing a séance tonight?” I asked her, eager to change the subject and keep her there.
