“My glasses.” The agitated lady tossed a few silk cushions aside, then came to an abrupt halt. “Never mind. I forgot. I don’t wear glasses.” She laughed. “Holy Hecuba, it’s not easy getting old.”
The woman didn’t appear elderly enough to be having senior moments. If anything, she looked to be vibrant middle age. The sort of woman one would expect to see in a television commercial riding a bicycle in a sunny park while touting the benefits of a balanced multivitamin with CoQ10.
Witch Casey turned and pointed her finger into Devon’s face. “You’re the one who drew the dual stone from the bag, am I correct? Or did I confuse you with the other girl?”
Girl? Really? She was a grown woman, for crying out loud. Did Witch Casey really not remember who’d drawn the dual stone, or was that part of the act? If it was part of the act, it wasn’t a very wise decision. A good fortune-teller needed to take charge and instill confidence in their patrons, not undermine themselves. Maybe the poor woman was genuinely confused, crazy, or high? There was definitely an odd vibe about her.
Witch Casey’s large green eyes flashed, indignant. “Before you criticize me, consider your own confusion.”
“What?” Devon started. “I didn’t say anything.”
“No, but you thought it. You think I’m confused and incapable of instilling confidence. I assure you that is not the case. Good goddess, give me a chance. We haven’t even started yet.”
“I’m so s-sorry,” she stuttered. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I do want my fortune told.”
With detached thoroughness, Witch Casey studied Devon’s face. “Our thoughts are obvious to others, far more than we know. I don’t enjoy reading people’s minds, but I can’t help myself. It just happens.” A twisted grin crossed the lady’s face. “I will say this much, what you really want is clarity and for someone else to lay your future out in full detail. No guessing. No gray areas. You’re finished with uncertainty. You need to know what it feels like to make a decision and stick to it, even unto death. You want to fall so deeply in love with someone that you could clasp hands and leap bravely into the unknown together. You need to be treasured and know your lovers are 100 percent invested in you. Am I right?”
“Yes. You’re right.” Her voice cracked. “Lovers? Plural?”
“It’s challenging enough to juggle the emotions and needs of one exceptional man, but you’re going to get two, and your vows of commitment will bond you to them in blood.”
Blood? This woman was so dramatic. “Whoa!” Devon fanned her face.
“Whoa indeed.” Witch Casey opened the cedar box and picked up a deck of colorfully illustrated cards. “Shall we begin? By the way when I said dual stone, I should have been more specific and called it what it is: a dragon egg.”
Dragon egg? A bit Game of Thrones, but cute. Did Witch Casey say two men and a commitment bound in blood? “Hell yeah! Let’s begin.” Her love life was a disaster of indecision. She’d never met a man who fulfilled all her needs. Okay, maybe one man Jace, the gorgeous producer at her office, was a thrilling date for a possible friends-with-benefits type of evening, but nothing solid ever quite gelled. Deep down, she knew why.
Witch Casey shuffled the cards with long, elegant hands.
Devon watched, mesmerized. Aside from being her boss, she and Jace were two of a kind. Jace seemed almost as undecided and commitment-shy as she was—or perhaps he was just addicted to flirting. He would pant after her with lustful looks, coax and almost beg her to visit his apartment under some tempting pretense. Come look at my art collection or I have that new coffee table book, the limited-edition photography retrospective you’re dying to see....
Twice she had given in. He’d sit in a big comfy chair and pull her onto his lap and kiss her for what felt like an eternity until they were both pathetically turned on. Then something inconvenient would happen. A fire alarm would go off in the building, or an urgent work call would interrupt. What was up with that shit?
The cards flew back and forth between Witch Casey’s hands with the skill of a Vegas dealer. Her gaze never left Devon.
Jace really turned her on. He was tall, dark, and stunning with a domineering air. His teasing style of flirting was worse than a steamy make-out session back in high school, but things never got beyond the back seat. Successful, cultured, and handsome as sin, Jace was the whole package. Her hopes would rise that maybe he was the one, and then nothing would happen between them for weeks at a time. No pursuit, no invitations back to his apartment. It was as if Jace would deny himself her company until he couldn’t stand it a moment longer; then he would call and invite her out on some stunning date to a concert she was dying to go to, or dinner at some fabulous restaurant. Followed by lots of scorching-hot kissing... and then nothing. Irresistible and maddening all at once.
She suspected he enjoyed other lovers, which hurt because she’d not even been officially invited into that exclusive club. Once, on his kitchen countertop, she’d seen two half-drunk cups of coffee. One pale with milk or cream, and one black. Two plates set in the sink, one with scrambled eggs and the other with yokes so runny they could have been raw. There were two bathrobes hanging behind the bathroom door, and two toothbrushes set above the sink. Jace didn’t have a roommate that she knew of, but obviously someone else had been there before her.
Witch Casey interrupted the silence. “The card reading might clarify a few of those undecided thoughts.”
“That would be a miracle.” Devon’s gaze darted anxiously around the room. Could Witch Casey sort through every confusing detail of her elusive love life? Probably not.
With a wide sweep of her hand, Witch Casey spread a deck of oversized cards across the table in a fan. “Before we start, I’d like to ask a question. Who are your parents, dear? I’m sensing some spicy Caribbean blood and possibly some New World indigenous.”
Wow, this woman was more accurate than Ancestry.com. When people asked her, “What are you,” she’d always pause. Was she black like her mother, or white like her British father? Or should she choose door number three and tell them her great-grandmother was an Arawak Indian? “Yes, I have some Caribbean blood.”
Witch Casey leaned across the table and looked into Devon’s eyes. “You have a lot more than that. On closer inspection, I’m certain you’re one of us. I knew something was different about you. Sitting this close, it’s impossible to miss.”
Uh-oh. “What do you mean by one of us?”
“I mean you’re a witch,” Witch Casey whispered. “Okay, not exactly a witch. It’s more accurate to say you’re an enchanted being. Not a unicorn or anything fanciful like that, but as we witches say, of the blood. You have mage ancestry, and are naturally more predisposed toward enchantment than the rest of the population.”
That was weird. Where was this going? “Why do you say that?”
“You’re a descendant of Merlin! Hasn’t anyone told you? For shame if they have not.”
Was she really having this conversation? This was a little too far out, even for her. A nervous little smirk twisted her lips. “Merlin, the wizard from King Arthur’s court?”
“Is there another?” Witch Casey clutched her hand to her heart. “It’s a little-known fact that Merlin was a strapper in his youth and fathered a harvest of Beltane children. With a baritone voice and an ear for poetry, he had a reputation for being a real ladies’ Druid. He was a rock star of a wizard, with his own groupies.” She winked.
“So, my ancestors were Druid groupies?” Not good. What the hell was this woman talking about? She looked into Witch Casey’s green eyes that had become slightly wild. This poor baby’s gone cray-cray. “I thought Merlin was a mythical being, not a mortal man who could be named in a paternity suit.”
“Merlin is a magical being. Back in those days, demigods, supernatural entities, and humans mingled freely and made children. You don’t see as much of it now. Chalk it up to better birth control.” Witch Casey smacked her lips. “Do you know what else I just n
oticed—actually, I didn’t notice, the little voice in the back of my head told me.” Her eyes gleamed, as round as table grapes. “You’re a descendant of Tituba!”
“How did you k-know?” Devon stammered. “I mean, that’s an actual fact, not made-up crap.” She clamped her hand over her mouth. Oh God! She’d said it and hadn’t meant to. How rude.
“Crap? Do you think I speak nonsense?” Witch Casey reeled in her chair. Her hands flew wide. “Well, come to think of it, everyone thinks what I have to say is crap. It’s just one of the foibles of being me.” She shrugged. “But back to you. Tituba is quite an infamous and misunderstood character here in Salem. In my opinion, she meant no harm.”
Who was this odd woman, really? Devon looked closely at Witch Casey, and for the first time noticed how beautiful the older woman was. Witch Casey had curly red hair that cascaded to her shoulders, and slightly feral green eyes swept with a thick fringe of black lashes that looked convincingly real. Something about her crisp profile reminded Devon of the classic beauties of old Hollywood. How fun would it be to photograph this woman? A lot. “You have such a wonderful face. May I ask where you’re from?”
A brilliant smile lit Witch Casey’s face. “Bless you for asking. I’m originally from Greece. Do I look familiar? I used to be known as the second-most beautiful woman in the world.”
“Second most? Were you a runner-up in a Miss Universe pageant?” Devon asked innocently.
“No.” Witch Casey shook her head. “Helen of Troy was hailed as the most beautiful woman in the world, and I don’t begrudge her the title, not one little bit. Helen was breathtaking. No one could argue with that. I earned the dismal title of ‘Cassandra, the second-most beautiful woman in the world,’ after I spurned Apollo’s amorous advances.”
This was an odd conversation. Had she missed something, or was this woman a little kooky? “Apollo who?” she dared to ask.
“The Apollo!” Witch Casey clasped her hands to her temples and appeared scandalized. “My goodness, there’s only one. What an ego that man had.” She pursed her mouth into duck lips, accompanied by a wet sputtering sound. “For a so-called sun god, he wasn’t too bright either. The man was spoiled. Let’s just say that being hailed as the king of the gods, driving a golden chariot, and having grabby hands are a bad combination.”
Devon slapped her palm against her forehead too hard and it stung. Holy moly, what had she gotten herself into? “You mean Apollo, the Greek sun god?”
“Yes, Apollo the Greek sun god!” Witch Casey smacked the tabletop and made everything on the surface tremble. “Who else would I be talking about? Apollo came on too strong, as he usually does with women, and I rejected him. In different but equally strong words, I told him he was a jerk! I might have called him a drunken donkey that sucked its own genitalia, but it was so long ago and I’ve forgotten my exact words.”
Devon rested her elbows on the table. “So, in a nutshell, you told Apollo to fuck off?”
Witch Casey fussed with realigning the cards. “Yes! I’m one of the few women who did and lived to tell the tale. He’s a vain and vengeful man, and of course he punished me for my honesty. When Apollo granted me the gift of prophecy, he meant it as a curse. That creep. The mean bugger spat in my mouth while I was asleep, and now I’m cursed to tell the truth to all I speak to, whether they want to hear it or not. Over the years, speaking the truth has cost me friendships and ruined a few wedding receptions. That’s for sure.”
“Wedding receptions?”
“You don’t know? I thought everyone knew.” Witch Casey was glassy-eyed and rambling. “Paris and Helen of Troy? I’m sure you’ve heard of them. Poor Helen. I fell into a prophetic trance at their wedding feast and sort of went berserk. I ripped Helen’s bridal veil to shreds and messed up her hair. But I didn’t say or do anything that didn’t prove true. She was a troublemaker. A war did follow. I won’t deny prophecy can be problematic. But little did Apollo know that I would learn to make good use of the gift and prevail. After that little stunt, I stopped getting invited to weddings.”
Devon’s heart dropped. She was wasting her time sitting with some crazy lady. Damn. It was too late to get up and run, though she wanted to. She hoped against hope that even a madwoman might have some insight into her chaotic love life. It could happen. Sometimes the insane did speak lucid moments of truth. She stared at the fan of cards on the table. The backs were black and bore no discernable markings at all. “You forgot to tell me which tarot card deck you use—Rider or Thoth?”
“I’ve changed my mind. There will be no cards!” Witch Casey wagged her raised finger in the air before scooping the carefully placed cards into a chaotic pile and then shoving them to the floor like fluttering debris. “I’m going to use a more precise divination tool. I have something at my disposal that’s far more accurate than cards.” Reaching under the table, she withdrew a round, tightly woven basket the size of a pumpkin. After she removed the lid, she thrust her hand inside and pulled out a wriggling snake. “See!” She set the snake on the table, where it immediately slithered toward Devon.
“No freaking way!” Devon gasped and bolted backward as the speckled gray snake hissed and glided across the tabletop, headed directly toward her. “Oh my God!” She burst into shocked laughter and leaped out of her chair to escape the snake.
Witch Casey glanced around in alarm. “You’re not afraid of reptiles, are you?”
Devon pressed against the wall as the snake slid closer, flicking its blue tongue in her direction. “No, but you should have warned me!”
“You are afraid of reptiles.” Witch Casey lifted her chin. “It’s a shame, because reptiles are such lovely creatures. People fear them for no proper reason at all. For instance, this snake is completely harmless—unless you’re a baby mouse.” She looked Devon up and down. “You’re clearly not a baby mouse, so there’s nothing for you to worry about. Be sensible and brave and sit down in that chair. Please listen with reverence to what this cunning little creature has to say to you.”
Holy crap, this woman is a wackobird. Devon bit her lower lip. “No more slithery surprises?”
“If your future is half as bizarre as I suspect,” Witch Casey pronounced with certainty, “there will be many shocking surprises!”
Lovers ready to commit? Of course it was too good to be true. Devon swallowed a tense breath. “What do you mean?”
Witch Casey picked up the snake and brought the wiggly animal to her ear. “The snake is telling me that you have a date with an ancient destiny.” The creature swayed its head near her ear. For a moment, she sat silent, as if she was intently listening to its every word. “This is so refreshing. I’ve never heard talk like this. The snake says the lovers who are coming into your life are old souls you’ve agreed to be with in this lifetime, and the best part is....” The blue tongue flicked her ear. “Oh, you wouldn’t believe what this little imp is telling me. This is utter madness!” She burst into a fit of giggles. “Coming from me, that’s saying a lot.” Composing herself, she continued with an air of importance. “The snake says you shall come to love the scaly ones. You will be bound to them in fortune and blood. Isn’t that sweet? You’re going to be a reptile lover after all!”
Confused and disappointed, Devon slumped back in the chair. “Is that all the romantic advice I’m going to get? Love the scaly one?” Damn, this wasn’t good news.
“Not one. There will be two scaly masters of your heart.” Witch Casey’s demeanor sobered. “Two equals shall claim you as their own, and you mustn’t resist. This love was meant to be.”
Devon rolled her eyes. “Two snakes are going to fight over me? Terrific, I can’t wait. No more lonely nights for me.”
“No!” Witch Casey crossed her hands over her heart and sighed. “It’s not what you think. I’m cursed to speak like a madwoman, but I do speak the truth! In a hot and ancient land, where beasts roam free and the tips of tall grass ripple above your shoulders, you shall know ecstasy with a race o
f men who once soared above the earth in great numbers. It is your privilege that you shall love the best of the high plains Marduko.”
Devon shrugged. This was complete bullshit. “What’s a Marduko?”
“Ancient royalty from the Draca constellation. They were exiled here many millennia ago and forced to survive on their wits.”
“Oh, those Marduko.” Devon played along. “I understand now. They’re not really snakes, are they? They’re more like handsome princes in disguise, am I right?” She wished she’d been as wise as Arcona and just walked away from this nonsense. Now who would rescue her from the madwoman?
“Princes? Yes, exactly. That’s a better way to say it. The Marduko are just like handsome princes.” Witch Casey enthusiastically nodded in agreement, looking as steely-eyed as a badger. “But with wings and scales.”
Wings and scales? Hooray. Why choose between wings or scales when you can have both? Devon huffed in disbelief. “Gee, I hope I recognize my mystery dates when I meet them.”
“That’s the funny part.” Witch Casey smiled cheerfully. “You probably won’t recognize them at all! The Marduko are a secretive race. They’ve had to be to survive. Their lives are constantly at risk. To this day they are hunted by a secret order of knights, and any woman they choose to love will also be asked to put her life on the line. The Marduko can appear completely human, and indeed, they all have human mothers. A casual observer would never notice them as anything unusual. Marduko males never reveal themselves to any but the truest of hearts.”
“Males?”
“Yes, all Marduko are male. They select female mates from other intelligent species to strengthen the bloodline—that is, when they do mate, which is very rare indeed.”
Devon stood. “That’s very interesting. Thank you so much for all the very interesting information that was just so interesting to hear and truly piqued my interest.” She backed away from the table in horror. What a colossal waste of time.
The Lady Prefers Dragons Page 3
