by Ann Charles
“Touché.” She pointed at the tarot cards I was shuffling. “Let’s play with your cards.”
“Play what?”
“Fortune-teller.”
“What is it you seek to learn?”
“I want to know who killed Clint.”
“You think these cards will give you the answer that your hunting skills haven’t so far?”
“Isn’t this why Bruno was ordered to include you in this case? Your psychic abilities should make things easier for us.”
I picked up a hint of disdain and disbelief, almost mocking in her tone. My neck bristled. “Okay, Runash. I’ll play along.” I shuffled with a purpose. “Time is short. We’ll do a simple three-card spread.”
She smirked. “Let me guess, past-present-future?”
“No, that’s too obscure. I’m thinking more like the status of our current situation, the obstacle in our path, and advice on how to overcome it.”
“Isn’t that deck a bit smaller than usual?”
I shook my head. “We’ll stick to the Major Arcana for this reading.”
“What’s the Major Arcana?” Bruno asked.
“A suit of twenty-two trump cards taken from the seventy-eight tarot card deck. I use them when I’m looking for more meaningful lessons. You okay with that?” I asked Runash.
“You’re the psychic. If you think those cards have the answers, I’m all ears.”
I shuffled a little longer, lifting my chin at the challenge in her eyes. She thought I was guilty, I could feel it. What had led her to me, though?
Bruno’s initial hostility toward me had made more sense. His had been born of sexual frustration. Runash, though, had only known me for a couple of months. We’d had no run-ins, no sexual chemistry, no reason for her to develop a dislike for me. Yet ever since Clint had died, something lingered behind her eyes when she looked my way. Something guarded, wary. Had Ming been whispering in her ear? From the start, the blogger bitch had rubbed me wrong, her nose digging too deep into my business.
I focused on the cards in my hands, transferring my energy to the deck. When the tarot cards felt keen to be read, I spread them out between us on the table. “Pick three.”
She chose quickly, her lack of deliberation speaking of her doubt in the cards and my psychic abilities.
I spread out the three cards between us.
Bruno moved behind me, watching over my shoulder. His closeness bolstered me in the face of Runash’s scorn.
“Let’s start with our current situation, Clint’s murder.” I flipped over the first card. It was the Wheel of Fortune card in the reverse position.
Damn. If it had been upright, we would have started out on a happy note. But with it reversed, it stood for bad luck, upheaval, unwelcomed change, a lack of control, and negative external forces.
“What’s that mean?” Runash asked.
“I’ll explain it when we see the other two. Now on to the obstacle in our path.”
The second card was the Tower card in the upright direction. Double damn. Add in some trauma, destruction, chaos, loss, revelations, confusion, violence, pain, tragedy, and natural disasters.
“Let’s see what the cards have for advice on how to overcome our problem.” I hoped to see the Justice or Strength card when I flipped the final one. If I did, then I might have hope that we’d catch Clint’s killer before I ended up in pieces along with him.
The final card was the Magician in the upright position. Willpower, skill, ability, concentration, intellect, and psychic powers.
I rubbed my temples, looking up at Runash. “Have you ever had psychic experiences? Mind-reading? Precognition? Ghost sightings?”
She shook her head. “I live in the here and now, Electra. That’s what makes me so good at what I do.”
I sensed Bruno bristling behind me at her barbed words. Reaching behind me, I touched his leg, sending calming vibes his way.
I pointed at the first card, the Wheel of Fortune. “Here’s what I read from this—our current situation is shitty at best.”
“Are you always this professional with your clients?”
“The Wheel of Fortune card in the reversed position tells a story of bad luck. Clint’s death was an unwelcomed change that has caused upheaval amongst all of us here at the circus.”
Bruno grunted in agreement.
I touched the second card. “This is the Tower card. Unfortunately, it’s in the upright direction, which tells me that the obstacles in our path of discovery about who killed Clint involve trauma and chaos. Our loss of Clint in such a violent way has left us confused where to look. In the process of searching for his killer, there will be some painful revelations as we travel the path to discovery.”
Runash rolled her eyes in Bruno’s direction. “Surely you’re not buying this far-fetched business from your girlfriend?”
Bruno shrugged as an answer, not elaborating further.
“This final card,” I continued, “is the Magician in the upright position. It advises using psychic powers along with intellect to find the murderer. Skill and ability will play a role in the search, along with willpower and concentration on the task at hand.”
“Well, isn’t that convenient.” Runash stood, her hands on her hips. “Is this the card spread you used to convince the owner that you needed to be included in the search?” She looked up at Bruno. “You’ll have to excuse me if I find it a little too convenient that a psychic is the answer for the problem solving.”
I shrugged, leaning back in my chair. “You picked them, Runash,” I told her. “I just read them.”
“According to the report on Clint’s death, you were here in your tent alone at his time of death.”
“That’s correct.”
“How do we know that there wasn’t a lovers’ tiff between Clint and you?”
I heard Bruno inhale sharply.
“Clint was not my lover. He was a friend.”
“Ming mentioned that she saw him leaving your tent at all hours of the night.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t keep bankers’ hours here. None of us do.”
Her eyes narrowed. “How do you explain your flier being found on his body?”
On his body? I’d thought it was just somewhere in his tent. How many others had seen that flier and my real name? The urge to flee fast and far on my coyote legs stormed inside of me. Tonight was going to be my last here. I could sense death in the air. My limbs tingled with unspent adrenaline.
“I can’t,” I told her. “There could be a multitude of reasons for him to have it.”
“What do the words ‘Nora Mai’ mean to you?”
“Nothing.”
She scoffed, disbelief clear in her expression.
“Listen,” I said. “Whether you believe me or not, here’s what I do know.” I held up one finger. “First, we still have a murderer on the loose.” I raised a second finger. “None of us are safe.” Had Runash been doing her job as head of security, Clint would still be alive. I was tempted to mention that as a third fact, but I didn’t need her twisting evidence to point at me out of spite.
I heard the sound of voices outside, none that I recognized, and glanced at the clock on my chest of drawers. “They opened the gates. If you’ll excuse me, Runash, I need to prepare for visitors. With all of the marketing Ming has been doing, we’re sure to have a busy night.”
Runash turned to leave. “Oh, one more thing, psychic.”
I shuffled the tarot cards back into the larger deck as I waited for her to speak.
“Have you heard of the Gone Were witness protection program?”
I didn’t even flinch. “No.”
“Interesting.” With a nod and a tip of her hat, she left the tent.
I turned to Bruno. “She’s going to try to pin this on me. It doesn’t take a psychic to figure that out.”
“She does seem to have some sort of unchecked hostility toward you.”
“Are all of you security folks an
ti-psychic?”
“I’m not anti-psychic.” When I looked at him doubtfully, he shoved his hands in his pockets. “I was angry at you. Now I understand why. I wanted you, but you were out of reach. I turned that frustration into anger and poked at you every chance I could. Any reaction from you was something, better than indifference.”
I opened my mouth to apologize for my part in the tension between us, but the sound of someone moving around in my waiting area stopped me. “I have a visitor,” I told Bruno.
He nodded. He started toward the exit curtains, but then came back over to me. “Be careful,” he whispered. “I’ll be around, keeping an eye on you. Tonight when you’re done, we’re going to look into that crystal ball of yours and see what it has to say about Clint, you, and me.”
I frowned. “What are you looking for about us?”
He gave me a quick kiss. “Stick around and I’ll show you.”
Chapter Seven
I was wrapping up a reading with a leather-clad tuxedo cat shapeshifter who was hitting the road with her punk rock band for a three-month road trip around the southeastern U.S. when Bruno pushed aside the curtains enough to peek in at me.
“So, like, what do you think, Madam?” The girl in the chair opposite me flicked back her long black hair. “Should we skip Atlanta after what the cards showed, or take a chance and play there anyway? I mean, the money is, like, amazing, and I hate to refund all of that cash.”
I stood, ready for this long day to be over. “If you aren’t worried about getting electrocuted, then go for it.”
The girl grinned. “A little juice might be good for the show, you know. Like, really light things up.”
Or it could fry someone. “Go with your instincts,” I advised. “But you might want to have your roadies put up a lightning rod to be safe.”
She gave me a thumbs-up, threw some cash in my jar, and headed out.
Bruno came through the curtains. “I closed you down out front.”
“Thanks. I’m wiped.”
“You didn’t run,” he said, sitting down in the seat the punk-rocker had vacated. “I’m surprised.”
I’d resisted the urge to flee all night long, telling myself that running was a last resort after all else failed. “Why does that surprise you?” I packed away the cards.
“You’re a coyote. Running is one of the things they do best.”
“Trust me, I thought about it many times tonight.”
“What kept you from following through?”
I looked at him. “Take a guess.”
He held out his left hand, palm open.
“What?” I asked, frowning at his hand.
“I want a palm reading.”
I hesitated, wondering what game he was playing with me now. “Palm reading isn’t very accurate. It’s more of a whimsical device.”
“It’s listed on your sign out front.”
“Only because palm reading is not as scary for some as tarot cards and my crystal ball. It’s like training wheels for first-time visitors.”
He pointed at his open hand. “I’m a first-time visitor. I’d like a palm reading.”
I sighed. “Bruno, I’m tired.”
“Please, Nora. I promise not to be as skeptical as Runash.”
“Fine.” I sat down across from him, not yet taking his hand in mine. “You’re left-handed.”
“Very observant.”
I shrugged. “You’re my fated mate. There isn’t much about you I’ve missed.”
His gaze lowered to my mouth. “There is a lot about you that I plan to discover, but first things first.” He made a fist with his left hand. “Is there a problem with me being left-handed?”
“Not a problem, only a different reading than your non-dominant hand.” At his lowered brow, I clarified, “If I look at your left hand, I’ll be looking for insights into your work and how you present yourself to the world. Is that what you want?”
“What will you see in my right hand?”
“Personal relationships, emotions, and dreams.”
His dark eyes held mine as he switched to his other hand. “I already know about my work.”
“I thought you were here to find out who killed Clint.”
“I’m at the circus to find Clint’s killer. I’m in your tent right now because of you.”
“I didn’t kill Clint.”
“I believe you. Now read my palm, please.”
I took his warm hand in mine, flattening his fingers. “Hold on, let me get my lamp.”
After setting it down between us, I leaned over his palm, starting with the middle line.
“This is your head line. Its length tells me that you tend to think about things for a while before making a decision.” I glanced up at him to see if he had any questions about that.
He was staring at me as if I was spread out naked on a magazine page in front of him.
I focused back on his hand. “This is your life line. Look how long it is.” I traced it with my nail. “See how it curves around here and ends at the base of your palm? That means you are steady, like a rock. Your friends and others rely on you to stay strong and dependable, especially in difficult times. It makes complete sense with what you do for a living.”
“I thought we were talking about my emotions and relationships.”
“On this front, the two seem to go hand in hand.”
“Do you depend on me?”
“I’ve wanted to.”
“But?”
“But I didn’t want you to know the truth about me.”
“You think I’m incapable of seeing beyond the crime for the reasoning behind it?” He pointed at his head line. “That right there says I like to mull things over. You should have trusted me sooner, Nora. I wouldn’t have left the circus.”
“And Clint might still be alive,” I finished for him.
“That’s not what I was thinking.”
“What then?”
“We could have saved months of frustration, pain, and loneliness—the whole reason Clint was consoling you while I was gone.”
“You knowing the truth about who I am doesn’t really change anything, though.”
He scoffed. “It changes everything, woman.”
“I’m still in the Gone Were program, stuck behind a fake identity for the rest of my life. The only thing different now is that I’ve put you at risk, too.”
“I risk my life every day. It’s what I do.”
“Not for me.”
“For you, for Eugene, for everyone here at this circus.”
I held his stare for several seconds, then blinked and returned to his palm.
“This is your heart line.” I ran my nail along the uppermost horizontal line. You see these three faint Xs near your outer palm? That shows me you’ve experienced deep betrayal in your life.”
“My father,” he said, nodding. When I looked up at him, he added, “His leaving before I was born used to eat at me, making me prone to violence. I finally realized that the only way to ease that pain of betrayal was by letting him go.” He reached out with his free hand, brushing the back of his fingers down my cheek. “But I held on to my anger, taking it out on anyone of pure lineage.”
“I understand.”
“I’m sorry, Nora. You didn’t deserve my resentment.”
“Apology accepted, Bruno.” I gave him a small smile. “I’m tough. I can handle a little fire now and then.” I returned to his palm. “The shortness of your heart line and the way it curves up here tells me that you are more reserved. You prefer being one-on-one with someone rather than being in a group.”
He closed his hand around my finger. When I glanced up, his mouth was open slightly, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “Nora.”
“What?”
He took the lamp and set it on the floor. “Come here.”
“We need to look for Clint’s killer. Remember? That’s why you’re back.”
“I told you, I’m not in your tent rig
ht now for Clint, I’m here for you.” He stood and pulled me around the table until I was standing in front of him. “Nora,” he whispered. He tipped my chin up. “I want to bite you.”
“That’s a bad idea.” While the mating ritual nip was said to be unbelievably pleasurable, I wasn’t sure yet that I was going to stick around. If he bit me, it would seal me as his and that could lead to big problems on so many levels.
“You’re mine,” he challenged.
“Well, yeah, but not officially. I mean, sure we’re fated mates, but at this point we can go on with our lives separately, if needed. If you bite me, I’m toast.”
“I think you’re confused. I wasn’t asking for your permission. You’re mine and I’m going to bite you.”
“Bruno, if I don’t want you to bite me, you need to respect my decision.”
“I respect a lot of things about you, but on this particular item, I’m not interested in discussing the pros and cons.” He took my mouth in a breath-stealing kiss, surprising me into submission.
His hands slid under my tunic, taking up where we had left off when Runash interrupted us earlier. I wanted to resist, at least my head did at first, but then he lifted my tunic over my head and licked me through my camisole, and all thoughts of stopping him floated away.
He lifted me onto the table, the legs creaking under my weight. He grabbed the bottom of my long velvet skirt, lifting it up to my thighs. His hands branded my legs as they trailed north up my calves, over my knees, along my outer thighs. The whole time his tongue worked its magic on me, teasing and flicking, sucking and stroking.
A month’s worth of pent-up lust filled me from head to toe, making me hot, bothered, and wet. The last time we’d done this dance, he’d been drunk and I’d been plagued with guilt for taking advantage of him. This time, he was cold sober. No guilt, just Bruno, hot and hard, pressing against me.
I wrapped my legs around his hips, pulling him closer.
He stared into my eyes as his thumbs slid inside of my underwear, watching me as he stroked, teased, and explored.
I moved my hips, needing more than skimming touches. “Stop teasing me,” I gasped as he stroked again.
