Arcanum (Tales from the Tarot)

1. Greyson

Chapter one

Greyson

T he smell of dead, rotting flowers permeated the house. The water in the vases had turned green and murky with decay. Brown, shriveled petals covered the tabletops like fallen leaves. The air around me was stale and dusty, puffing up in little swirls as I moved through the living room, steadfastly refusing to look at the couch to my left. The whole structure practically sighed when I opened one of the windows a crack. I didn’t dare open it any wider.

I hadn’t set foot in the house in nearly two weeks. The last time I’d been there was when I walked in and found my family murdered. Now, I crept through the dim interior like a burglar, not even turning on lights as I went. They weren’t necessary. After a lifetime of living there, I had every inch of the house mapped out. Lights, like an open window, would only attract attention—attention I didn’t want.

Slinking up the stairs, as silent as a shadow, I made my way down the hall to my old room and slipped inside. Retrieving a medium-sized wooden box, hand carved with a triple moon on the dark lid, I retreated downstairs as quickly as I could. Once upon a time, I wouldn’t have even needed to make such a trip—I could have essentially snapped my fingers and manifested whatever I needed. My, how things had changed.

Stopping to gather the mail that had been pushed through the brass slot in the front door, I stuffed everything in the crook of my arm, against the box. Part of me wanted to leave the window open to air out the house for the realtor. Ultimately I decided against it. Even though the damage had already been done, I didn’t want to invite any more trouble than I already had.

Closing and locking the window, I pulled the drapes tight and secured the front door. On the front step, I cast a cautious glance up and down the street, making sure no one was watching me, before darting to my rental car. Hurling the items into the passenger seat, I sped away from the dark house and the haunting memories it held.

I made a series of erratic turns, checking my rearview mirror every so often to see if I was being followed. I wasn’t. Sweat dampened my black shirt collar regardless. I cranked up the air conditioning, trying to slow my breathing as it teetered on the edge of hysteria.

Everything is fine , I reminded myself. I got what I needed and there wasn’t a reason to go back there. Ever. I’d return the rental car and get another. I’d sell the house. I’d start over. Without all of the stress and heartache, my magic would sort itself out. I’d be fine. And that was that.

Or I could end it all myself and that would also be that . That would be the easiest solution. I could drive the car into the side of a building or off a bridge. Chicago had plenty to choose from. Or, I could park it on the Dan Ryan and step out into rush-hour traffic. One good semi was all it would take.

Shaking my head, I snapped myself out of my spiraling thoughts and focused on the road in front of me. The antidepressants the doctor prescribed clearly weren’t working. As soon as I got settled, I’d have to talk to her about increasing the dosage or trying something new.

“There is no magic solution. Everything is trial and error,” she’d said at my last appointment with a sympathetic smile. At that point, I was damn near catatonic so I didn’t bother returning the social nicety of dredging up a smile. Although it was probably a relief for her, getting the subdued, numb patient instead of the one stricken with grief, sobbing hysterically into her voicemail after hours, begging her for a miracle.

I had managed to nod sagely, though, because as a witch, I knew it was all too true. If there had been a magical remedy, I would have used it instead of relying on modern medicine. But what was the answer when even medicine failed to take away the pain?

An hour after visiting my family’s house, I settled on the floor of my temporary abode and sorted through my parents’ mail, depositing the contents into two piles to be discarded or dealt with later when I had the energy to make more complex decisions.

My fingers brushed a plain white envelope and a jolt of pain ripped through the front of my head. I winced and shut my eyes, holding my forehead as the residual pain subsided. From that touch alone, I knew I didn’t want to open it. The fact I could feel his emotions days after the letter had been delivered didn’t bode well for me and the hate it contained.

“Then perhaps you should leave it,” Nemo said solemnly from the doorway, his accented voice soft with warning.

I looked up as my mentor approached, setting a tray laden with tea and small sandwiches on the coffee table in front of me. With his crisp white shirt and black vest, he could have been a waiter—except for the ever-present top hat. That made him look like an off-duty magician, minus the cape and gloves.

“You have not eaten,” he said, gesturing to the food.

“Haven’t been hungry,” I replied weakly, holding up the white envelope. “Do you know what’s in here?”

Nemo didn’t say anything. He merely sat and poured two cups of tea. Earl Grey, judging by the smell. It should have been comforting, warm and familiar, but it merely added to my melancholy for other things that should have been but never would be again. My mother’s hugs. My sister’s laugh. My father’s smile. Gone but not forgotten , as the saying went. Empty words to try and fill the emptiness inside, but nothing ever could.

“Of course you do. You know everything,” I sighed, holding the envelope lengthwise and staring at the blank face. No address. No stamp. I didn’t have to be Nemo to know who it was from or what its contents promised. Agony. Despair. Death. Well, he’d ticked off the first two. Why not go for the trifecta already? What did I have to live for without my family? Justice? Yeah right. Another empty concept meant to placate the helpless. The powerless.

“Contrary to what you think, I do not know everything.” Nemo held the delicate teacup out to me. “But I know death is not the answer.”

I set the envelope aside and took the cup in both hands, warming my palms on the antique porcelain. “I can’t stay in Chicago. Not now. It’s too much.” My eyes burned but remained dry. Tears that should have been building were nowhere to be found and I was too exhausted to worry if Nemo could still see the depth of my pain without them. “I know I have to leave but I’m—” Scared . The truth was swallowed down thickly, along with a wave of grief trying to strangle me from the inside out.

“I know,” he said softly.

“When is it going to end?” I whispered, searching his face for the answer, looking for a speck of information, something to hope for. I found sympathy and compassion, as always, but his dark eyes yielded nothing else.

He removed the small plate of sandwiches and set it on the table in front of me, revealing a map of Illinois folded on the bottom of the tray. Leaning forward, I peered at the map, hoping he’d circled some place or given an indication as to where I should go since I didn’t have the foggiest idea where to start looking for a new beginning.

“You will find your answer, but you need strength first.” He gestured to the cup, indicating I should drink.

I nodded and took a dutiful sip.

Apparently satisfied, Nemo inclined his head and sipped his tea.

We sat in silence, each staring into our small cups as if they held the mysteries of the world. At least I did. I’d never been an avid tea-leaf reader but I was willing to give anything a chance since my usual magical practices weren’t cooperating at the moment. I couldn’t have conjured a birthday candle if my life depended on it, let alone divined any accurate meaning from my tarot decks. Grief clouded everything. Grief and fear. All that remained of my abilities were intuition and empathy, though they were spotty at best under the present circumstances.

“Thank you for the tea,” I murmured, sensing our silent conversation was coming to a fast close.

Bells chimed downstairs.

Nemo smiled and got to his feet. “Another curious customer.”

I waited until he disappeared to help a patron in his magic store before I reached for the map. I was surprised he didn’t pick one with a larger area, like the whole country or the world. But there must have been a reason. Nemo didn’t do anything by chance, especially not something as important as suggestions for his protege’s future. Although sometimes I wished he’d just tell me what to do, clearly and concisely, instead of making me figure it out on my own.

Scooting the tray out of the way, I unfolded the map and smoothed it flat before retrieving a pendulum blindly from the triple-moon box at my feet. The weighty crystal at the end was a moonstone—the traveler’s stone and a symbol of new beginnings. Of all the different crystals I could have picked up, seeing that one dangling from the end of the chain gave me the minuscule flicker of hope I’d been searching for.

Closing my eyes, I held the pendulum aloft and let it sway in gentle circles over the paper. A feeling of warmth unfurled inside my abdomen, radiating outward, winding its way through my arm and into my hand.

The white crystal clunked against the table.

I opened my eyes and immediately furrowed my brow at the spot where it landed, its tapered point indicating a town I’d never heard of. It was barely a dot on the map. I was sure on an older edition, it wouldn’t have even existed.

Leaning closer, I moved the pendulum out of the way.

“Mapleton,” I said aloud, trying it out.

The warmth returned to the center of my chest, affirming the crystal’s suggestion. Accepting what was in front of me, I nodded in understanding.

Mapleton. That’s where I’d start over and try again.