Arcanum (Tales from the Tarot)

3. Chris

Chapter three

Chris

O ne thing I could give Greyson credit for was that he was a quiet neighbor. He didn’t throw parties. He didn’t blare obnoxious music. And he didn’t feel the need to cut the grass at noon on the weekend, right when I was trying to sleep. Honestly, if I didn’t see different lights turn on and off inside the house, I would have never even known he was there.

“How are things going?” Dad asked one afternoon as I stumbled outside to get the mail and bring the trash can in before Mrs. Perkins called the alderman to bitch.

I shifted the phone to my other ear and made a noncommittal noise, glancing at the house next door. It was a beautiful September day with the faintest bit of a chill every time the breeze picked up, the perfect transition between summer and fall. As soon as I woke up, I opened all the doors and windows to let the fresh air circulate through the house. It looked like the majority of the neighbors followed suit—except Greyson. His house was shut up tight, with the curtains drawn and the doors closed.

“Are you working this weekend?” Dad asked.

“I picked up a shift on Sunday, but I have today and tomorrow off.”

“Got any plans?”

“No. If the weather holds out, I might have a bonfire with Luke.”

“You should invite Greyson!”

I rolled my eyes, grabbing the handle on the garbage can and dragging it back to the front of the garage. Technically it should have gone in the garage, but I couldn’t be bothered while still half asleep. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”

“Chris, be nice,” Dad scolded. “He’s new in town. He could probably use a friend.”

“I’m sure he has plenty of rich, fancy friends to go hang out with. And besides, there’s something off about him. I don’t like it.”

Dad groaned. “You did the thing, didn’t you?”

“What thing?” I made a face at the phone, trudging back to the mailbox.

“The thing you cops do, where you snoop around in people’s lives.”

“You mean a background check? Like that ‘thing’ you should have done before you let him move into Grandma’s house?”

“I told you, he’s fine. Nothing came back on the Googles.”

“Nothing, huh? Not even the giant headline about how his whole family mysteriously died a few weeks ago?” The line went quiet. I smirked in victory, fishing a stack of mail out of the box. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Even more reason for you to be nice to him,” Dad huffed. “I’m sure you remember how hard it was when we lost your mother.”

“I do,” I replied, making sure to soften my tone. Even though it had been seven years, it still stung both of us. But just because I knew how much losing a family member sucked didn’t mean I was giving Greyson a free pass, at least not until there was more information to go off of. “My question to you is, did he say anything about it when he called about the house? Or did he hide it?”

“For your information, he was quite honest. It was one of the first things he mentioned, that there had been an accident in the family home and they’d all died, and he wanted to find a new place as soon as possible.”

“Uh-huh. A little convenient that he wasn’t home on the night of the ‘accident,’ don’t you think?”

“Christopher.”

I ignored the warning implied by the use of my full name and sorted through the mail quickly. Thanks to paperless billing, most of it was junk and immediately went into the recycling bin.

A large purple envelope was the last thing in the pile. Greyson’s name was written in the center in a flowing silver script, but there was no return address. It was big, like a wedding invitation or a super elaborate birthday card, except his birthday wasn’t until November—a fact that should not have stuck in my head, but obviously did.

“Alright,” Dad sighed, reminding me I was still on the phone. “I’m headed to the fish fry at the Legion. Have a good weekend, son.”

“Yeah, you too. Talk to you later.”

I disconnected and shoved the phone in the pocket of my basketball shorts, turning the envelope over. A silver wax seal adorned the back, stamped with what looked like a crystal ball, along with the words THE MAGIC SHOP written in shimmery silver ink. The visibility of the ink depended entirely on how you held the envelope in the light, shifting from light to dark and back again. It was a neat trick, but I still quirked a brow at it. I was surprised the post office even processed it like that. I got my ass chewed for using a green pen one time on accident and had to redo the whole thing with black.

Even weirder than the ink was the identity of the sender. Greyson didn’t strike me as the type who was into parlor tricks, but what did I know? Maybe he bought something there as a gag gift and now he was eternally on some random store’s mailing list.

Regardless of how suspicious I was of him and his family’s deaths, I wasn’t a complete asshole or looking to get tangled up in some Postal Inspector’s investigation for mail theft.

Marching over to Greyson’s front door, envelope in hand, I reached for the doorbell at the same time the deadbolt turned on the inside. My hand froze in midair as the chain slid open. Another deadbolt turned and the lock on the knob clicked. A little excessive for a small town like Mapleton… but he was originally from Chicago, so I tried to cut him some slack.

By the time I’d retracted my hand from the doorbell, clutched the envelope I was already holding, decided that looked stupid, let my useless hand drop to my side awkwardly, only to decide that looked stupid too, Greyson opened the interior door and proceeded to unlock the screen door with a smile that belonged in a toothpaste commercial.

“Officer. What a pleasant surprise. Would you like to come in?” He was dressed much like he had been the day he moved in, except the colors were different. Instead of white and khaki, he was wearing a gray patterned button-up and dark pants. Did he not own a t-shirt, for Christ’s sake?

I glanced at the dark interior behind him and ran a hand down the front of my t-shirt, smoothing out any wrinkles and hopefully brushing away Nitro’s never-ending dusting of tan and black fur. “Nah. That’s ok. You look like you’re on your way out.”

“I’m not. I was about to make tea.” He gave me a soft smile and spun on his heel, disappearing from the doorway.

Spreading my hands in a silent “What the fuck?” gesture, I stared at the empty spot where he’d just been, wondering if that meant I was supposed to follow him or not. The flash of purple in my hand reminded me the envelope was still there, waiting to transfer ownership.

I opened the screen door and stepped inside, bracing for a tidal wave of memories that never came. Grandma’s house was not Grandma’s house anymore. It had been transformed into something I’d never seen. Or smelled.

Instead of her gardenia perfume or French vanilla coffee, I walked into a wall of citrus and herbal smells. I guessed it was the tea, which was probably making Grandma roll over in her grave. That woman consumed more coffee on a daily basis than most of the cops I knew, including me. I remembered asking her one time when I was little why she didn’t drink tea like the other old ladies on TV and her answer stuck with me for the rest of my life—“Because it tastes like dirty socks.” That imagery alone guaranteed I turned out to be a coffee drinker as I aged.

The furniture was obviously different than what she’d had. The paisley couch and lace curtains had been replaced with tasteful, but plain, navy drapes and a matching couch. The chairs and end tables were made out of a darker wood and instead of lamps like a normal person, he had candles. A lot of candles. The whole living room felt heavy and close, but it wasn’t necessarily suffocating. It was kinda like getting a warm hug when you desperately needed one.

“I got a piece of your mail,” I called out as I wandered around in a small circle before zeroing in on a framed family photograph sitting on the mantel over the brick fireplace. It looked like it was from Greyson’s college graduation, from that time in his life when the whole family was full of happy smiles and he wasn’t secretly plotting to murder them all in their sleep.

“I thought that looked like something from The Magic Shop,” Greyson said, his voice right behind me.

I whirled, eyes wide, glancing between him and the hallway. Despite the fact the house had hardwood floors with more than a few squeaky boards, I hadn’t heard him return.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” The corner of Greyson’s mouth twitched, like he wanted to smile at my near-heart attack. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Tea?” He held up a dainty white cup like a peace offering.

“Uh, no thanks,” I said, lifting the purple envelope into view.

“Ah, yes.” He turned and set the teacups on a coffee table littered with strange-looking cards. Wiping his hands on his thighs, he took the envelope with a slight nod. “Thank you for bringing it. I’m sure most people would have simply thrown it in the garbage can without a second thought.”

“Yeah, sure. It seemed like it could be important.”

“The key to my future, as it were.”

My brow furrowed. The envelope hadn’t felt particularly heavy. Maybe it was one of those plastic keycard things. Or a digital code. Although, I didn’t know who would believe anything from someone at a “magic shop.”

Greyson’s coy little smile was back. He tossed his head toward the couch and turned slowly, like an invitation to follow. Setting the envelope on one end of the coffee table, he sat in the center of the couch, leaving me standing on the other side unless I wanted to take a seat right next to him. I stayed standing.

Gathering the weird black cards from the tabletop, he shuffled them in his hands with the deftness of a Vegas dealer, his long fingers almost a blur until it all suddenly stopped.

“Your goal in life,” he said, glancing up as he laid a card on the table in front of me. “And how you’ll achieve it.” He laid a second card across the bottom of the first.

Since I couldn’t make out what the hell was on the cards while they were upside down, I reluctantly circled the coffee table to his side for a better look. I should have stayed where I was, because they didn’t make sense in that direction, either.

“Temperance and the Lovers?” I could feel myself making a face before I had a chance to rein it in. “What does that mean?” If Temperance meant giving up alcohol, like in the 1920s, he had another thing coming. And love? Pass. Hard fucking pass.

“If Temperance is your goal, then it means you’re searching for balance, moderation, or a purpose,” he replied patiently, either ignoring the disbelieving look on my face or oblivious to it, which I somehow doubted.

“I have a purpose,” I said flatly, annoyed that I’d been tricked into a stupid tarot reading. It was all too similar to my ex and her astrology bullshit. Any time I did anything she didn’t like, she’d purse her lips and shake her head, muttering “Taurus” under her breath as she walked away instead of dealing with the issue like an adult. But somehow I was always the asshole.

“Maybe you do,” Greyson said, in a soft, self-assured, un-Monica-like voice, “but what does the rest of your life look like? Do you have balance, or does one thing dominate the rest?” He looked up at me, an eyebrow lifted ever so slightly, like he already knew the answer.

“Let me guess,” I snorted as his slender fingers drifted over the next card—the Lovers. “Find a good woman, settle down, get married, and all my problems are solved?”

“You’re partly correct. This card is about love and unions, but it’s more than that. It’s also about finding someone whose values align with your own within the relationship. It doesn’t automatically mean marriage, if that’s not what you want. It simply means that by finding your other half, you’ll find someone to balance your life, thus fulfilling your goal.”

“Sounds like a bunch of bullshit,” I said, doing everything in my power not to roll my eyes. “Sorry,” I added after the fact with a half-shrug, even though I wasn’t sorry in the slightest.

Thankfully, he didn’t look particularly pissed if his amused smirk was anything to go by. “You don’t believe in love?”

I made another face. For some reason, I found it was easy to be honest with him. Maybe because I didn’t care if he got offended, unlike the time I told Monica that horoscopes were a crock of shit, which led to a day-long fight and me sleeping on the couch in my own house. Or maybe it was because I felt like he could see through the politically correct mask anyway. The fact that he was a teacher, or at least trained to be one, gave me hope he wasn’t a total idiot.

“Maybe for other people,” I answered at last with another shrug, shoving my hands in my basketball shorts. “I’m too busy for all that.”

“So you do need balance.”

“ No ,” I shot back, defensiveness prickling inside of me, echoing a dozen fights from the past year. “I need our staffing levels to increase at work. Or I need to find someone who won’t bitch at me for working so much. But at this point, I don’t know which one is likely to happen first, so I’ll take the money instead. The alternative isn’t worth the headache.”

“You don’t think love is worth fighting for?”

“No.” He looked surprised, but now that the floodgate had opened, my real opinion refused to be tucked back in its box. “My parents were happily married until the day my mom died. They were everything to each other. I don’t buy into that whole Hollywood mentality that you need to suffer for love. The world already sucks, your relationship shouldn’t add to your aggravation. It should be your comfort in life. Yeah, there’s ups and downs, but if you married your best friend, then you know you’re going to make it.”

By the time I finished, a soft, sad smile pulled at his mouth. “Your parents’ marriage sounds like mine. They were a team, no matter what they were doing. I can only hope to find someone someday who looks at me the way they looked at each other.”

A pang of remorse hit me for thinking the worst of him. On paper, he looked guilty as hell, but in person? He looked like he needed a hug—or at least a night of heavy drinking to bury the pain.

“Were?” I prompted. Even though I knew the truth, I didn’t want him to know that I’d looked into him. That would make for an awkward conversation…

“They died,” he said quietly, his pale gaze dropping to the coffee table. “Together. About a month ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” God, I felt like an asshole. I mean, part of me still didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him, but the other part felt like a fucking jerk. At the very least, murderers didn’t usually emote so convincingly, so I felt safer dropping the family-annihilator theory.

“Thank you. It’s been a difficult time.”

“Well, hey, maybe things are going to start looking up soon.” When he glanced at me, I nodded to the purple envelope on the coffee table. Not that I believed whatever nonsense was in there, but he obviously did. I hoped it would cheer him up enough so that I could make a fast getaway from all of the insane fortune-telling and back to reality. “It’s supposed to be about your future, right?”

“We shall see.” He picked up the envelope and slid a finger under the flap, breaking the wax seal and withdrawing the paper inside. Something purple fell as he unfolded the letter and I stooped to retrieve it for him. He reached for it at the same time. Our fingers collided on top of another tarot card. Greyson’s eyes widened, giving me the chance to see his eye color up close and in detail, even if it was only for the briefest of moments. They really were gray, just like his license said, without a hint of blue to be found.

Exhaling sharply, Greyson retracted his hand like I’d burned him and the spell was broken. We both blinked. He averted his eyes first, turning quickly to the letter.

I swallowed a rush of self-consciousness and scooped up the tarot card. Except, it wasn’t just one. There were two. Fanning them as I turned them over, my eyebrows drew together, glancing between the two in my hand and the two on the table.

Temperance and the Lovers.

What were the odds? Either something freaky was happening or it was some sort of a con. My money was immediately on the latter, given how good he’d been at handling the cards in the first place. He’d probably marked them somehow so he could pull the right ones, knowing they’d match what was in the envelope—the envelope that just so happened to wind up in my mailbox instead of his… On “accident,” I’m sure.

“Looks like you need balance too,” I said, holding the cards out to him with a smirk of my own. Hope he liked the taste of crow.

Greyson plucked them out of my hand without looking, and without touching me, and set them on the table next to the two he’d dealt for me. “It’s what’s blocking me,” he replied distractedly as he read whatever was written on the paper.

Setting the letter aside, he rearranged the purple cards in front of him, laying the Lovers down first and crossing them with Temperance, except Temperance was facing the opposite direction of how he’d set mine up. A frown pulled at the corners of his mouth as he studied the cards intently.

“How can balance be blocking you?” I asked, immediately irritated with myself for even getting sucked into a bogus conversation. Again .

“It’s not balance,” Greyson replied, his tone taking on a defeatist air all of a sudden. “It’s an im balance. While the right relationship can help you achieve a better life, until I address the misalignment in mine, I won’t be able to find love let alone any sense of peace or harmony.”

“So much for the future looking up,” I mumbled to myself. It still sounded like a crock, but whatever those cards meant had clearly gotten under his skin. In two seconds, his whole demeanor had changed. Not only that, but it felt like a chasm had split open between us. I wouldn’t say I was any closer to knowing Greyson than I was before this little chat, but in our previous interaction, he hadn’t felt so… distant. Mysterious and maybe a little smarmy at times, but never like we were standing on opposite shores. Whatever had happened, I blamed myself, especially since I had been the bearer of bad news.

“You of all people know there are no guarantees in life,” Greyson said, sinking back against the couch cushion and meeting my gaze with the saddest eyes I’d ever seen. “That’s why we do the best we can with the time we’re given.”

My cell phone buzzed in my pocket, providing a welcome distraction from the heaviness in the room. I knew it was Luke without even pulling it out. He said he’d text when he woke up and we’d make our evening plans from there. Judging from the fading sunlight slanting through the screen door behind me, he was right on time.

“I should get going,” I said, hooking a thumb over my shoulder toward the door.

Nodding, Greyson wrapped his arms around himself—the stereotypical form of shutting another person out while soothing yourself. Unsurprisingly, he made no move to stand. “Thank you again for stopping by.”

“You should open the windows,” I said, trying to leave on a more positive note. “It’s really nice out. Get some air moving in here. Otherwise, these old houses get kind of stuffy. Can give you a headache and stuff like that.”

“I do love the smell of bonfires.” He looked wistfully at the large window in the living room, the thick drapes closed tight.

Dad’s suggestion needled the back of my mind. Before I could think twice about it, I blurted out, “I’m actually having one tonight. A bonfire. You should come. If you’re free, I mean. Just, whenever. Sometime after dark. You’ll see the light, I’m sure.”

“I appreciate your offer, but I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“It’s not imposing. We’re neighbors.”

He considered it for a moment before giving a slight nod. “Thank you.”

Even though things were even more awkward than they were before, I nodded in return and pivoted on my heel, heading for the door with long strides. By the time I stepped out onto the front porch and closed his door behind me, I was sure of precisely one thing: tonight ought to be interesting…