Arcanum (Tales from the Tarot)

6. Greyson

Chapter six

Greyson

T he New Moon arrived, dark and quiet, unnoticed by most of the population. In magic, it was deemed a time for new beginnings. Naturally, I planned the opening of my store to coincide with its cycle, hoping to draw on the lunar power to fuel the spell I’d done for a successful business venture.

Based on the arched eyebrow I got at town hall when I submitted the requisite paperwork for my permits, I wasn’t sure how the people of Mapleton would react to having an independent bookstore in their midst. There was no turning back though. I trusted Nemo; I needed to trust myself. Even if I couldn’t be a teacher anymore, it didn’t mean I couldn’t focus on my other passion: books.

Opening day, there was a flurry of activity from the curious onlookers who had been pacing back and forth in front of the store all morning while I got everything ready. From snippets of their conversations, muffled by the glass, it seemed they were mostly trying to figure out the store name: Arcanum. Mysterious or specialized knowledge, also known as books, especially in the occult world.

Since books were my first form of magic, I wanted to pay my respects to them. The name was also a little cheeky, a way for those in the know to know… though I honestly didn’t expect to find anyone like me in a town as small as Mapleton. Chicago was different. Given the millions of people who lived, worked, and visited the Windy City, it wasn’t unusual to stumble across another person with magic on your daily commute. Even college had been different. With people drawn from all four corners of the world, living and studying in such close proximity, it was inevitable to run into another witch—or twenty. But Mapleton?

I surveyed the people walking past the store, waiting to see if I’d get a gut feeling about any of them. After a few unsuccessful moments, I shook my head and turned away from the window to set out the finishing touch on the counter: baked goods.

Unable to sleep as usual, I’d stayed awake baking an obscene amount of pumpkin chocolate chip muffins for my grand opening. Knowing I’d never eat them all myself no matter how depressed I got, I piled them into a large wicker basket and took them with me to the store.

Once they were set up next to the register with a small placard that said, Help yourself , I flipped the sign on the door and welcomed my very first customer.

I sold a few of the more popular books, but most people wandered in, looked around, took a muffin, and walked out again. One elderly male came back a second time—for the muffins.

On the first visit, his wife had dragged him in and he’d stood there, glaring at the display featuring school-themed titles, his lips twisted disapprovingly on his sun-beaten face. He was exactly the sort of customer I’d feared. Older, traditional, conservative, staunchly opposed to change. Everything about me was probably on the list of things he hated. Except my muffins, apparently.

His wife bought a cozy mystery book and swiped two muffins on her way out. When she tried to hand him the muffin, though, he looked at it with a curled lip and said something under his breath, to which she replied by shoving the muffin at him a second time. He took a tentative bite and for a split second, I witnessed the transformation. Skepticism melted to surprise, followed by begrudging satisfaction.

I smiled at him as he walked out. He did not smile in return. Watching him through the front window, I was pleased to see him eat the rest of the muffin. However small, it was still a victory.

If all else failed, I could always open a bakery, even though there were already two in Mapleton—one dedicated to breads and donuts, and the other for elaborate cakes and cookies. Maybe I’d make muffins my trademark. Owen already called me “Muffin,” so it wasn’t far off.

Twenty minutes later, the old man shuffled in a second time without his wife. He marched straight up to the counter and took a muffin, looking me dead in the eye. “Don’t tell Beverly.”

I pantomimed zipping my lips and watched him walk out again, stuffing the muffin in his mouth like a squirrel collecting nuts.

The next customer was a lively young woman with long, black curls and dark eyes that sparkled when she spotted me behind the cash register. Her high heels clicked over the floor as she hurried over and plopped her bright green purse on the counter. “Thank God you’re open! Please tell me you have that new book, Make Him Yours Again . You know—the one that’s selling like wildfire, all about how to get your ex back.”

“I seem to remember that title,” I said, nodding my head toward the Love the other was the appropriately titled Moving On After It’s Over .

Getting to her feet, she took the books with a sheepish smile. “Thank you.”

I nodded and sidestepped her, making my way back to the cash register to let her browse in peace.

After a while, she found her way to me again, a third book on top of the two I’d already given her. It was a romance book. I would have laughed if the girl wasn’t so desperate to live out the love and passion she read about. While I didn’t condone cheating, I could see how someone like her would get swept up in an affair. She was a passionate person and she expected that from her partner. Sadly, I didn’t have the heart to tell her people weren’t like that in real life. It was fiction for a reason.

“Does it have a happy ending?” she asked, pulling out her credit card as I scanned the third book.

“It does.” I gave her a reassuring smile and swiped her card before handing it back. Grabbing the books, I slid them into a cloth bag and held the purchase out to her. “Good luck, Monica, whichever way it turns out.”

She made a face as she took the bag, a quizzical quirk to her shiny pink lips. “Thanks…”

“It’s on the receipt,” I said, answering the silent question about her name.

“Oh, right!” She rolled her eyes and bopped her forehead before grabbing a muffin. “See you around, sweetie!”

Watching her trot out the door, I offered my silent sympathy to the unknown man. Whoever her ex was, I hoped he was ready for the tornado of courtship that was surely headed his way.

As the day wore on, the initial “rush” of customers dwindled to nothing. I passed the time by laying out a complicated tarot spread on the counter, trying to see if I could gain any more insight into what I was supposed to do now that I’d set up a new life in Mapleton. I specifically didn’t ask about Don, since I didn’t want to taint the freshness of a new beginning by dwelling on the past.

The cards were not very helpful. The Sun kept featuring prominently, along with the Star, which was always a good sign in a reading. But the others all revolved around strength and bravery and patience. I grudgingly took the hint and stopped asking the universe questions.

The bells above the door jangled again and a plump, middle-aged woman breezed in, a faux-alligator handbag swinging from the crook of her arm.

“So this is what everyone has been talking about,” she announced to the empty shop, pausing in the entryway to stare at the space. “You can’t even tell it used to be a hardware store.”

I wasn’t sure if I should answer her or not, so I didn’t. Quietly sweeping up my pile of tarot cards, I slid them out of sight behind the antique cash register, right next to the large chunk of citrine.

The woman moved forward with purpose, her gaze zeroed in on me like a hawk. “Karen Carlisle,” she said loftily, holding out her hand as soon as she reached the front counter. I couldn’t help but notice her crimson nail polish matched her blazer perfectly. “President of the Ladies Auxiliary.”

I shook it with a smile. “Greyson Darkholme, proprietor.”

“Oh. It’s like you walked straight out of a fairytale. How charming.” She laughed at her quip and stroked the large maple leaf brooch on her blazer. “I love what you’ve done with the place. It’s so cozy. So… fanciful!”

“Thank you. Was there something in particular I could help you find?”

“No, no. I’ll just have a look around.”

“Well, I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“I’m sure I shall.” She swept off toward the back, perusing the shelves and murmuring to herself.

It wasn’t long before her sharp footsteps stomped across the old floorboards. She marched up to the counter again and slammed a book down. “What in Heaven’s name is this?!”

I inhaled a slow breath, letting my gaze fall between us to the offending book.

The Way of the Witch: A Complete Guide to Practicing Your Craft.

“A book?” I blinked at her.

“I cannot believe you have books on black magic ,” she whispered, scandalized, a hand flying to her throat. “This is blasphemy! And I will not stand for it in my town!”

“Ma’am, it’s a book,” I said slowly, as gently as I could. “And witchcraft doesn’t have anything to do with the Devil. That’s a Judeo-Christian conc—”

“The mayor will hear about this! Mark my words!” She clutched her purse to her body and stomped out, muttering under her breath about devil worshippers.

I shook my head, taking the book back to its shelf in the Religion & Spirituality section. Of all the things people could get worked up about, like the larger-than-average LGBTQ section set up in the front of the store instead of being secreted away in the back, I didn’t think one little book on witchcraft would be the spark that lit the flame. I should have known. Books were full of dangerous magic that people had been trying to suppress for as long as they’d existed—something scandalously known as “ideas.” Contrary ideas, if you wanted to be even more specific.

I knew it wouldn’t be easy. Small towns never were. I’d had the same problem in my previous profession as a teacher, trying to win over tight-knit communities that were immediately suspicious of all outsiders. But Mapleton was where the pendulum pointed, so I had to trust it would all work out… Eventually.

A little boy stopped outside the store just then, his face plastered to the glass. If I had to guess, he was around five, yet he was all alone.

I frowned and started his way.

He seemed captivated by the fall vignette I’d set up in the front window featuring piles of books nestled in brightly colored leaves with candles and crystals scattered at the bottom.

“Jackson!” a frazzled-looking woman yelled on the other side of the window, rushing up to him a moment later. She grabbed his hand and whipped him around, dropping to her knees and checking him over. “You can’t take off like that!”

The boy merely cocked his head, staring at her.

She sighed and got to her feet, holding firmly onto his hand, and took off down the sidewalk.

I leaned against the edge of the window and peered out as far as I could. Twilight had descended on Mapleton and all of the lights on Main Street had flicked on, tiny yellow and white dots against the dusky purple.

A white Mapleton PD squad rolled down the street, the maroon and gold lettering flashing in the dim light. Of course, I thought of Chris, but I knew it wasn’t him. It was an Impala and he drove a Tahoe with “K9 Unit” stamped in huge red letters on each of the rear windows.

I hadn’t seen him since the day he brought the letter from Nemo, since I’d read the tarot cards for him and had a vision of the two of us… doing whatever we were doing naked, with candles and sigils.

Well, that wasn’t necessarily true. I’d seen him when I peered out the window like a shut-in, but not in any sort of social situation. Although the view from the window wasn’t so bad. His backyard antics with the dog were still an amusing way to pass the time, but as the temperature dropped and the first orange leaves began to fall, I found myself with a new sexual fantasy.

Watching someone rake leaves, a mundane chore that homeowners the world over probably performed, should not have been even remotely arousing. But watching Chris do it? The scene was practically on repeat in my head.

Wearing a tight-fitting gray t-shirt, dark jeans, and a backward baseball hat, he could have been posing for some outdoorsy magazine instead of doing menial yard work. One brown paper bag at a time, he moved from the front yard to the back, methodically gathering the multicolored leaves. Inside my sanctuary, I moved with him, drifting from the living room to my bedroom to keep him in my line of sight, appreciating his labor in all its glory.

Selene followed me, chirping and meowing, trying anything to pull my attention from the window. Her efforts were wasted on me at the moment. Throwing in the towel, she flicked her tail irritably and curled up in bed to doze. Unable to tear my eyes away from the magnificent view, I made a mental note to make it up to her later.

Chris had finished with the yard and was in the process of polishing off a bottle of water, his throat moving with each swallow, leaving me parched just by watching. He had at least two days’ worth of stubble, which meant he must have been on his weekend off of work. As amazing as he looked clean-shaven, the scruffy look also suited him, even though it obscured his dimples somewhat.

Sweat glistened on every visible inch of him, adding a golden sheen to his bare arms and darkening his t-shirt in a stripe along his chest. When he lifted the hem of his shirt and swiped it over his face, revealing the ridiculously sculpted abs I’d seen in my vision, I felt my jaw drop.

“Stars above,” I whispered, clutching the thick drape in front of me for balance.

Oblivious to the fact he had an audience, Chris got back to work, sealing up the last bag of leaves and hauling it toward the front of the house, presumably to the pile he had stacked at the curb.

His German Shepherd appeared from the other side of the house, bounding over to him, tail wagging and ears perked.

Chris abandoned the bag at the gate and bent over, snatching something off the ground. A grubby tennis ball from the looks of it. He launched it across the yard and the dog took off after it. A smile lit up his face, dimples and all, as the dog sped back to him, dropping his treasure at Chris’s feet. He scratched his canine enthusiastically with both hands behind the ears before grabbing the ball and hurling it to the far corner again. The line of his broad shoulders straightened and he turned toward my house, his head cocked.

“Shit.” I scrambled away from the window and out of view.

A week later, I still couldn’t shake the warmth that spread inside of me whenever I thought about Chris. It may not have seemed like I knew much, if anything, about him, but between my magic and what I’d observed firsthand, I knew all that I needed to. He was a man with integrity, who loved animals, and wasn’t afraid of hard work. He wanted a partner in life. Simply put, Chris was everything I’d always wanted in a significant other. Not to mention the physical traits that made me want to do the most unneighborly things with him…

All of the other stuff, like his favorite food, hobbies, how he did his laundry, paled in comparison to his larger values. Those things were preferences and preferences changed. Even his body, amazing as it was, was destined to change one day. But values? They made up a person at their core and Chris’s core was good and kind and loving. If my vision was anything to go by, one day he would be mine.

I just had no idea when—or how.