Arcanum (Tales from the Tarot)

8. Greyson

Chapter eight

Greyson

T he day after my impromptu dinner with Chris, reality came crashing down with a vengeance.

As soon as I turned on the lights inside Arcanum, I saw the damage waiting for me at the front of the store. Glass littered the floor. All of the windows on the door had been smashed out, a broom handle left poking through one of the broken panes. Red paint covered the huge picture window in a series of letters, along with a pentagram and an upside-down cross. Before I even opened the front door, I knew what they’d written.

WITCH

Mindful of the glass, I stepped out onto the sidewalk and looked up at the old building. Based on previous damages I’d endured over the past two years, I did a quick mental calculation of how much it was going to cost to repair. I’m sure the landlord would reimburse me at some point, but I couldn’t run a business with a broken door or graffiti all over the window.

For once, it wasn’t Don’s doing—although he’d undoubtedly appreciate his competitor’s tactics. Over the years, as his hatred grew, I’d gotten good at picking up his energy even after he left an area. I didn’t sense him anywhere near my store but I was also clueless as to who the culprit had been. It didn’t matter, though. It’s not like I’d be calling the police to file any reports. I’d learned from other departments that it was best to handle things myself. Reports were a last resort, usually only filed because someone else wanted it, like an insurance company.

I started by dislodging the broom from the door and then got to work cleaning up the broken glass on the front step. The “Closed” sign remained firmly in place in the window while I waited for a repairman to call me back with an estimate to either fix the door or board it up.

In the meantime, I grabbed one of the ladders and a couple of razor blades from the basement, graciously left over from the shop’s hardware store days, and headed back outside.

I was halfway through scraping off the giant W when a small army approached on the sidewalk bearing poster boards and flyers. It was no surprise that the proud President of the Ladies Auxiliary, Karen Carlisle, was leading the charge. Literally.

“Hey! Ho! Arcanum has got to go!” she chanted into a megaphone while she walked.

“Just what I need,” I sighed to myself, leaning against the top of the ladder and watching the assembly as they came to a stop right in front of my store. Convenient timing, if I did say so myself. I recognized a few of my customers in the crowd, none of whom would make eye contact with me. Now that they’d been summoned by their leader, it was clear I no longer had their patronage. Was the damage a group effort too?

“Oh, dear! What an eyesore,” Karen said, lowering the megaphone and “tut-tutting” the door.

“A coincidence, I’m sure,” I replied with a tight smile.

“I guess you’ll have to close up shop and take your disgusting books with you.”

“Are you that afraid of one book?” I peered down at her from the ladder, tilting my head. “Or are you afraid of me?”

“Why on earth would I be scared of you?” she asked, stroking a large button pin on her coat featuring the word Arcanum with a giant red circle and slash through it.

“Small-minded people are always afraid of what they don’t understand.”

“How dare you!” She clutched her megaphone tighter, her cheeks matching her red nail polish. Starting up with her obnoxious chant again, she pumped her fist into the air to get the crowd going too.

Turning my back to them, I resumed scraping off the paint, mindful to keep the strokes slow and smooth to avoid scratching the window. Thankfully most of it was on the glass, but I’d have to do some serious scrubbing to get the overspray off of the bricks.

I was just finishing up the T when a pair of police officers showed up. “Great,” I sighed to myself.

“Commander!” Karen squealed into the megaphone before hurriedly lowering it. “Come to join our protest?”

“No,” the commander replied gruffly. “I’m here to tell you to pack it up and go home.”

Karen gasped loudly, clutching her damn megaphone to her chest. “We have every right to be here! This is a free country and we’re exercising our First Amendment rights and the freedom of speech!”

The commander hooked his thumbs in his gun belt, bored and irritated all at once. “You’re disturbing the peace, Karen. Go home.”

“This is outrageous! What peace am I disturbing? Trying to keep the citizens of Mapleton safe from devil worshippers?!” She glared up at me, as if I’d called the police when she knew I hadn’t. I’d been too busy scraping off paint and trying to ignore her chanting.

“You’re blocking the sidewalk, for starters,” the second officer said, looking as annoyed as the commander. Judging by the chevrons on his collar, I assumed he was a sergeant. “You’re distributing flyers. And you’re not authorized to use a megaphone. You want me to print out the municipal code for you, or are you going to get it from the mayor?”

An outburst had been on the tip of her tongue, but the sergeant’s last statement knocked the wind out of her sails. She pivoted, drawing herself up with indignation. “We have the right to protest! It’s protected by the Constitution!”

“Not without a permit.” The commander unhooked his handcuffs from his belt and held them up in front of her nose. “You done for today, Madame President?”

She glared at the commander and his handcuffs before shooting daggers up at me. “This isn’t over!”

“I imagine it’s not,” I replied. Story of my life.

Turning on her heel, she circled a hand in the air to her followers and pointed down the sidewalk, leading the march away from the cement battlefield.

Shaking my head, I looked at the officers in the wake of the crowd’s departure. “You didn’t have to bother. I’m sure you have better things to do.”

“Keeping the peace is part of the job,” the sergeant said. “Wanna tell us what happened?” He tipped his chin toward the front door.

“No idea,” I answered honestly. “I found it like this when I came to open.”

“And you didn’t call us?”

“It didn’t seem like it warranted a phone call.”

“We could call the street department if you want,” the commander said, squinting at the window. “Pressure washer will probably take care of most of that.”

I accepted his offer with a nod and a small smile, descending the ladder. “Thank you.”

“Sure thing. Let me make a call.” The commander pulled his phone out and started dialing.

“I’m going to run this back inside.” I hoisted the ladder onto my shoulder and carted it into the store. On my return trip to the front, I snagged the wicker basket off the counter and carried it out to the officers with the tangible form of my gratitude. Apple cider donuts.

“Is this a cop joke?” the sergeant asked, though it didn’t stop him from reaching for a donut. At any rate, it gave me a chance to see his name tag. Kostka. Sergeant Kostka.

“A coincidence,” I replied with a smile.

“They have to finish putting up a new stop sign and they’ll send someone over,” the commander said, holstering his cell phone and rejoining us in front of the store. Andersen, according to the flash of gold on his vest. “Oo! Donuts! You make these?”

“It’s a hobby.” I tucked the towel around them and offered the handle to the commander. “Here. Take them with you.”

“Oh, no. We can’t.” He made a show of wincing and held a hand up, even though Kostka was giving him a blatant side-eye.

“I have more inside. Please. They’ll go to waste if you don’t take them. It’s not like I’ll have customers to give them to.”

“Well… If you insist .” Andersen accepted the basket with a solemn nod, even though I could sense he was rejoicing on the inside. Kostka beamed in approval.

“Thank you for your help. Again,” I said, gesturing to the window.

“We only got rid of her for a day, maybe two,” Kostka said as he rocked forward a bit, his voice low in warning and his gun belt creaking rather ominously. “She’ll be back once she has those permits.”

“How long, do you suppose, I’ll be the object of her attention?”

The officers exchanged a long look, giving me a sinking feeling. Their mutual dislike of the woman was palpable, even without my intuitive abilities.

“Til she finds someone new to harass,” Andersen finally answered with a grimace.

“Or until you close up for good,” Kostka added glumly.

“I appreciate the honesty, gentlemen.”

The commander lifted the basket and gave me another small nod, a gesture of thanks and a silent way of wishing me luck, before turning and heading down the street to where he’d parked his squad.

Kostka lingered for a minute, assessing the broken door behind me. “You sure you don’t want to file a report for that?”

I shook my head. “No. I’ll take care of it.”

“You can always call us. Twenty-four/seven.” He slipped a business card out of his vest pocket and handed it to me.

I took it with a polite smile and watched him leave, my arms crossed against the cold gusts of autumn wind. Even Mother Nature seemed to be shooing me along, telling me I didn’t belong there. Except… Fate said I did.

“Are you open?” a female voice asked behind me.

A real smile stretched across my face as I turned, spying the mother and her runaway son from the other day. “I am.”

“Great! He’s dying to see inside.”

The little boy had already plastered himself against the window, his hands cupped around his face, staring at the vignette.

“Was there something in particular he wanted?” I asked, scanning the books on display, looking for something age-appropriate.

She shrugged helplessly and looked to her son for the answer.

Jackson tapped the glass repeatedly and grunted. I moved behind him and dropped down to his level to see what he was pointing at. It wasn’t a book—it was one of the crystals.

“Ah, I see,” I said, getting to my feet again. “I’ll be right back.”

I ducked into the store and retrieved the large piece of angel aura quartz. As soon as the sunlight hit it, the facets lit up with pink and purple iridescence, making the white stone look like it was glowing.

“Oh my God!” The mom covered her mouth and closed her eyes for a second. “I’m so sorry. I thought he wanted a picture book or something. I can’t afford that—if it’s even for sale, I mean.”

“It’s a gift.” I gave her a soft smile and held the crystal out to the boy.

His eyes doubled in size as he reached for it with both hands, cradling it reverently.

“Jackson, can you say thank you?”

He looked up at me and blinked. While he may have remained silent and looked like he could not care less about answering his mother, every inch of his being radiated gratitude.

“You’re very welcome,” I said. “If you’d like, I do have a book all about crystals.” When his eyes widened again, I smiled. “I’ll go get it.”

“Oh, no! I really can’t afford—”

I gently waved off his mother’s protest. “Please, don’t even worry about it. It’s my pleasure.”

Once his mother had the book in her purse, I bid them farewell, lingering on the front step to watch as they made their way down the sidewalk. Jackson’s eyes were glued to his new crystal, staring at it lovingly. Even if he never actually read the book, I was sure he’d find the pictures fascinating, or at least comforting in some way.

And that was why Arcanum would stay open.

Karen Carlisle be damned.