Arcanum (Tales from the Tarot)

13. Greyson

Chapter thirteen

Greyson

“ H ey! Ho! Arcanum has got to go!” Karen Carlisle’s voice screeched through the picture window in the front of the bookstore. At least she didn’t have her megaphone anymore. The Mapleton officials hadn’t gone for that when they issued her permit to protest.

It was still early in the day and people were gathered along Main Street, eagerly waiting for the Homecoming parade to start. It would have been a prime time for them to get a little shopping done, window or otherwise, if not for Karen and her troupe blocking the doorway with their signs and chanting.

Since there wasn’t any actual work I could do in the store, I figured I’d practice some of the magical variety.

Closing my eyes, I rubbed my palms together briskly, concentrating on the energy building between them. Keeping my eyes shut, I formed a loose triangle with my thumbs and forefingers and let them hover over the desk, concentrating on the image of a candle in my mind. I imagined a thick, honey-colored taper. Beeswax. Hand-dipped. A blackened wick, waiting to be relit. The exact candle I had at home on the kitchen counter.

Drowning out Karen’s chanting, I poured all of my energy into summoning that candle.

The heat dissipated from my palms suddenly and I opened my eyes, staring down at the very thing I’d envisioned. Tension eased out of my muscles, replaced with a flash of rare happiness. Smiling proudly at myself, I picked up the candle and turned, sticking it onto one of the spare metal holders on the counter behind me.

I couldn’t remember the last time I had manifested anything, so I was beyond relieved to see the power hadn’t left me. It had simply been dormant, waiting for me to have the mental clarity and energy once more. In that regard, Mapleton had been a blessing. Without getting ahead of myself, I hoped I could begin repairing other aspects of my life since my magic was on the mend.

The bell above the door jingled. I looked up, hopeful for a customer and dreading that it would turn out to be Karen—or someone worse, like Don.

Thankfully, it was Monica.

“Oh my God, ” Monica groaned as she breezed through the door, smoothing down the front of her sweater before turning and yelling, “Get a fucking life, Karen! No one likes you!”

I blinked as Monica kicked the door shut and hurried over to me, heels clicking with the little trot that she did. She lunged across the counter and grabbed my hands, pulling me closer like we were co-conspirators.

“Please tell me you have the rest of that series!”

“The… romance book?” I clarified, recalling her first visit to the store.

“Yes! Oh my God! It was so good! I need to know what’s happening with Cameron’s brother now! It wasn’t a total cliffy, which, I’m sure you know, but it was such a tease!”

I nodded with a smile. “I have the whole series. And the spin-off.”

She squeezed my hands harder, her dark eyes widening in delight. “There’s a spin-off?!”

I chuckled and disentangled myself gently. “Let me show you.”

“You made my day, sweetie!” She squealed happily and trotted after me as we made the walk to the romance section.

“I’m happy to hear it. I wish all of Mapleton was as excited about books.” I threw a pointed glance toward the circle of protestors.

“Ugh. Karen’s a Grade-A bitch. Try not to let her get to you. She tried to do the same thing to the owner of my salon after she didn’t like a haircut. Same little circus. Same little chant. We’re still in business and you will be too.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

“Of course! Oh! Speaking of confidence, I read the other book on how to win back my ex, but I need an icebreaker. I tried texting him, but that didn’t work. He’s never really been a big texter anyway. Something about subpoenas and cell phone records. I don’t know. Sounds kinda paranoid to me. Anyway. What do you think I should do to get his attention?”

“It’s so hard to convey emotions over a text message,” I said, stopping in front of the appropriate shelf and scanning the titles for the rest of the series. “In person is always best. And I recommend food. Food has a way of bringing people together.”

“You’re so right! The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, right?” She laughed and poked me like I was the Pillsbury Doughboy. I refrained from making the trademark giggle, especially since she grabbed my forearm a second later, her eyes wide again with an idea. “I’ll make my mom’s empanadas. He always loved those.”

“Who could say no to an empanada?”

The phone rang, giving me an excuse to extricate myself from her grasp once again with a murmured apology.

A flutter of nerves swept through me as I answered the phone, bracing for heavy, seething breaths or pure vitriol.

“Hi! Terry Williams, Mapleton Daily Times, ” the man on the other line said . “Is this Greyson Darkholme?”

“It is,” I replied, slightly less on edge but even more confused. If this was about my family, it was going to be a short conversation.

“Great! Welcome to Mapleton. We like to feature our local business owners, so I was calling to get some background information if you have a second?”

“I’m sorry, I’m really busy at the moment.” I glanced around the nearly empty store.

“Oh, that’s ok. Can we set up a time next week?”

“I’ll call you.” I hung up abruptly and closed my eyes with a sigh. After spending over a year and a sizable amount of money scrubbing as much information about myself off of the internet as I could, there was no way I was going to undo it all with an interview. Guess that was one business feature they were just going to have to do without. Besides, with Karen’s ongoing protest, what was the point?

Outside the front of the store, two police officers appeared and my stomach lurched. They weren’t paying any attention to the store, however. Their sights were on another target—Karen.

One of them twirled his finger in a “Hurry up” motion and Karen visibly gasped, clutching her chest with dramatic outrage, her football brooch flashing in the sunlight. Guess she forgot the anti-Arcanum one at home.

The second cop gestured up and down the sidewalk and threw a thumb behind them, toward the direction of where the parade would be starting. I assumed, based on the gestures and Karen’s scowl, that they were shooing her and her troupe along to make room for paradegoers.

Sure enough, the group began to disperse and citizens pressed in like flood waters, filling in the vacant spots with happily jumping kids and lawn chairs.

As soon as Karen left, the officers looked at each other, shook their heads, and wandered away before I could even grab the basket of brownies and run it out to them.

It wouldn’t have mattered, though. Monica appeared with an armful of books and a giant smile. “I got ‘em.” And indeed, she had. The rest of the series and the spin-off.

“This one is my favorite,” I said, tapping a book with a giant pumpkin under a full moon, a black cat winding around it with a coy smile.

“It looks witchy,” she said with a grin.

“It is.”

“Oh, I love witches. Check this out!” She swung her purse onto the counter and started rooting around like Mary Poppins before unearthing a vivid green stone.

We both said, “Malachite,” at the same time and laughed.

“It’s my good luck charm. I always keep it with me. I got it one summer visiting family in Mexico.” She kissed the stone and dropped it back in her purse.

“It’s beautiful.” I finished ringing her up and slid the cloth Arcanum bag over to her. “It looks like the parade is about to start.”

She grabbed her purchase and her handbag and hurried to the door. “Come on! Your step is a perfect place to watch.”

Since I didn’t have to worry about customers thanks to Karen, I followed Monica outside and stood next to her on the step as the first wave of banner-holding children appeared from the side street where the parade vehicles had been staging all morning.

Float after float of kids and civic organizations cruised by, interspersed with groups walking on foot. Some threw candy, others sprayed the crowd with silly string or threw maroon and gold confetti in the air.

I was surprised when Chris appeared in uniform, walking in the parade instead of directing traffic somewhere. He smiled and waved to the crowd as Nitro tugged him along the parade route, his tongue lolling excitedly. Another officer wearing a heavily padded arm guard jogged up next to him and Chris yelled something that I couldn’t make out over the high school band. A second later, Nitro leapt at the second cop and bit down on the proffered arm. The cop yelled and tried to shake the large dog off, but the K9 held on.

Chris let them struggle for a bit before he gave a command and Nitro let go. The other officer laughed to hide a wince, rubbing his arm despite the padding. Chris clapped him on the shoulder and immediately handed Nitro a rope toy, petting him affectionately before turning back to the crowd with another wave. As he passed in front of Arcanum, his gaze found mine and his smile brightened, his dimples on full display.

A flutter shot through me, my own nerves in action as well as his. The fact I could feel him from a distance, with so many people around us, was almost dizzying. After the bonfire the night before, I feared he would change his mind in the light of day, after he’d had time to consider everything I said. Happily, it seemed his feelings had only grown.

“That’s him!” Monica said, grabbing my bicep and giving me a little shake. It was like plunging into ice water.

“Him?” I repeated, my voice cracking with dread.

“The K9 cop! That’s my ex!” She sighed happily, practically swooning right there on my step, and stared after Chris as he had Nitro bite the other cop again for the citizens on the next block.

I couldn’t form words to answer her so I did my best to offer some sort of smile, hoping it didn’t look like a grimace.

Him.

Without realizing it, I’d wound up hearing both sides of their story and been exposed to all of their emotions, good and bad. I didn’t doubt Monica’s feelings for him, but I couldn’t ignore the feelings Chris gave off either. He’d been so hurt recounting their breakup. So angry at her and what she’d done. Even if I wasn’t in the picture, there was no way an apology and some empanadas could make up for the betrayal he felt in his core.

But was that true? Objectively? Or was that wishful thinking on my part, because I wanted Chris? At the very least, I didn’t want him to get hurt again. As nice as Monica seemed, I couldn’t help but bristle at her carelessness with his heart the first time around. If she managed to win him back, what would happen six months down the road? Would she leave him the moment she thought a better offer came along? Would she love and respect him the way he deserved? I doubted it.

With her attention solely on Chris, I slipped back into the store, away from the love bubbling around her. Monica was beautiful, no doubt, and full of a sparkling energy that was infectious, but I couldn’t help but wonder what drew them together in the first place. I imagined she bulldozed her way into his life the first time around, like she was trying to do again, and Chris, being the sort of man he was, just went with the flow in order to keep the peace.

Closing the door, I headed to the counter and grabbed one of my tarot decks. I shuffled them quickly, asking the universe for some insight into this new predicament. I knew what I’d seen in my vision the first time Chris and I touched. After the window… and the hand-holding… it appeared that vision was on course to come true. But Monica didn’t seem like the type to give up the chase and the last thing I wanted was to get into a love triangle in Mapleton or make any more enemies.

Laying out the cards on the counter, I swore under my breath at the overarching message. While the cards didn’t tell me if I should give up my romantic pursuit of Chris or not, they made one thing clear—danger lurked on the horizon for him and he needed protection. More than a single piece of black tourmaline could give.

I flipped another card, asking for more information on what was coming.

The Wheel of Fortune. The card for fate and changing life cycles. Not helpful.

Swearing under my breath, I shoved the cards together into a pile and braced my hands on the counter, head bowed. With no real answers to go on, all I could do was work a protection spell on the sidelines and hope it was enough.

In a weird turn of events, I went from the stalked to the stalker, scrolling through the internet looking for pictures of Chris. He didn’t have much in the way of social media and what he did have was locked down tighter than Fort Knox.

Other than the chief, the police department didn’t post their officers’ pictures online, nor were there any clear pictures of him on their social media.

Someone had posted a couple of grainy black-and-white photos of him in high school that looked like they scanned from the newspaper. Sadly, they didn’t help, since they were all action shots and he had a football helmet on. I did, however, make a mental note to look up what a “tight end” was after I was finished.

I finally found a suitable picture of him in the newspaper from Nitro’s swearing-in ceremony. It cost me a whole dollar to sign up for a week’s trial of the Mapleton Daily Times , but it was worth it.

Picture in hand, I cut out all of the unnecessary people, leaving only Chris and Nitro. I’d successfully done spells for Selene to keep her safe, so I assumed doing one for a dog was no different.

Drawing a protection sigil on the back of the picture, I tucked it into a mason jar, along with my written petition. At the time of its writing, I’d only mentioned Chris but I figured the mystical Powers That Be wouldn’t mind extending the canine a courtesy.

Next came a slew of bent, rusty nails I’d picked up in the basement of Arcanum, a razor blade, an old sewing needle I had, and bits of tangled string. I dumped a healthy amount of black salt into the jar, along with as much rosemary and bay leaves as I could find in the cupboard. Cramming a cinnamon stick inside, I used it to poke the rosemary down and make room for a couple of lumps of obsidian and amethyst.

I topped the whole mixture off with vinegar and sealed the lid. Lighting a black candle, I let some drip into the center and stuck it in place so the remainder would spill down the sides of the lid, sealing it more effectively.

As the candle burned, I closed my eyes and radiated as much energy as I could into the jar, demanding that it do its job and repel negative forces in whatever form they took. I wasn’t naive enough to think I could stop everything in the universe from hurting him, but it made me feel better all the same.

I’d crafted a similar jar when I first moved to Mapleton and it seemed to be working. Even if the harassing emails had increased tenfold since I disappeared from Chicago, Don had yet to physically resurface in my life. Although, the longer it took to find me, the angrier he became. I dreaded what he’d do when he caught up to me again.

If , I reminded myself silently. If he catches up to me. As long as I kept my head down, my protection wards in place, and didn’t leave any sort of digital trail for him or a private investigator to follow, I hoped he’d give up. Eventually…

Until then, Chris was my primary concern along with mitigating whatever disaster was heading his way.

Once the black candle was spent, I carved a pentacle in the top of the cool wax and carried the jar outside, leaving the porch lights off.

Tiptoeing across the yard to Chris’s house, I knelt at the corner of his front porch and glanced around. It was after midnight. The neighborhood was mostly asleep, except for my fellow insomniac, Mrs. Perkins. The faint blue glow of her TV illuminated the lacy curtains in her front window. As long as I didn’t make too much noise, neither she nor her dog would probably even notice me.

Using a trowel, I dug a hole big enough for the mason jar, right next to the foundation of the house, stopping every few moments to make sure no one was coming down the street. Once the jar was buried, I patted the earth back into place and swept some dried leaves over the ground to disguise the discoloration.

Getting to my feet again, I squinted at Chris’s squad in thought and stole a glance at his house. It, too, was dark. Unlike some shift workers, he didn’t try to stay awake on his nights off, which also explained why he depended on coffee. The man was so addicted that he named his dog after a specific type of cold brew, for crying out loud. I shuddered to think what the on/off sleep schedule and excessive caffeine were doing to him. His poor circadian rhythm had to be all out of whack.

I darted to the back of his Tahoe and crouched down, out of view of his windows in case he happened to be awake and look out. Using the tip of my finger, I drew a sigil on the tailgate quickly, adding another layer of protection for him and Nitro.

Nodding at my handiwork, I stayed in a crouch and scurried back to the safety of my house. Short of shadowing him like the most unimpressive bodyguard ever, I had done all that I could to keep him, his house, his dog, and his squad safe. Only time would tell if I’d been successful or not.