Arcanum (Tales from the Tarot)

25. Greyson

Chapter twenty-five

Greyson

D on had been at the house. Again.

My skin crawled at the thought.

What if I’d sensed him and had opened the door? What if I’d gone out and confronted him ? For two years, I had been running from him and his hatred. What would he do if I confronted him head-on?

He’d kill me. That’s what he would do. That’s what he tried to do on the Fourth of July when he quite literally drove through the fence at my parents’ house. He climbed out of his van wielding a huge wrench and he came at me. Before I could do anything, my father and his friends tackled him to the ground, wresting the wrench away and pinning him there until the police arrived.

Since he didn’t actually swing the wrench at anyone, he was never charged with assault or attempted battery, but I knew. I could feel his murderous rage with every breath he exhaled, like a toxic cloud. And I was sure if I’d been home Halloween night and opened the door, he would have had something much worse than a wrench.

As much as I wanted to believe my lie to Chris that I was fine at Arcanum, I spent the rest of the day jumping at every little noise and side-eyeing every man who walked past the store.

Fishing my phone out of my pocket, I swallowed thickly and called Beatrice, desperate for a distraction.

“Beatrice Masters,” she said instead of a greeting, her professional voice as opposed to the one I knew so well.

“Hey, Bea.”

“Oh my God! Grey!” She shrieked on the other end, immediately launching into the dizzying Bea babble that I was hoping for. “I’ve missed you so much! I’m so happy to hear your voice! This email thing is not working for me, ok? I need to know I’m interacting with another human. It’s literally my job—people. And paperwork. But anyway, I know why you went radio silent, I’m just happy you reached out. Finally. And yes, I know, ‘email is more efficient,’” she sneered in an exaggeration of what had to be Owen’s Tidewater accent before switching back to her own voice, “but, professionally speaking, Owen would benefit from some therapy—”

“Bea—”

She didn’t even hear me. “Work out some daddy issues. Learn that there are other feelings in the world beyond sarcasm. I mean, fucking toddlers can use an emotions chart, so you’d think someone with a college degree would figure it out. Tell me again why you two are friends? I mean, you do you and all. I accept that. I’m happy if you’re happy. It’s just that I’m here and he’s… wherever the fuck he is. And has he said two goddamn words about coming home and actually being a friend to you? Hmm?”

“Bea—” I closed my eyes and rubbed my throbbing forehead. It didn’t matter how many times I reminded her that Owen was more or less in the dark about Don and the events that had transpired, her opinion of him would never change. Being perpetually out of the country made him an easy target for her anger and there was only so much damage control I could do on his behalf. She may have accepted my apology for letting their paths cross five years before, but I didn’t think she’d ever forgive him for ghosting her. The fact that she was happily married to a wonderful guy, living the life she’d always dreamed of, had zero bearing on her grudge against Owen.

“Alright, alright, alright! Enough bitching about Owen. That’s not why you called. Oh! Don’t change your number again! I’m saving this one in my contacts… right… now. So next time I want to talk, I don’t have to wait for you to call me.”

I smiled, but it didn’t alleviate the sadness churning inside of me. “I’ve been meaning to call, but—”

“But you’ve been busy. I get it. It’s not easy starting over. And I am here for you, no matter what you need. Say the word and I’m there. Or Patrick is there, if it’s, like, a car thing. Or you need something heavy lifted. I can buy stuff and have it shipped to your house. How’s that?”

“I don’t need anything. I just missed you. Having a lonely moment, I guess, and wanted to hear your voice.”

“I miss you too!” There was a noticeable pause. “Have you talked to… him— I mean, Owen—lately?”

“Talk? No. You know better. But I got an email the other day that said, ‘I miss your face.’ So, I’m sad to tell you that he’s not dead in the Congo.”

“That’s it? The award-winning journalist managed an email with four words?” Something on her end creaked loudly. Probably her chair as she flung herself backward, biting her tongue with all her might.

“How’s Patrick?” I asked, not so subtly switching the focus back to happier things, like her husband.

“He’s good. You know what? He’s better than good. He’s great. Solid as a rock. I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

“I’m happy to hear it.”

“Are we going to have dinner for your birthday? Please say yes. You can’t break tradition! You have no idea how much I need that rigatoni from Lombardi’s.”

“I don’t know,” I replied hesitantly. “I suppose that depends on Chris.” Not that he was the keeper of my schedule, but it seemed like one of those things I should run past him, in case he had other ideas.

“Chris, Chris, Chris…” She snapped so loudly that I heard it through the phone. “Ah! Hot neighbor! I remember from one of your emails. Is he more than a hot neighbor now?”

“Yeah… but don’t ask me what. We’re taking it slow.” Or we were until Don forced me to move in with him.

“Probably a good idea. You’ve been through a lot.”

“The understatement of a century.” I sighed, rubbing my forehead again. The throbbing hadn’t gone away yet, though I doubted it would anytime soon. My anxiety had returned tenfold and I didn’t have any medication to take the edge off.

“What?” Bea’s voice shifted, sounding alarmed. I imagined her sitting upright in her chair, phone smashed against her ear, straining to hear more. “What’s that sound for? Did something happen? Why are you sighing? That wasn’t a tired sigh, or even an annoyed sigh. That was—”

“He found me.” Slumping against the counter, my head hung in defeat. After all I’d done to evade him, none of it mattered. Running and hiding didn’t seem like the best options anymore. It just prolonged the misery.

She gasped and exhaled a ragged, “No!” followed by, “How the fuck did he find you?”

“I’m guessing he, or a private investigator, found my name in the local newspaper and then they probably followed me home from the store one night.” I rubbed a hand over my face, cursing Karen Carlisle and Terry Williams silently.

“Oh my God! Why were you in the newspaper?”

“Let’s just say some citizens weren’t too happy with the occult offerings here at the bookstore.”

“They know you’re a witch?!”

“No. I mean, not really. They were spewing all of the usual stuff about devil worship and child-killing cults. It’s over now, but the damage is already done.”

She went quiet for a moment. “Does Chris know about any of this?”

“Mostly. He knows I’m a witch. He knows about Don. He knows how it all started.”

“And when you said ‘witch,’ did you include the part about your real, honest-to-God magical powers or did you tone it down and use the less frightening, ‘I’m a kitchen witch! Have some tea!’ Or ‘I’m a lunar witch! Look at my crystals!’?”

I bit my lip, cringing at the silence stretching between us while I tried, and failed, to come up with a good answer to her question that didn’t involve outright lying.

“Greyson!”

“I said we’re taking it slow!”

“I thought that meant you were going to date for a while before you jumped his bones! Not that you’re withholding some very important information!”

“Oh, and I’m assuming you brought your tarot cards along on your first date with Patrick? Hmm? Laid everything out there on the table, literally , for him to see?”

“It was the third date, I’ll have you know. And being able to read the cards is a hell of a lot different than what you can do! Even Owen would back me up on that!”

“We’re getting there… He’ll be ok with it. I know he will. He just needs to put the pieces together for himself before he’ll believe it. There’s skeptical… and then there’s Chris.”

She sighed. “As long as he’s the only one piecing things together. I don’t want to see you end up with a broken heart when the truth comes out.”

“Maybe Don will kill me before that happens,” I said cheerily.

“ Not funny!” she snapped. “Crap. My next appointment is here. But I am so, so, so happy you called. Let me know about dinner. Seriously. I’ll make a reservation anyway.”

“I will.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

She disconnected and I stared at the phone in my hand, wondering if I should even bother trying to call Owen. Given the fact it was the late afternoon, it was probably midnight wherever he was, so I opted against it. Besides, Owen Hallowell was not the kind of friend you called just to “chat” with. He was the kind you called when you needed bail money or the name of a good lawyer, provided he wasn’t sitting in the cell next to you, laughing his ass off about whatever landed you there in the first place.

Setting the phone down with a resigned sigh, my gaze drifted to the store window, pulled in part by the movement outside. The afternoon crowd was dwindling as people rushed home from school and work. Some shops had started switching over to Christmas decorations already, all too happy to be rid of the pumpkins that had dominated the town for the past two months. I’d had a whole turkey and cornucopia display planned for the window but seeing the others, I decided to nix it and go with Christmas too, so as not to rock the boat that had finally been righted.

A man in a denim jacket walked past the window and stopped abruptly.

I straightened as he turned and walked back to the door.

The old brass mail slot squeaked open before banging shut again.

A single envelope tumbled inside, landing squarely on the welcome mat.

I held my breath as the man stepped in front of the window, stopping one more time and facing me directly.

It was Don.

His hair was grayer and he’d gained weight since the last time I saw him, but there was no mistaking it was him.

He tilted his head and smiled. Lifting a gloved hand, he waved a mocking farewell and carried on down the sidewalk.

As soon as he was out of view, air rushed out of my lungs. I clutched the counter before I keeled over, trying to remember how to breathe.

On shaky legs, I made my way to the door and locked it. Flipping the sign in the window, I scooped up the envelope on the way back. It didn’t matter that I had over an hour to go before I officially closed. There was no way I was staying at the store, alone, with Don in town.

Tearing open the envelope, I grimaced when I slid out a birthday card with a large white cat on it that looked worryingly similar to Selene.

A polaroid fell out when I opened the card.

My stomach flipped. It was a fairly blurry photograph of Chris and I, capturing a goodbye kiss next to his squad from the night before, right after I’d given him his lunch. Nothing particularly scandalous in the twenty-first century, but it was enough to make my blood run cold, to know our private moment had not only been witnessed without us knowing but that Don was weaponizing it.

My hand shook as I turned my attention back to the card.

I’LL MAKE SURE HE REGRETS THE DAY YOU MOVED IN

I wanted to scream. Or throw up. Maybe both.

In one moment, Don had confirmed every fear I’d had since coming to Mapleton. Despite my best efforts at remaining hidden, he’d found me. And now he was threatening Chris—but he’d chosen his words carefully. I could take it to the police, to Chris himself, but it wouldn’t be enough to do anything about.

Not legally, anyway.

Magically, I wasn’t strong enough either. All of my spells and sigils and wards hadn’t been enough to keep Don from finding me, from spreading death and destruction wherever he went. What good was being a witch if I couldn’t even defend myself with my magic?

The air in the store felt too close, too stifling. Like at any moment, the hundreds of books would all come crashing down on me.

I hurried back to the front door and unlocked it, darting outside only to lock it again. Abandoning my car where it was parked in the alley, I headed to Dogwood Park on foot, glancing over my shoulder every few steps.

No one followed me.

Once again, the park was blissfully empty.

I sat on a bench and closed my eyes, conjuring my most trusted tarot deck in my hands. Shuffling through the worn cards quickly with numb fingers, I kept my eyes closed and laid out a spread, begging for cosmic insight, some glimmer of hope.

When I opened my eyes, death and despair stared back at me.

The Five of Cups—grief for what was, for the life I’d had once upon a time.

The Ten of Swords—complete and utter rock bottom.

The Tower—painful loss and upheaval.

Death—the end.

And finally, the Eight of Swords—imprisonment. Hopelessness. A final “Fuck you” from the universe itself.

Tears welled in my eyes. I swiped the cards away with a sob, scattering them like black and silver leaves. Crushing the heels of my hands into my eyes like it could stop the tears, I doubled over, the weight of all my misery crushing me from every angle.

I was trapped once again, even out in the open air. Every movement felt like slogging through dark water, sinking deeper and deeper until it swallowed me whole. Each breath came faster, like I really was drowning in the pond in front of me, unable to save myself. Everywhere I looked, all I saw was pain and death.

I couldn’t run anymore. Everywhere I’d gone, Don had managed to find me. I couldn’t escape him and I was exhausted from trying.

The police were no help, even here in Mapleton with my link to the inside. There was nothing illegal about standing on a fucking sidewalk or delivering a disturbing birthday card. There was no law they could enforce, no arrest that could be made. I’d heard it all a dozen times, from a dozen cops. It would have been better if Don did murder me. Maybe then they could make a case.

I didn’t want to die, but death seemed like the easiest option. It was the quickest way out of a never-ending cycle of torment and the only surefire way to guarantee Chris’s safety. If I was dead, Don wouldn’t have a reason to target him. If I was dead, I’d finally be at peace.

Thoughts of Chris swirled in my head. He’d be so fucking mad. And hurt. He’d blame himself. I knew he would. Maybe I could leave him a note, explaining that it wasn’t his fault, that I was just too weak to keep going, that I didn’t want Don hurting him. I didn’t want to hurt Chris either, but a broken heart could be mended with time. I knew that because Chris had mended mine. He’d given me happiness when I thought I’d never be happy again. But if Don killed him, Chris wouldn’t have any chance of being happy with anyone. And he deserved that. He deserved to be happy, to find someone who balanced out his life and provided the comfort he was looking for—not someone who dragged pain and suffering along with them everywhere they went.

A strange sense of peace accompanied my resolve. Finally, I had a plan. I had something I could do instead of waiting around for more misery, hoping that no one else I cared about died before me. I was scared out of my mind, but I knew I’d come to the right decision.

Chris was strong and logical. He had a good support system. And I’d leave the note, apologizing for my shortcomings. He’d be mad for a while, but eventually, he’d see why I did what I did. He’d understand that it was ultimately a blessing, a final gift from me to him. In time, he’d see he was better off without me. Or so I hoped.