“Okay, try again,” Isla says.
I take a deep breath, shuffle my cards, and ask the question of the hour:
“What is Kirin Weber’s bumble-fucking problem?”
“Suggestion?” Nat raises her hand, then smiles. “Maybe reword the question without so much rage?”
I blow out my breath. “Okay. Why is Kirin being such a dickhead?”
“Not exactly what I had in mind,” Nat says. “One more time?”
“What kind of asshole gives a woman a mind-blowing orgasm with the tongue of a master cunnilinguist, then bails on her, leaving her shoved between bookshelves like a dusty old book with her pants literally around her ankles?”
Nat doesn’t offer any more helpful suggestions this time. Just passes me the bottle of whiskey, which in the moment feels like an even better suggestion.
I take a swig, then turn over three cards.
The Tower—the one with all the fire and brimstone, people jumping out of burning buildings, all that fun stuff.
Three of Swords, which is basically a big heart with three swords run right through it.
And The Star, my mysterious lady at the lake, endlessly pouring out her urns of water.
“Maybe she’s pouring out her tears for her lost lovers,” Isla says.
Nat glares at her. “Not helpful.”
“Stevie doesn’t need help right now. She needs tough love.”
“I think she just needs to get laid,” Jessa pipes in, and we all crack up.
“Okay, next question. Why do I have a stupid crush on Baz?” I shuffle all the cards again, then lay down my three: Cernunnos, my old horned god friend. The Lovers, which is ironically the card Professor Nakata joked about using to enhance your sex life. And The Star. Again.
“I can’t believe you keep getting the same cards,” Jessa says. “Is that even statistically possible?”
The mention of statistics reminds me of Kirin, and I get up and head to the kitchen in search of something more palatable than whiskey to drink.
“See, this is why I have rules in the first place,” I say, putting my company kettle on to boil. “Who else wants tea?”
“I’ll have a warmup,” Isla says. “Nat, you good?”
But Nat’s buried in her phone, her eyes wide, her hand covering her mouth.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, heading back in to join her.
“Text from my mom,” she says. “Apparently there were two more arrests last night—a mage in San Francisco accused of poisoning the food in his own restaurant. No one died, but a bunch of people got really sick. And another—a witch in Portland, Oregon. My mom used to work with her—she lives about half an hour from our house.” Her face goes slack, her eyes filling with tears. “Goddess, they’re saying she tortured her husband and her mother-in-law to death with a clothes iron.”
“What the fuck?” Isla whispers. “No way.”
“The city of Portland is declaring a state of emergency,” Nat says, still scrolling through the message. “They’re asking for federal assistance to help deter any riots. They’re… holy shit. They’re sending military.”
“To Portland?”
Nat nods, and in the silence that follows, a sliver of fear cracks through my heart.
Things are getting worse.
Forty-Two
