Where one shall rise, the others fall
Book of shadow, book of mists
The truth emerges from the myths
Flame and blood and blade and bone
What starts with zero ends with one.
She repeats the verse, again and again and again, and with each new beginning, my leaves change, shifting through the seasons—the bright green summer to red-orange autumn, the bare branches of winter to the new buds of spring. When I’m finally lush and green again, the Princesses nod at me in unison, then vanish.
I glance down, relieved to find myself a human once again.
My mother, alone in the water, repeats her mindless chant.
“What book?” I ask, finally able to run toward her. But as soon as I step into the water, she begins to flicker and fade. “Mom, wait! Don’t go!”
She sinks into the center of the lake, and I trudge in up to my knees, fear paralyzing me, holding me back. Suddenly the water rises, and I can’t move my legs. It sucks me under, and I hold my breath until my lungs burn and my vision turns black…
I wake up with a gasp, shocked to find myself in the bathtub, the cold water already up to my chin. The faucet is still running, but it’s not water that’s filling the tub now.
It’s Tarot cards.
The same two, covering my body, overflowing onto the white marble floor. One features a frail-looking old woman dressed in a hooded green cape, a sickle tied to her waist. She holds a skull in her hand and stands before a steaming cauldron. A snake slithers along the wall behind her. On the other card, a young boy emerges from a tomb, called by the summons of a ritual horn urging him to rise from his eternal slumber.
Death and Judgment—definitely not a pair you’d invite to your next party.
I clamber out of the tub, my clothes and hair dripping all over the floor. The cards vanish, leaving their eery message behind, a warning that echoes as clearly as if my mother were bent over me now, whispering in my ear.
The darkness is already rising. Judgment will come for us all.
Twenty-Four
STEVIE
October has always been my favorite month of the year. Pumpkin carving, caramel apple cider, relief from summer’s oppressive heat, Halloween tricks-and-treats. Something about it always speaks to me of new beginnings.
And now, it ushers in the first day of magick school, too.
Not sure I’ll ever get used to saying that, but man does it put a smile on my face.
I’ve got on Mom’s necklace, and thanks to my shopping spree, I’m decked out in a pair of dark stretchy jeans that actually fit, a lavender v-neck sweater that highlights my best assets, and black leather boots that make me feel like my very best bad bitch self.
Complete with flat-ironed hair and a glossy red lip, all in all, I’d say it’s a pretty stellar first-day look.
But when I head out into the bright fall morning in search of my first of three classes, I still haven’t shaken off my dream’s icy grip, my mother’s cryptic chant and the warning in the Death and Judgement cards tempering my first-day excitement. After I got out of the tub last night, I wrote down every possible detail I could remember from the dream, staring at the words until the sun came up. Even by the light of day, I still couldn’t make much sense of them.
Riddles and rhymes, my mother’s native tongue. I’m no closer to understanding her in death than I was during her life.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I take a breath of crisp autumn air, thankful for the air- and water-blessed students for adding to the ambiance of the season. With fresh starts on my mind and a pep in my step, I walk my cute self over to the main lecture hall, another towering gothic building behind the admin building where most of the lecture and seminar classes are held. My first class is an intro-level lecture—Foundations of Tarot and Magick. When I finally locate the classroom—a large, auditorium-style hall already packed with about a hundred students—I’m relieved to see Nat inside, waving brightly and pointing to an empty seat next to her.
I look over a sea of faces, most of them complete strangers. But I’m relieved to see I’m not the oldest first-year—far from it. There are a handful of people my age and maybe a year or two younger, but a lot of them look to be in their thirties and even forties. I spot at least three women with gray hair, and a man who has more wrinkles than a raisin. I guess Dr. Devane wasn’t lying about the mix of ages.
As I’m making my way up toward the seat, I spot Baz and another guy a few rows behind, bookended by Carly and her pink-haired companion, Blue. The four of them seem pretty chummy together, joking and laughing. Well, Baz is a little on the broody side—complete opposite of the cheerful-looking guy next to him—but broody seems to be part of Baz’s signature style.
I’m not surprised to see the two Claires here—we’re all first-years, after all—but what the hell is Baz doing in an intro-level class? I could’ve sworn Kirin told me he’s a fourth-year.
Either way, I’m not complaining. Getting a side of his drool-worthy forearm porn with my Monday Tarot class isn’t a bad way to start the week.
