Then again, it’s only day two. Plenty of time to piss off more professors. Hey, shoot for the stars, right?
“Similarly, cards can be used to charge ingredients for magickal workings and potions, to enhance love spells or banishing spells, and…” She draws one more card—the Lovers—then smiles. “To encourage a healthy sex life.”
We all snicker at that one, and I’m pretty sure Baz is staring right at me, but I refuse to look at him.
“Good,” Professor Nakakta says with a nod. “Just making sure you’re all paying attention. Now, you’ll have only one assignment for this class, but that assignment is something you’ll do each and every day—multiple times, if you feel called to it. Can anyone guess what it is?”
Baz raises his hand. “Does it have anything to do with the hot sex spell?”
Professor Nakata laughs. “It might, Mr. Redgrave. That’s up to you.”
He gives her a wide smile and puts his hands behind his head. “I’m all ears, Professor.”
“For the remainder of the semester—indeed, for the remainder of your lives, if I do my job right—you’ll be keeping Tarot journals. Handwritten, of course, to encourage a stronger connection from hand to heart. You’ll draw at least one card to reflect on each day, either first thing in the morning or at the end of the evening, in addition to any other spreads you do. I want you to pay particular attention when your elemental affinities show up in a reading—they’ll always have the strongest messages for you. Now, for the fun part.”
She sets her cards on her desk and pulls out a rolling set of shelves from the back wall, steering it to the center of the classroom. There are five shelves, each holding dozens of rectangular packages, all of them wrapped in black silk cloth and tied with silver ribbons.
“Meet your future besties,” she says, and we all lean forward for a better look. “Each one of these very special packages holds a deck of Tarot cards, cleansed and consecrated by the elder witches and mages of the Academy. Tarot decks give off energetic vibrations like everything else, and you’ll want to find the one that feels like a good energetic match for you. They’re wrapped, so you won’t be able to pick based on visual cues. You’ll need to open up your senses and really feel into the deck energies.”
She calls us up one at a time, and I watch as my fellow classmates run their hands along the shelves, selecting their decks.
“Don’t worry about someone else choosing a deck meant for you. That won’t happen. There are plenty of cards here for everyone, and you’ll know your unique energetic match when you find it.”
When it’s finally my turn, my stomach is so fizzy I can barely contain myself. Not counting the big novelty deck in my living room, I’ve never had my own deck before—just the magick cards that show up at random, and vanish just as quickly.
As I run my hands over the shelves, a mix of different energies touches my fingertips. Some are warm and welcoming, others slick and cool, one or two cold and prickly enough to make me pull back. I take my time, following the gentle pull of a deck on the bottom shelf, all the way toward the back. When I pick it up, my hands immediately tingle, my heart beating a little faster. It’s almost as if the deck is whispering in my ear, “I’m yours! Take me home!”
Back at my desk, I carefully untie the ribbon and unwrap the silk covering. The cards are face down, their backs a deep purple that’s so dark and inviting it’s almost black, edged in silvery ink with crescent moons at the center. The images on the front look exactly like the ones that have appeared to me since my parents’ death, and I smile, wondering if this was the same kind of deck they’d chosen, too.
When everyone has selected their cards, Professor Nakata invites us to shuffle while she draws three rectangles on the whiteboard at the front of the room, then writes three questions beneath.
“Once everyone is ready, I’d like you to start with a simple three-card deck interview spread to help you bond with your new cards. Simply ask the deck the question, then draw a card and see what comes up for you.”
I shuffle my deck one last time, then ask the first question.
“What are you here to teach me?” I draw The Hermit, an old man with a long white beard, standing on top of a rocky outcropping that overlooks the valley and river below. He’s holding a lantern, illuminating the path ahead.
My sense from this card is that the deck is going to teach me to know and trust myself, to be my own guiding light.
“How can I best honor our connection?” I ask, then turn over the Three of Cups. In this version, there are three men gathered at a table, sharing a meal and holding up their cups in salutation. I’ve always associated the Three of Cups card with friendship, particularly Jessa’s, and seeing it here now makes me smile. The message coming through is that the deck wants me to treat it like a friend, to ask it for advice and include it in important decision-making conversations as well as fun and frivolous chats, just like I would a real friend.
“Now,” I ask, taking a deep breath for the final question, “is there anything else you’d like to share with me at this time?”
In response, I draw The Star.
And my heart nearly leaps out of my chest.
There’s a nude woman in the lake, an urn in each hand, a circle of standing stones behind her… it looks almost exactly like the vision Dr. Devane and Baz described last night. The dreamcast I supposedly sucked them into.
Dr. Devane said something about my true form. Does it have something to do with this card?
The Star?
Is that what the deck wants me to know?
My hands are trembling, my thoughts racing. I can’t even process this message, whatever the hell it’s trying to tell me. Hastily I assemble the cards back together again, but before I can wrap the deck in its silk cloth, two cards slip out, landing face up on the desk.
The King of Wands, a stern-looking man with long auburn hair and bright red robes, sitting on an ornately carved throne, a huge wand in his hand. The other card is…
