Page 121 of 'Til All the Seas Run Dry

Hank grunted. More silence.

Callum sat up straighter.

“Esther,” he said, “Can you draw cards?”

“You’re shitting me,” Esther shouted. “You’re fucking shitting me!”

“It was just a question. Forget I?—”

“The one time I actually need them, and I forget them at home!”

Esther had once confided in her that her grandmother had been one of the most well-known divinatory witches in the entire state of Georgia and that the gift seemed to be strong with her as well. Normally, she had a deck on her at all times.

“What about the deck in the glove box?” Hank asked helpfully.

“I don’t have a deck in the glove box,” she wailed.

“Yes, you do. I bought a spare one for the truck after you forgot them the last time we went to Seattle.”

“Hank, I swear to goddess,” Esther muttered in her thick, Southern drawl. “You’re a prince.”

Through the phone, Jory heard the bell over the door ding twice as Hank left to fetch the cards and returned. Then there was a long span of time with nothing but the sounds of shuffling cards, punctuated by the occasional tap.

“They’re warming up,” Esther offered helpfully. “Okay. Ready to shuffle for real, now.”

Jory knew that Esther always shuffled seven times before every card draw. It was laborious and time-consuming, but Esther said that she liked to give the universe time to “get its shit together.”

Seven ruffles. Seven taps. And then…

“Goddamnit,” Jory heard Esther mutter through the speaker.

“What is it?” she and Callum asked in unison.

Another frustrated sound. Louder.

“She’s pulling cards,” Hank supplied helpfully.

Jory heard the rustling sound of cards shuffling. More slaps as Esther tapped the deck halves against the counter. She felt her anxiety rising again, felt the same tension recoiling in Callum’s body.

“Ugh. I take back everything I said about this goddamn card,” Esther said.

“Esther,” Jory snapped. “What is it?”

There was a long pause. A longer sigh. And then Esther’s whisper, “Death.”

* * *

There wasa brief moment where Callum felt as if time had suspended.

“Death?” Jory shrieked, and he jumped to his feet, startled.

“Now, sweetheart,” Hank said. “What is it you told me? Death means new beginnings.”

“Yes, but sometimes it’s just death!” Esther said, her voice shrill.

“But usually it’s not,” Hank pushed. “Don’t buy trouble.”

Callum found himself feeling grateful for Hank’s steadiness. He reminded Callum of a captain he’d served once upon a time a lifetime ago. Captain Marwick had been as steady as stone, and Callum had always marveled over the fact that the wilder the storm grew or the more pitched the battle became, the chaos and fury only seemed to drive the captain deeper into that reserve of calm.