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He shuffled the deck. He cut and turned it three times, then cut a final time before drawing a single card.
The Knight of Wands, reversed.
Jesse had used a motorcycle instead of a horse, but the figure upon it rode across a flat plain with the familiar mountains of the western Denver skyline behind him. The stave he hefted was sprouting, which would signal passion or energy, had the card not been reversed.
It said what Adam felt: frustrated, blocked.
Standing, he fished a protesting Spider out of his lair.
“Sorry, buddy, I just need a hug.”
The cat reluctantly accepted the affection and pressed his head to Adam’s chest.
Banshees.
He’d seen stranger things. After all, he had a passing acquaintance with a leprechaun.
Adam laid a kiss to Spider’s forehead and gently settled him back into his fort before following the trickle of instinct back to his tarot deck.
He sat, shuffled, and cut again.
He blinked to see the King of Pentacles.
Jesse had rendered the figure as a vaquero, crowned by a cowboy hat and sitting on a throne marked with bull skulls. The castle in the background was a cluster of Denver’s tallest skyscrapers. The giant coin and scepter in his hands were rendered with gold leaf. Jesse must have been especially proud of this one, because he’d worked his signature into the greenery at the king’s feet.
The card wasn’t meant to be taken literally. The figure meant wealth and abundance, not something Adam felt at the moment.
Then again . . . He tried to flip the script in his head, something his therapist often encouraged.
He had Vic. He had a job he liked, and a roof over his head.
Things could be better but they weren’t bad, not at the moment, so maybe the cards had a point.
Then again, it wasn’t his present that had him worried but someone else’s future.
Adam put the deck away and found something to eat. He reheated cheese enchiladas with roasted poblano peppers in the toaster oven because he knew how Vic would feel if he used the microwave on food this good.
Vic could cook anything, but Mexican food was his passion, what he’d grown up with and made for his family. A lot of the recipes had been passed down from his father, but he wasn’t above tweaking them for a grateful Adam.
Vic longed for a place of his own. They saved whatever they could. The current plan was to start with a food truck.
Maria, Vic’s mom, would prefer they spend it on a wedding, and Adam knew Vic sometimes felt the same, but he’d rather make Vic’s dream come true than wear an expensive ring or go through the stress of a big event.
At least, he hoped that was what lay behind his reasoning.
He’d told his therapist that he was afraid he meant the truck as a consolation prize, in case they didn’t work out, in case Adam couldn’t get his shit together and be the partner Vic needed. When she’d asked if he felt that was true, he’d said he didn’t know.
That worry, and the constant self-examination, ate at him as he finished off the enchiladas.
He needed to do something to snap himself out of it.
Adam went back to the fridge and took stock. He found a few aging meals that they hadn’t yet touched and reheated them. Bagging them up with packets of utensils and napkins left over from takeout orders, he went down to the street.
Homeless people were never far away in Denver. He found a few tents in the alley a block away and offered up what he had to the first people he found.
Empty-handed, he’d started back toward the street when a voice called out, “Spare some change?”
Adam stiffened and turned to find a pair of sallow yellow eyes meeting his.
