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CHAPTER EIGHT: ELIGIBILITY
MARIE
I awoke before the sunrise, the energies of so many people sleeping in a concentrated space pushing against me, flaying me raw with their emotions - with their dreams and desires.
Once the Demon had fled into the darkness of the night, I had deftly drawn sigils for protection against those with malicious intent against the canvas walls of my tent, but I had a sinking suspicion that they would do no good against the Demon of lust, for him and I were linked - bound - by the bargain he had made with the river herself. The newness of the tents was not lost on me, and I suspected they had been purchased in preparation for my wedding - for the feast my grandmother had been planning before I fled. The irony was not lost on me that the tents were now being out to use for her funeral.
I had lain awake listening to the jovial crowd just outside, someone had played the fiddle; a group of men marched next to my tent singing made-up rhymes as they walked; someone sang a low melodic harmony that sent my thoughts straight back to my grandmother.
As much as I hated being here - hated these kinds of functions, she would have loved it. She always cautioned that to maintain order, people needed joy - not all the time, but if you gave them joy in snippets - gave them something to look forward to, the grunt work in the village became something that wasn’t worth grumbling about.
Give people a feast and they would be willing to overlook any transgressions their leader may have had. Julian had been out there - amongst the crowd, mingling with the village in a way that I seemed to struggle with because I had always been one of them, but I also was decidedly different. I had American blood in my veins, I learnt other forms of Magick, and I worked with water herself. Some had whispered that I was divine - blessed even, but there was another darker undertone within the village, one that whispered words about my presence being unnatural. Those words had me pulling back from the crowd - staying a little bit removed from the village. But it hadn’t mattered, not when I was the granddaughter of Jeanne des Montagnes - not when I had Julian.
Until I didn’t.
The quiet of the once thriving function was almost eerie, but I basked in the silence as I sat alone in the darkness of my tent. My hands itch to do something, my own Magick thumping against the ribcage of my chest - a demand to be useful, for I had been compliant for far too long.
If Charlain wasn’t going to offer up answers, I would find them myself.
I slid my hand beneath my pillow, my fingers brushing against the worn edges of the cards I had carried with me as soon as I was able. I began sleeping with the cards beneath my pillow as a way for me to connect with the deck - for the divination tools to recognize my essence - my Magick, ensuring that the answers I sought when using them were all the more accurate. But what had started out as a practice with a specific purpose in mind soon became a habit.
I shuffled my deck, sliding the cards around atop my sheets as I allowed my mind to wander - allowed my thoughts to solidify a problem - a question. Only they didn’t solidify on Charl and why he was dealing with Demons. Instead, I found my mind halting on the Demon in question - his emerald eyes, his lips, the way his dark hair seemed to curl at the nape of his neck. What would it feel like to run my fingers through his hair? Was it long enough to tug upon? Long enough for me to pull on, reposition his head in exactly the right position?
My fingers grabbed a card before my mind could spiral down into those thoughts - before I allowed myself to daydream about things I had no business daydreaming about - didn’t want to daydream about.
Five cards. That was how many I would draw. The number felt right, and so without flipping the first card I had pulled, I allowed my fingers to walk across the rest, spread face down on my bed sheets, before plucking up a second.
The urge to pick up a third card from the right hand-side of the pile was overwhelming and I allowed instinct to guide me as I picked up a third. I pulled the last two cards from the pile closest to me, and once I had all five in my hand, I opened my eyes and allowed myself to look upon the future.
The Devil, The King of Cups, The Lovers; The three of swords; and The High Priestess.
All upright.
It was almost virtually unheard of for each card to be upright, but readings such as these were never wrong. Naturally, my own card would appear because even if I didn’t understand why, I knew that I was suddenly being thrust in the center of the chaos. I couldn’t shuffle away from the spotlight belonging to fate, and her gaze was blinding in its intensity.
I ignored my card, choosing to focus on the Devil instead. The horned Demon stared back at me, his body seated casually on a throne, his legs parted in challenge. Even in card form, the devil was all about seduction and I didn’t need to consult with the fates - my guides - or my element, to know that the Devil (in this instance) was Cortland. Was it a warning or something more? The creature ignited my blood, sending me from lust to fury and straight back to lust again from one heartbeat to the next.
But that was his Magick - his skill, to make unsuspecting humans lust after him - wasn’t it? Merde. I didn’t know, and Charl was being tight-lipped when it came to the Demon. Of course it would help if I knew his true name - the one that allowed someone to summon him from darkness itself. Although anyone who attempted to summon the Demon of lust was certifiably insane. I doubted a summoning circle would hold him, not when his power seemed to radiate off of him, burning anyone in his path.
He was seduction incarnate, representing the material world. I had never considered myself a material girl, but if he was the representation of that, then I was sorely mistaken.
I dropped his card, pivoting my attention towards the King of Cups. The King was a kind, benevolent man. Someone who came from power. Someone you wanted to say yes to, not because of the position he held, but simply because he evoked a sense of comfort - a sense of safety.
If I had asked an actual question, I may have read the card as an answer, but because I had allowed my mind to wander, because I hadn't formulated a question whilst my fingers skated across the cards, I was left knowing that this card indicated a person.
Was it someone I already knew or was it someone I was yet to meet?
My gut did not pull me in either direction, my guides remained silent, and I was left unknowing.
What use was a Witch who could read the future, but remained blinded when it came to her own fate?
I threw the King of Cups down, watching as it landed softly next to the devil, ignoring how the two seemed to be in contrast to one another.
My own card glared back at me, and not for the first time I wondered why Charl had chosen this card for me. The High Priestess was a woman in a position of power - hardly a gypsy castaway on the run. She was supposed to be desirable, unattainable, sensual. And yet, I was only some of those things some of the time. The proof lay in one of the tents surrounding me, for Julian was surely snuggled up next to his new bride.
My card landed on top of the two I had discarded, sitting between both the Devil and the King of Cups, obscuring the vision of each.
The two naked bodies caught my attention, forcing me to focus on the remaining cards in my hand. The meaning of The Lovers was easy to understand, even for someone non-Magickal, for at the core of every reading, this card related to the love and connection between two people. It spoke of partnership and acceptance. It spoke of beings standing before one another as equals.
