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She had been there once before with Drea, maybe a month or so after her divorce, two years earlier. A girls' day, one she sorely needed, her friend had claimed, showing up on her doorstep and ignoring the 4-day-old pajamas she’d worn, the rats’ nest bun, and the plea to leave her to die alone with her stocked cupboard of peanut butter-stuffed pretzels and diet soda, the only thing she’d eaten in the previous forty-eight hours.
Drea had let her mope for exactly two weeks once the paperwork was finalized.
“Come on, let's go. Get off your ass and go brush your fucking teeth. We're not gonna sit home moping. Goddess knows he isn't.”
They’d had their nails done at the salon on Main Street, where she’d commiserated with the harpy who owned the place, had spent too much money in the bookstore, winding up at the curious tea shop for lunch. The occultist decor and wide range of books available seemed an odd juxtaposition with the quaint menu. A little cat had shepherded them to their table, the lacquered top being a spirit board. Placing her fingers on the planchette had been a novelty that first visit, her order arriving on a little cart pushed by invisible hands, the hot tea and scones a perfect complement to the tiny finger sandwiches.
The shop didn't seem like an ideal venue for today's lunch, at least not to her, but it wasn't her choice to make, she thought, entering. The same little cat, black with silvery white points, meowed in greeting, the bell over the doorway clanging oddly as the cat hopped up from its tufted cushion, winding around her ankles before trotting away from the entrance, glancing back to ensure she was following, leading her to where their group was already seated. Their party of six crammed into the tight, twisting little dining room, seated around a cluster of three small tables that had been pulled together, the dainty seats of varying heights. She was certain if she leaned forward, she could rest her chin upon the table top, so low was her slipper chair, but as the only human at the table, she could suck it up.
Beyond Cambric Creek, the pandemic was raging, but her neighbors were thoroughly unconcerned. It was a human disease, not one affecting trolls or orcs or minotaurs, and their businesses were still open. They were not affected by the virus, and according to all of the current health reports, they were not significant carriers. She wouldn’t be going to Bridgeton anytime soon, that was for certain, and she wore a mask whenever she was in public, as she did then, but working from home in a relatively insular community had enormous benefits, and she was relieved she still called the little town home.
The bric-a-brac around the shop had changed slightly since their last visit. Twisting spires of books were still everywhere one looked, and crammed in the midst of the library's worth of reading material were odd artifacts and ephemera. There was a skull with a candle half melted upon the crown of its head, a cluster of three crystal points on a bronze plate, and a cursed-looking locket with a large red gem, suspended over a velvet placard, all resting on the shelf just above her site line. The huge, two-handed sword against the far wall was new though, as was a long, black veil, moving like a waterfall down one of the towers of books, and a doll upon a high shelf, whose head turned to watch the progress of patrons as they came and went from the dining room.
Moriah shivered, looking away. The first visit had been a novelty — monkey paws and taxidermied vampire bats, old swords and clocks that didn't tell time, strange things, curious things all adding to the atmosphere of the unusual little shop, but the repeat visit made her curiously uneasy, like a portent hanging in the air.
The table she sat before, like the spirit board on the previous visit, had a glossy, lacquered surface, inlaid with the template for a three card tarot spread. Several of the other women in their group had never been to Azathe, the novelty of the table and all of the curiosities surrounding them making them ooh and aah. Moriah reached across her place setting to the tarot deck sitting just beyond her water glass in an open-topped box, trying not to feel the weight of the creepy doll's eyes on her back. Instructions rested beside each template in a curling gold script.Shuffle your deck, cut from the center. Remove three cards & place in the spread. Once the cards are placed, do not disturb them. Return the deck to the box, face down.
She unwrapped the tarot deck slowly, trying to tell if she was imagining slight vibration in her hands. Shuffle the deck. Cut the deck. Remove three cards. She followed directions, placing each card in one of the rectangular spaces, setting the rest of the deck aside, sitting back in her chair to examine her spread. At the sight of her first card, Moriah felt the hairs raise on the back of her neck. Her first card was inverted — a heart set on a stormy field, and in its center was an eye. The eye was green, like her own, fringed in lashes and overflowing with tears. She was able to feel the sorrow radiating through the waxed card stock, and could almost see the thump of that heart as it was pierced by three pointed swords. Despite being upside down, the eye seemed to stare directly through her, seeing the heaviness of her own heart, and judging her failures.
Her feeling of unease was not helped by the sepulcher figure in the second card. The death card stared back at her, right side up. The scythe carried by the skeletal figure glinted, and over its shoulder was a banner featuring a five-petaled flower. She didn't know anything about tarot or divination, but certainly nothing good could come from pulling the death card, she thought. The third card meant nothing to her, not really. A large golden chalice sat on a bright pink field, a pyramid of eight smaller chalices beneath it. The liquid overflowing from the large cup spilled over into the row beneath it and so on, water falling down from cup to cup in a bright cerulean deluge.
"Isn't this so exciting," squealed the neighbor beside her. "I had my fortune read by one of the witches at an event last year, but it was nothing like this! What are we supposed to do now?"
"I think we're just supposed to wait," Moriah murmured, unable to pull her eyes away from the eye on that pierced heart, staring balefully up at her.
All around their tables, the tarot cards were being scooped up by an invisible hand, one by one, and neatly flipped back into the deck. All around the table, it was the same — each of her neighbors squealing in delight as the cards around them were lifted and moved, as if a very direct wind carried them on a current. All around the table, until she was reached. For several long, echoing moments, nothing happened. Moriah stared at the eye and the eye stared back, no invisible wind lifting it from the template, no unseen hand snatching away the death card.
"Well. Quite the impactful spread we have here."
The voice seemed to be made of shadow and smoke. It whispered at the back of her neck, an invisible whorl around her ear, and from the way her neighbors on either side of her continued to chatter and laugh, she knew that none of them could hear it. In any other setting, she would have jumped to her feet. She would have screamed, been terrified . . . but the voice was at home in this strange place, and she could tell — why, she wasn’t sure — that it meant her no harm.
“I fear you've suffered long, little one. But you see here, the three of swords inverted . . . a mitigation of the sorrow. Your suffering is not the end, nor will it have been in vain."
That didn't make sense to her, but that did not prevent tears from burning at the corner of her eyes, until she likely resembled the eye on the card. This disembodied voice, clever as it thought it was, didn’t know the half of it.
"And what of the death card?"
"The most misunderstood card in the deck. Death is not the end, child. Death can be hard and harsh, but it can also be quick and merciful. Death feeds life, and we cannot begin again until we let go of those things that shackle us. Death may be an ending, but with that ending there is always a rebirth."
She nodded, not trusting her voice and hoping that none of the other women from the neighborhood seated around the tables would notice the tears about to overflow from her eyes.
"And this; this is a most auspicious sign. The nine of cups, a card of happiness and joy. Do you see how they spill into each other? Happiness brings happiness, joy brings more joy. These three cards represent stages in your life, sweet one. Your past, your present, and the future yet to come. Your past is the past and none can change that, but only you can control your present circumstances. Your cards have aligned to promise happiness in the days ahead, if only you allow that joy to find you."
When the cards flipped into the basket before her water glass, she sucked in a lungful of air, feeling as though she had just exited from a heavy shadow, one that had enveloped her fully, leaving her invisible to the rest of the table. The other women in their group had taken no notice, and Moriah breathed relief, dabbing her eyes as inconspicuously as she could and regaining her composure. Turning to her neighbor, she attempted to pay attention to the conversation already buzzing around her.
"Well,Iheard from Kestra Kittredge that he lives right thereinthe house. Right there! Right next door to the old Slade place, can you believe it? I never thought I'd see the day when they were just out and about, walking around."
Several of the other women around the table clucked their tongues, heads shaking.
"Our babysitter's mother works part-time at City Hall, and she said that Ansleth made the suggestion to pass an ordinance."
“Past time, I say.”
“Can you blame him? They need to dosomething!”
“He’s looking at actually having to run a campaign next year, so it’s not surprising to hear they’re taking action on something.”
Drea frowned. "Would they really do that? Pass ordinances restricting certain species from living here? That seems contrary to the town charter."
