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“At first they were having what seemed like a very pleasant conversation,” Nana chimed in. “They were both smiling, until the meeting took a turn.”
I crept out the front door and along the side of the house to the cemetery. I felt the presence of the ghosts behind me.
Another cry of pain erupted from between the headstones. One man had his steel-toed boot pressed down on another man’s chest. His eyes were outlined in black, and his lashes were cartoon thick. His red leather pants and black feather boa seemed out of place for both the town and the weather. He swung the boa around his neck with aplomb.
“Do you know them?” I whispered.
Nana nodded. “I’ve seen them before—you wouldn’t forget the young man with the fluffy scarf. I think the man on the ground is Alan Wentworth.”
I glanced at her. “Do we like Alan Wentworth?”
She hesitated. “I have no opinion of him. We attended church together for years, until I stopped going.”
“Because you died?” I asked.
“Because I stopped believing.”
I inched closer and watched from my hidden position behind a headstone as the fashionable man held up a tarot card in front of Wentworth’s face. I squinted for a better view. The Death card.
“Not that,” Wentworth pleaded, squirming beneath the heavy boot. “Anything but that.”
The card holder rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t mean literal death, silly. Don’t you know anything?”
His hand shaking, Wentworth pointed. “Death is written right across the top, and there’s a skeleton riding a horse and holding a scythe. What else can it mean?”
The card holder paused to draw an annoyed breath. He struck me as the type of guy often annoyed about something. “In our business, Mr. Wentworth, it’s the change card.”
Wentworth appeared to relax. “I’m not afraid of change. I wouldn’t have been able to build a multi-million-dollar business if I were.”
“I’m glad to hear it, because your life is about to take an unexpected turn.” Bending over, he tucked the card in Wentworth’s pocket and gave it a firm pat for good measure.
Wentworth immediately started to choke. White foam bubbled from the corners of his mouth. He reached for the other man’s leg, who gracefully sidestepped Wentworth’s chubby fingers. He rolled onto his side and vomited. “You said it wasn’t bad,” he rasped.
The well-dressed man crouched to address him. “I didn’t say it wasn’t bad; I just said you wouldn’t die.” His joints cracked as he resumed an upright position. “Not today, anyway.”
“What’s happening?” Nana Pratt asked in horror.
“I’ll tell you in a minute.” I emerged from my hiding spot. “Nice boots,” I said. Beginning an awkward conversation with a compliment seemed like the safest move.
The fashionista smiled, showing off years of pricey orthodontia. “Thanks. Kicking might’ve been required, and there’s no better pair of shoes to wear under the circumstances.” He extended a long, lean leg to show off his boot.
I didn’t disagree. “Who’s your victim?”
The smile morphed into a scowl. “He’s not a victim. He’s a perpetrator known to the actual victims he swindled as Alan Michael Wentworth.”
Wentworth was too busy moaning and clutching his stomach to defend himself.
“What are you doing to him?” I asked.
“Teaching him a valuable lesson that will hopefully encourage a change in his criminal behavior.”
“Hence the Death card.”
He smiled again, and I caught another glimpse of his perfect teeth. “Tarot cards are my preferred weapons.”
I’d never heard of anybody using the cards as weapons. “You’re a mage.”
“I am, indeed,” he said with a dramatic flip of his boa. “These cards are more powerful than you know. I’m a god, holding the entire universe in my hands. I alter reality with the touch of a card.”
