The Tarot Reader, page 16
I bid her grandparents goodbye, thanking them for the closure their imaginary pride conjured in Brenda. I had the sitters recenter themselves, then I winced, drawing in a hiss.
“Are you okay?” Andrew asked next to me.
“Yes, sorry. My blood.” I clutched at my heart.
“Your blood?” asked Emily, the target of my next trick.
I moved my hands to my legs, gripping at them. “It’s as though my blood is stopping. There’s a terrible pain in my legs. I need to stand.” I rose halfway from the table, then flopped back into my seat, the sitters on either side of me gripping my arms to keep me from falling.
“Do you need us to call a doctor?” Brenda asked.
“No, this isn’t my pain. This is someone else’s—someone here.” I gazed around the table and allowed my eyes to rest on Emily, who was rubbing her thumb back and forth across the locket she was wearing. “This pain is yours.”
She was feeding me information without even knowing. The locket, the melancholic set of her eyes—there was far more to this than just a simple daily blood clot medication.
“This was also the pain of a loved one.” She began to cry, and I was shocked at the force of it. She nodded and gave out a small “Yes.”
Here was the risk. The leap of faith. Would she fill the silence and give me another morsel, directing me where to go? Or would she remain silent aside from her small huffs and sniffs, leaving me to guess wildly? I let the silence sit. Come on.
“Both my siblings,” she said as she opened the locket to reveal a smiling man and a straight-faced woman. “We have a hereditary blood disorder.” The sitter next to her placed a hand on her shoulder as she continued to cry.
Another leap, another guess based off the split-second sighting of the pictures in her locket. “Your sister’s energy is very stern.” Emily chuckled. Okay, spot on. “She’s telling you to take your medication. Same time every day.”
She laughed. “Of course she is.” Her tears abated into something like relief. “She was like a second mother.”
“She says goodbye for now,” I said, and Emily thanked me with a tearful smile. Someone in the crowd clapped three times, then stopped as they realized the others were too mesmerized to join in.
The lights flickered, and there was a collective gasp. Thank you, Stevie. “Someone is here that passed very recently,” I said in a low voice. “They want to speak with us.”
The sitters shifted in their seats, a small act at each séance that clued me in to their willingness and sparked a thrill in me. They were preparing themselves for the unknown.
I curved my spine inward, bowing my head so it was nearly touching the table. “Andrew,” I said without raising my head.
“Yes?” His voice wavered, the question in his voice a sign of both fear and desperation for comfort.
I raised my head slowly and exhaled deeply as I opened my eyes. “John,” was all I said.
The beat of following silence was tense as he tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. “Who?”
“This is the name that keeps coming up. John, John, John…” I trailed off into a whisper as I closed my eyes again.
“Sorry, not ringing any bells,” he said flatly. The audience was picking up their proverbial pitchforks, ready to call me a fraud, but I knew exactly what I was doing.
I opened my eyes and said to him, “ ‘Do not let your hearts be troubled.’ ” He visibly gulped, certain I couldn’t be right about this. I continued. “ ‘You believe in God; believe also in me.’ ”
In unison, his voice booming in disbelief and mine calm and reassuring: “John fourteen, one through three.”
The curtains behind us rippled gently, a pleasant detail that I’d later praise Stevie for. The other sitters and the audience were sneaking looks at each other as though we’d gone mad. After the perfect amount of whispering in the crowd, I spoke. “Andrew, your father is here to speak with you. Mark wants you to know he is at peace.” Andrew’s eyes brimmed with tears. I took a chance next, hoping it would land based on the humor he’d attempted to use earlier. “And he’s glad you picked a short verse at his service.”
A tear fell from his face just as a burst of laughter erupted, causing the other sitters to jump.
“He hated long funerals. ‘In and out,’ he used to always say,” Andrew said with a sad smile.
I’d reached the end of Stevie’s reconnaissance and needed to draw the séance to a close. There were three sitters who still leaned forward eagerly, but I had nothing for them. Perhaps they’d come to the shop for closure later on.
“It seems our time has come to a close. I no longer sense any spirits willing to communicate. Please, everyone, join hands as we sever any form of communication so that no negative energy can attach itself to you.”
Someone in the crowd gave a sigh of disappointment, and I looked out, trying to see their face so I could target them for future readings. The only face that stood out, however, was the tight-lipped, smug face of Woolridge, the overly muscular and overly rude detective who’d interviewed me after I submitted the tip.
My palms grew clammy in the hands of the sitters beside me, and my confidence faltered. I tried to pick back up when something fell from the ceiling, smashing into the floor so close that I felt the breeze it created.
All the peace and closure I’d created was severed by gasps and screams.
* * *
Stevie
* * *
Shit.
I stared down at the broken stage light that had landed only a foot away from the séance table. Half the sitters were frozen with shock while the others craned their necks, trying to see what could have caused the fall. I tucked my head back, holding my breath.
“It’s all right,” Jade said, urging the sitters to calm themselves. “We need to close the séance immediately. When I have a very strong connection during a séance, the spirit can be a bit… unwilling to depart. Let’s join hands.”
It was a beautifully quick pivot to cover up my mistake. I scrambled off the rigging above the stage as quietly as I could, making sure to stay behind the layer of curtains as I moved through the back rooms and returned to the lobby.
I tried and failed to slow my breath and remember our plan. Jade spoke the phrase that was the cue for me to open the doors to the lobby. But due to my unfortunate mishap with the light, I was almost a full minute off my cue. I rushed, panicked sweat building as I made it to the lobby and swung open the doors, my breath frantic.
I froze as I was met with a brick wall of a man standing in the doorway. “Stevie Crawford?”
“Yeah?” I said before I could think any better. He’d used our real last name, and I’d just confirmed it.
“I’m Detective Woolridge with Forsyth PD. Do you have a moment to talk?” he said.
“Yeah, I remember you. And no, I’m a little busy,” I said tersely as I pointed to the crowd meandering into the lobby. It seemed as though the crashing light had worked to our advantage as I heard amazed whispers among the audience members.
“I guess she’s not full of shit after all,” a young man said to the woman he’d locked arms with.
“Told you so,” she said proudly back. “She can make things move with her mind.”
“She’s a psychic, not a wizard, Jenny.”
Woolridge eyed the couple as they walked past us. “Could you tell me where you were on September twentieth?” Woolridge asked.
I’d never been questioned by the police in any fashion and blurted out, “Probably at work, I don’t know. Why?”
“Since your sister submitted the tip about the councilman that turned out to be correct, we just wanted to tie up any loose ends. Now, when you say work, do you mean at the bar or the work you do with your sister?”
I bristled. How much had he looked into me? That in combination with him using our real last name was sending me into a panic. “I—”
Jade interrupted, nearly bumping me out of the way. “Detective Woolridge, so nice of you to join us. I don’t remember your name being on the guest list.”
“Great show,” he said.
“If you don’t mind, we’re very busy. Please feel free to make an appointment.”
Jade whisked me away to the table we’d arranged in the lobby. As I made appointments and sold overpriced crystals to the audience, Woolridge stood watch in the corner before eventually slipping out the door into the night.
CHAPTER
24
Stevie
I STOOD AT THE bar, my stomach twisting with nausea. The medicinal smell of alcohol and malty beer wasn’t helping. I couldn’t do this. I’d told Jade I could do it, but as I stood behind the bar, I was doubting myself. It didn’t help that I’d been so worked up after the success of our séance tonight that I hadn’t been able to eat more than a few bites of dinner before heading out for my late shift. My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I pulled it out. It was a notification for twenty new followers in the last hour alone.
Ian Stellman was sitting at the far end of the bar, nursing his fifth Budweiser. His gut was far larger than when he was my teacher, and his cheeks and nose had become a sickly shade of purplish red. I studied him as I swept a rag around the inside of a pint glass. He glanced up at me, meeting my eyes, and I jerked, dropping the glass at my feet.
“Watch it, Stevie,” my manager grumbled as he closed out a customer’s tab.
“Sorry.” At least I hadn’t dropped the glass in the ice bucket like the new hire did last week.
We were closing in a little over an hour, and Stellman didn’t show any signs of leaving. He was watching the women in the bar, but mostly me. It made my skin crawl. I was never more than superficially polite to him, giving the same “How we doin’?” and “What can I get you?” questions that bartenders give in every language around the world.
How was I supposed to convince him to follow me? Wouldn’t it be obvious that I was up to something if I was suddenly flirting after everything that had happened?
As I bent over to clean up the glass, bile rose in my throat. I could just leave. Tell Jade he didn’t come. But where was the sense of justice in that? Jade had taken care of me like a parent, even before Dad went to jail. What had I done in return for her? Rigged a couple of cheap scares for séances and watched the shop when she couldn’t? I had to do more.
I threw the glass in the trash and walked to the end of the bar where Stellman sat. “You need another one?”
“How’d you guess?” He lifted his empty glass. I wanted to take it and smash it over his head.
“I guess I’m psychic.”
“Not sure those exist, but you make me want to believe.”
I forced a smile. “You want to believe for real? There’s a psychic parlor across town. Come with me after I close.” God, I wanted to throw up. I wanted to slap him, throw up, and quit this fucking job.
He studied me, a look of confusion and hope muddling his expression. “You sure?”
No, I wasn’t sure about any of this, but if Jade was, then I needed to pretend. “Yep. Meet me outside in about forty-five minutes. I’ll grab your beer.”
In that moment, his smile reminded me of how he’d been as a teacher—charming and bubbly, enthusiastic to a contagious degree. It was easy to see how he’d lured so many students into a sense of comfort. I heard so many whispers and derogatory comments about the students while working, and all I wanted to do was protect them, to tell them I understood. Charm and narcissism went hand in hand. It was easy to get wrapped up in the facade these types of people put on.
I begged the clock to slow as the minutes ticked by. Usually it was the opposite, silently begging customers to leave so I could start cleaning tables and glasses. My manager made the announcement that we’d be closing soon, and my stomach twisted as the late-night stragglers filed out. Stellman smiled at me as he took the last sip of his fifth beer and left to wait for me in the parking lot.
* * *
Jade
* * *
Stevie opened the shop door with all the color drained from her face and Stellman trailing in behind her. Gone was her initial excitement to help lure Stellman to the shop and in its place was a clammy, panicked Stevie, white-knuckling her way through anxiety for me. I appreciated her more than ever in this moment. We had a chance to prove to the cops that there was some sort of connection between Stellman and Nichols, that maybe Stellman was responsible for his murder. I had the voice recorder on my phone rolling already, tucked under the table just in case.
Although I’d never been one of his students and he hadn’t even been hired until after I dropped out, I’d put together a disguise of sorts. I’d curled and teased my wig and my eye makeup was more severe than ever, the black eyeshadow buffed out nearly all the way to my eyebrows. I looked nothing like Stevie or myself, which made it perfect.
“Welcome. How can I help you two?” I asked in a slightly sultry voice, playing into his lascivious nature.
“We just wanted to check out the shop. He’s not a believer.” Stevie pointed to him. She was smiling, but I knew her well enough by the quiver of her lip that she was on the verge of tears. A bit of an overreaction, I thought, but Stevie was always full of surprises.
“I believe in science,” he said, dragging out the s with a slur.
Let’s loosen you up even more.
“How about a reading, then? At this hour, every reading comes with a glass of wine. On the house.”
“Maybe I do like psychics,” he said with a hiccup. He rested his hand on the shelf of candles to his right, and the entire shelf teetered. He jerked his hand back and waited while the shelf straightened out and settled. “Oops.”
“Can I use your bathroom?” Stevie asked.
“Sure,” I said after hesitating. “Up the stairs on the right.”
She turned, displaying two shiny braids down each shoulder. Nice touch, I thought. By the way Stellman’s eyes trailed over her body, it was clear he’d noticed. Creep.
“Why don’t you take a seat at the tarot table? I’ll grab your wine.” I already had a bottle and a glass ready behind the curtain to the stairs and met him at the table.
“Would you like to get started?” I asked when I sat, handing him his wine.
“Sure. Wait, on what?”
“Tarot. I’m going to read your cards.”
He rolled his eyes ever so slightly and took a messy glug of his wine. “Sure, why not.”
“Deep breath for me as I shuffle. Focus on what’s been happening in your life.”
I shuffled, then placed three cards face down between us. Of course I had no idea what they would be, but even if it was a positive reading, you could twist tarot cards to mean whatever you wanted.
Usually I would flip the cards over one by one, explaining as I went, but I needed to know how to weave my reading to get a reaction out of him. When I scanned over the cards, the rise and fall of my chest quickened with disbelief. The cards actually applied.
“I’ll explain each card as we go, and if you’d like, we can talk about how they apply to your life. You’re in control of the reading.” He didn’t respond. “The first card is the Devil.” I tapped the horned figure with a naked man and woman chained together beneath him. “This card is showing me something within that you’re fighting every day.” I waited for a reaction, but there was none, aside from his slightly defensive crossed arms. “There’s an addiction you struggle with—whether it’s someone else’s addiction that affects you or your own.”
Stellman sat there tight-lipped, just staring at me. It made me uneasy, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I wondered if Stevie was on the other side of the curtain, listening.
“The next card is a reversed Magician. There’s a con man in your life, is there not? A trickster.” I relished in the question as I reeled him into my web. He reached for his wine, nearly knocking it over, then took a sloppy sip.
“This trickster is lowering your quality of life. The things you used to enjoy—they now feel ruined. Tainted. Is that right?”
His face reddened. We both knew I was talking about him. He just didn’t know that my words were weapons, sharp and pointed right at his throat. I knew exactly who he was.
“That’s… true, I guess.” Jesus Christ, I nearly shouted in frustration. This man was giving me so little, he might as well have not even been here. He finished his wine.
“Would you like another?”
He nodded, and I went behind the curtain to fetch the wine, fully expecting to see Stevie, but she was still nowhere to be found. She needed to come down soon, or Stellman was going to get suspicious. There was a light switch at the bottom of the stairs that connected to the landing’s ceiling light, and I flicked it on and off two times to get her attention. For a moment I thought I smelled the skunky scent of weed smoke, but I didn’t give it any further mind as I poured Stellman’s hefty second glass of wine and returned to the table.
He took a gulp as soon as I handed him the glass, nearly drinking half in one go. It was a cheap red wine, but strong.
“Your final card is the Seven of Swords.” I pushed the card closer to him, my finger tapping the long swords that a devious-looking man was attempting to carry. “This indicates someone in your life who keeps getting away with something. Unfortunately, this usually means something criminal. Something harmful. Is this true?”
“He really wasn’t a bad person,” he slurred.
I stiffened. Wait… what? This reading was supposed to be about him, and he was referring to someone else. Did he think this entire reading applied to the councilman?
Beads of sweat were forming around Stellman’s receding hairline. The heat had kicked on as soon as Stevie went upstairs, and although I was sweating too, I silently thanked her. A little sweat went a long way in convincing sitters they were experiencing something substantial—something that affected them to the point of visible physical symptoms. My father had been keen on drugs to induce vomiting or fainting, but I played a little nicer, a little gentler.
