The Tarot Reader, page 7
I smiled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Daniel took the popcorn into the living room and I followed, excitement fluttering in my stomach as I joined him on the couch. I was relieved he hadn’t asked me about my day. If he had, would I have told him about the tip? No, I decided. It was best I didn’t.
The movie began and Daniel kept a respectable distance, the bowl of popcorn in between us. Another hour passed, and Daniel paused the movie and returned with two more beers. The television lit up the right side of his face, casting blue-toned shadows along his jawline.
I took a sip, already feeling the tingle of a buzz in my limbs. He leaned back into the sofa, and without thinking, I put the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table and shifted closer to him.
He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye as my knee rested against his thigh, a whisper of denim against denim. Goose bumps ran up my forearm, both from the chill of his air conditioning and the electric tension that was building in the room. Or maybe I was imagining it. I’d been too busy the past few years for anything vaguely romantic, and I’d nearly forgotten this feeling, much less what to do. Every single skill I used for reading people was out the window.
Stop overthinking it.
Still, all I could focus on was the heat against my knee, such an innocent part of my body, but distracting nonetheless. I inched closer to him, my left thigh pressed softly against his. He looked at me in surprise, then a brief smile fluttered across his face.
The movie was drawing to an end, and my head buzzed pleasantly with the two beers. “Did you like it?” he asked as the credits rolled.
I nodded, unwilling to admit that I couldn’t remember a single detail of the plot. My eyes flitted to his lips, which were full, the skin smooth and inviting. He leaned a bit closer, the anticipation amplifying. I almost reached out for his face, eager for the heat of his skin against my palm. He was so close.
Until he wasn’t. He reached for the remote and paused the movie on the rolling credits.
I stood, embarrassed. “I’d better get going.”
“Let me walk you down.” He opened the door for me and followed me downstairs. The light from his office sliced through the room, setting the front door aglow.
I turned to him, halfway through thanking him, and almost took in a sharp breath. He was closer to me than I’d thought. His hands were in his front pockets and my eyes drifted down his arms, taking in the way the dim light cast shadows across the divots of his muscles.
“Maybe next time I can take you out to dinner?” he said.
“That’d be nice,” I half whispered. I couldn’t stop looking at his lips, which were parted in a smile.
“Good. Want me to walk you home?”
“It’s a long journey, but I’m sure I can manage.”
I waved goodbye and tried to keep a straight face as I walked home. I closed the front door behind me and let a wide, wild smile spread across my face. It was a pure, joyous emotion that I hadn’t felt for entirely too long.
CHAPTER
10
Jade
IT WAS NEARLY two in the morning and I’d given up on sleep. My blankets lay in a chaotic wad at my feet. A dull thud drew my attention, but I brushed it off. The apartment and shop were in an old building, built around 1920, and the bones of the structure groaned night and day, especially as the weather turned colder and the pipes ached with the chill.
I kicked away my blankets and drew my knees into my chest, rocking side to side in an attempt to alleviate the backache I’d given myself from tossing and turning. I was only twenty-five, but all the time I spent hunched over tarot cards and séance tables had aged my spine by decades.
Another sound, louder this time. It was a ghostly metallic groan, like the building was wrenched with pain. The sound ceased, just to climax with a crash.
I jumped out of bed, my body moving me into action, then freezing as my fear took over. I had no idea what the sound was or where it was coming from. The sound echoed out again and Stevie joined me in the upstairs foyer, crossing her arms across her body. Her hair was mussed and her eyes crusted with sleep. She was shaking, and her skinny legs were riddled with goose bumps.
“What was that?” she whispered.
“I don’t know. Go back in your room,” I told her as I took one step down and tried my best to peer around the twist of the stairs. But I couldn’t see anything. I took a breath, as if I could expel the adrenaline coursing through me, and stepped farther down. Stevie, of course, hadn’t followed my instructions and was close at my heels.
It felt like it took an hour to reach the bottom of the stairs. We usually left the velvet curtain that separated the apartment from the shop open at night—it was mostly for keeping drunk people from wandering up into our apartment to find a bathroom more than it was for adding any security—but for some reason I’d left it closed tonight.
Or had I?
The sickly metallic sound was nearly constant now, and the thump that sounded like fists was percussive and insistent. My stomach lurched as I pictured the front door. It was an ancient steel door covered in layers of paint from all its previous tenants. Someone is breaking in, I realized in the same moment that Stevie said it aloud.
“Stay here. I’ll check.”
This time, Stevie followed my directions. I took three steps forward and raised my hand to the velvet curtain, my fingers nearly vibrating with each quick, shallow breath I took.
The noise paused for a moment, and I peeled the curtain back an inch to peer out. There was nothing to see—only the gray wash of night over the shop’s already-dark colors, the rich amethyst and ruby hues becoming dull and flat.
I opened the curtain all the way and moved forward, glancing back to make sure Stevie stayed put. She was still there, now with something in her hand. A baseball bat. Her trusty Rambo. The sight of her with it was somehow both laughable and intimidating—her pale skin nearly fluorescent in the moonlight that streamed in the long, skinny window in the stairwell, the baseball bat wider than even the thickest part of her bicep.
In the darkness, I was able to see through the front windows that there wasn’t a soul in sight. The word soul echoed in my head, and I felt foolish for wondering if the sound wasn’t from a person at all but from a spirit. A soul so furious with our career of spiritual contempt that it had finally come for justice.
Stevie shrieked as the noise began again in one long shuddering screech. I flipped on the light. Why hadn’t I done that in the first place? I always mocked the beautiful but utterly stupid characters in the horror movies Stevie liked to watch, laughing at the way they froze in fear, forgetting they could just turn on the lights or call the cops. And here I was in the middle of the night doing exactly what they did. Flailing in the face of fear.
I turned around to say just that to Stevie when my stomach dropped. A blob of gray mottled the corner of the ceiling, about three feet wide. I stood in utter defeat as a steady stream of drops released itself from the gray cloud in the ceiling, the plaster becoming pudding-like and bulbous against what I imagined was a hidden stream of water above it.
“No,” I groaned as I inspected the damage. Dread was heavy in my gut. “How do we turn the water off?”
“I have no idea.” Stevie made her way to my side, the bat limp in her hand. “Shit.”
Here it was—the rug being pulled out from underneath me. Divine retribution for my wrongs.
Stevie set the bat down and moved into action, pulling shelves away from the water. Because it was just our luck, a display of tarot cards and books on spiritualism were directly below the water, all of them soggy and expanding like sponges. That was at least two hundred dollars down the drain.
“It’s the first freeze of fall. The old pipes must have finally given up.” Stevie was panting with the effort of rearranging the shop, trying to save it from the barrage of moisture.
“Give up,” I scoffed. “Right about now, I’d love to do the same.”
* * *
It was four in the morning when Stevie and I finally went to bed. We’d spent two hours arranging every bucket, bowl, and Tupperware container we owned to catch the water dripping from the ceiling. As I lay in bed afterward, I became convinced that it was revenge for stealing Lisa’s ring and that somehow her moldy decaying ghost had transferred itself into our building.
After a measly three hours of sleep, I called a plumber, who now stood in front of us. He stared up at the water damage, his slight paunch peeking out from his untucked polo shirt. He turned around to face us, a look of dismay on his face. “Well, how do I say this? The culprit seems to be”—he paused, a blush forming on his cheeks—“lady products.”
“Pardon?” I asked, which only made him blush deeper.
“You know. Um, hygiene products.”
I glared at Stevie, whom I’d lectured at least a dozen times already when the toilets would back up, but she was avoiding my eyes. Our rental agreement clearly stated that if the leak was caused by regular wear and tear, it’d be covered. If it was caused by the renter’s negligence or improper use, we’d be responsible for the entire bill. I could throttle her, but it’d have to wait until the plumber left.
“These pipes haven’t had any maintenance since they were installed, so it was only a matter of time before something took them out.” His Southern accent was thick, and the slightly slowed cadence was lulling me into a false sense of calm. “Looks like they were the originals from—”
“The 1920s,” Stevie said in unison with him. “Yeah, unfortunately, that’s what we thought.”
The plumber smiled at her, impressed by a woman he assumed to be very knowledgeable in his field. That wasn’t the case, but Stevie had that effect on men, much to her dismay.
“I hate to break it to you, ladies,” he said, “but this is going to cost a pretty penny.”
“How pretty?” Stevie asked. She crossed her arms in front of her, pressing her breasts together so that her cleavage was in full view. Despite my frustration with her, I bit back a laugh and tried to cover it by clearing my throat. She glared at me, then faced him again with a hesitant smile. Her gaze darted to his hand, and I clocked his ringless left hand just as she did.
Mom had always taught us that if someone was blinded enough by good looks and charm, you could get plenty of extras out of them if you faked a little interest in them.
“Usually this repair would run for about two thousand. Not only do the pipes need replacing, but the ceiling needs work. You’ll have to call someone else for that—I can refer you. The innards of the building are spotted with mold, so this leak seems to have been going on for some time.”
The innards. The phrase set my stomach on edge as I imagined the building as a carcass on the side of the road, riddled with decay.
“Two thousand?” Stevie and I said in unison. The only difference in delivery was that mine was barked out in disbelief and anger whereas hers was pitiful. Her damsel-in-distress act was really gearing up.
“There’s no way we can afford that. I’m so sorry for wasting your time,” Stevie said. Her bottom lip stuck out slightly, and her chin quivered. Even though the flirting was an act, I knew she was genuinely upset, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if she burst into tears. Honestly, I could have too, but I knew if I did, neither of us would be able to get a hold of ourselves.
He looked between the two of us, noting our red eyes and dark circles from lack of sleep. And likely noting the shabbiness of the shop, which was painfully evident with the curtains drawn back and the overhead lights turned on.
“All right. Let me call my boss and see if there’s anything we can do for you ladies.”
As soon as he stepped out the front door, I whispered to Stevie, “Nice boob maneuver. I bet he’ll take a solid four dollars off for those things.”
Stevie rolled her eyes. “These are worth at least fifteen each.”
We did our best to rearrange our products after shifting everything away from the brigade of buckets, which were already half full with murky water. Stevie dragged in extra velvet fabric that we’d used to cordon off the tarot table for private readings and I fetched the staple gun without her even asking, both of us working in tandem like we always had.
Moments later the plumber walked back in, phone still in hand. “We can do it for a thousand; how about that?”
“Hmm,” I said. “How about eight fifty if we display your business cards at checkout?”
We waited, holding our breath, while he and his boss negotiated. Finally, he said, “We’ve got a deal.”
He was clearly proud of himself, eager for Stevie’s approval. “Thank you so much,” she said. “We appreciate it.” She climbed up on a chair, staple gun in one hand and a bolt of fabric in the other.
“You need help with that?” he asked, his eyes roving over a sliver of Stevie’s midriff as she reached up to the ceiling. Her ass was directly in his line of sight, and it was clear he would linger the entire day if it meant the view stayed the same.
“We got this. Thanks.” Stevie winked at him, but I could see the annoyance set tight in her jaw.
He let us know he’d be back with a crew later in the day. As soon as he left, Stevie and I got to work on our hastily crafted partitions. While we cordoned off the water damage, we debated if we should close the shop entirely until the work was completed, but Stevie shot it down.
“Are you kidding? We need the money. We’ll just cover it up and pretend it never happened.”
She was right. We needed every penny we could earn. Bills were piling up, and we were going to have to make a sacrifice soon to be able to keep our head above water. I just didn’t know what that sacrifice would be.
CHAPTER
11
Jade
I STARED AT THE patchwork of bath towels and kitchen rags splayed out in a chaotic mess on the floor. They had turned our water off, so all that was left while we waited for the plumber to return was preventing damage from the water that pooled on the floor, leaving the shop soggy. A mildewy smell had already taken over and I’d resorted to propping the front door wide open, leaving me feeling vulnerable.
I was gripping the phone, arguing with my pride as my thumb hovered over the keypad. I didn’t want to ask for a handout, but after the catastrophe with the ceiling, I was desperate. I typed in her number and gritted my teeth, not knowing how she would react to me calling.
I shifted on my feet as the phone rang, then stiffened as I heard her gruff voice. “Grandma, hi. It’s Jade.”
“Oh, hello, sweetie. Is something wrong?” she asked in a panic.
“Well, yes, but don’t worry, it’s not about Dad.” I knew, based off her final warning to be careful, with Dad being out of prison, that she would immediately assume he’d shown up and wreaked havoc. Something was wrong, but luckily it didn’t involve him.
“All right then, what’s the problem?”
I cleared my throat. She wasn’t the softest of women—the type to always talk about hard work and bootstraps. When my mother had died—her daughter—her advice had been to “buck up, buttercup. Time heals all wounds.” Not necessarily incorrect advice, but all I’d really wanted was consoling and commiserating. “Our ceiling caved in last night, and the cost is wiping out our bank account. I wanted to reach out to ask for help. I never do this, but—”
She cut me off. “You need some money? Of course, honey. I’ll put it in the mail today.”
My heart jumped with hope and joy from finally hearing gentleness in her voice. “Thank you so much. You know I hate handouts; I just didn’t know what else to do.”
“Not a handout, honey. Just a little help. All right, doll, gotta go. It’s pickleball day, and I’m about to rip Glenda a new one.”
I didn’t know what pickleball was, but I did know Glenda was in grave danger. I wished her luck, and we said our goodbyes.
“Hello, Jade,” a voice said behind me, causing my breath to hitch. I hadn’t even heard the bell above the door chime. I spun on my heel.
My stomach immediately dropped. “Lisa, hello! Sorry, I didn’t hear you.” In the chaos, I’d forgotten about her ring, which was still sitting in the back of the Pulaskis’ pawnshop, ready to be replicated and sold. I pushed away the makeshift curtains and motioned to the ceiling. “Sorry the shop is a mess. What are you doing here?”
The color drained from Lisa’s face, and she took a wavering step back. A strangled mew escaped her throat and tears sprang into her eyes.
“Lisa?” She made the sign of the cross as she stared up at the ceiling. “What’s wrong?”
“Jade… oh Lord. I’m so sorry. Look what I’ve done. Oh no…” She trickled off, her fist now clenched tight around the gold cross pendant she’d pulled out from under her blouse.
“Lisa, it’s all right. There’s nothing to be worried about. It’s just—” I was going to say a water leak when she interrupted me.
“A curse.”
Oh. I hadn’t even been thinking of her mold-ridden house as she’d stared up at the shop’s ceiling, but now it was obvious. She thought that by my taking the ring, whatever was haunting her house had transferred itself to me and my own home. My gut reaction was to grip her by the shoulders, look her in the eye, and sternly tell her It’s mold, Lisa. Mold!
But then the deeply instilled Crawford business ethic, or literally the opposite of ethics, kicked in and I realized what an opportunity I had sitting in front of me. Not only did I have the potential income from her ring, but now I had what she thought was proof she had some sort of serious supernatural infestation—one so strong it had crawled on its occult tendrils all the way from the nicest neighborhood in the city into my shabby psychic parlor. In her eyes, it was undeniable now that she needed every service I could offer her. At whatever cost.
