Chapter 13 #3
“Uh, hi, Marsha.” Seymour really did not understand how she could be this cheerful.
The level of sunshine was comparable to Myrna, but there was definitely something off.
He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, so he did his best to smile.
“This may seem a bit random, but do you happen to remember a customer by the name of Clancy Carver?”
“Oh, hmm.” Marsha shook her head. “I can’t say I do.”
“Nothin’ ’bout bein’ a long time customer? Had a tab runnin’ here?”
“No!” Marsha shrugged. “Sorry about that! Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“No, that’s all right. But thank you kindly.” Seymour tugged on Sariel’s hand. “Let’s go.”
“Aw, leaving already?” Marsha’s eyes twinkled. “Did we not have that special something you were looking for?”
“Yeah, nope, sorry. Thanks anyway, but—”
“Or was it a someone?”
Seymour and Sariel exchanged a stare, and Seymour slowly turned back toward the woman. He really hoped she wasn’t some sort of monster, but it would certainly be on brand for the way today had gone so far. “And if I said yes?”
“You’re definitely searching for someone,” the woman said with a loud hum. “Or maybe it’s someones. How curious.”
“Uh, yeah.” Seymour cleared his throat. “But they’re not here, clearly, so we gotta be headin’ on.”
“Perhaps a reading would help you!”
“One of them tarot type ones?”
Sariel might have squeaked.
“I have my own special deck for divination I created myself!” Marsha clapped her hands. “Oh, please, please! Please, it would be my pleasure.”
Sariel had the same giddy, tight-lipped expression as someone about to explode from the cuteness overload of seeing baby bunnies for the first time. He gave Seymour a nod and eagerly squeezed his hand.
“Sure. Fine. Awesome.” Seymour walked up to the counter. “Okay, and, uh, what’s this readin’ gonna cost me?”
“Only a few minutes of your time!” Marsha grinned, and there was a deck of cards with swirling silver designs in her hands.
Seymour hadn’t seen where it came from, and his senses went on high alert. While it could have been a simple magic trick, he thought it better to err on the side of caution and assume Marsha could be magical herself.
And therefore, dangerous.
Marsha shuffled the cards and then set them on the counter between them. “Cut the deck three times, please.”
Seymour reached for the cards.
They were made of thick black paper and clearly made by hand, given the brush strokes and texture of the paint used to create the designs.
Each one was an identical gothic frame with a big star in the middle, and it was hard to believe Marsha had achieved such a level of consistency without them having been stamped or printed.
Even as he cut the deck, he marveled at how perfectly they all matched. Maybe Marsha liked to paint miniatures or something. The cards were also oddly heavier than he expected, and he swore his fingers tingled when he pulled away.
“Now what?”
“Now we draw.” Marsha pulled seven cards from the top of the deck, laid them out face down in a neat line, and then set the deck aside. “Let’s see what the cards have to say about you!”
“Goody gumdrops.” Seymour faked a smile.
He’d never put much stock in this kind of thing, palm reading and any of this telling the future jazz. He had figured it was a bunch of hogwash and anyone claiming to have psychic abilities was a scam artist.
But he also hadn’t thought monsters were real up until recently, so.
Marsha flipped over the first card. “Ah! Last Hunter’s Call.”
The card had a white piece of paper glued to it, upon which was a detailed drawing in black ink with silver highlights of a sword, an old horn, and a big book. The items were sitting on a rock under a tree.
“Okay.” Seymour blinked. “What does it mean?”
“That you’re alone,” Marsha replied. “You don’t form lasting attachments, you’ve lost the ones you had, or both. This is a sign of the solitary path you’ve lived in the past, but that doesn’t have to be your fate.”
Seymour flinched, initially surprised by the accuracy, but he wagered that could apply to anyone.
Not that impressive.
The second card was a leering man in a big robe surrounded by herbs, books, and ancient laboratory equipment.
“This is the Wicked Alchemist!” Marsha giggled. “Yes, you’ve been lonely, but this indicates you are experiencing some very intense reactions now. Unexpected connections, new passions where you may not have thought to find them, and with someone with whom you have great chemistry.”
Okay, that was something.
Marsha flipped the next card.
It was a hooded person with a comically giant sack strapped to their back. The weight must have been great because their legs had snapped and were bent back in the wrong direction.
“The Broken Collector.” Marsha nodded along as if she was listening to something. “You are searching for something. Hmm, no, maybe it is a someone or perhaps something that belonged to this person. You need it desperately, and this need is controlling your current path.”
Well, goddammit.
“Bard’s Lute.” Marsha tapped the new card, this one of a funny looking acoustic guitar. “An instrument of fate is in your possession that will either help or hinder your journey. This could be a lucky coin, a piece of information, or—”
A talking cat girl who eats people.
“—whatever! This is your deux ex machina, so treat it with respect.”
Marsha turned over another card.
It was an anthropomorphic wolf sitting on a throne of bones with a crown.
“Yes, it is very clear now.” Marsha tapped the card. “This is the Wolf King. A very powerful force is guiding you. It is a person of authority, a person who is very firm and will not bend or offer compromise, and you don’t want to displease them, as doing so would affect your future goals.”
Like not being turned into a damn flower arrangement.
That was a good goal.
The next card was a naked woman curled up in the curve of a crescent moon.
“The Moon Queen.” Marsha grinned. “She is ever changing yet predictable, the embodiment of contradiction within nature’s beauty.
She is in total opposition to the Wolf King, and seeing the two of them together like this means that great forces are set to collide with either harmonious or disastrous results. ”
Marsha flipped the last card over.
It was a drawing of a butterfly—no, a moth. It was one of those big fuzzy ones with the marking on their butt that looked like a skull.
“Let me guess,” Seymour ventured as the lyrics of a certain Q Lazzarus tune rolled through his head. “Means I should watch more serial killer movies?”
“No.” Marsha giggled again.
“Well. What is it?”
“That you’re going to die.”