Chapter 1 Blackburne Bookstore & Gifts #2
I needed something more. I brushed my fingertips across the other stones, their colors twinkling under the lamplight.
What was he after—knowledge, power, or sex?
The three greatest motivators of the human spirit.
As I thrummed my fingers across the stones, I recalled Carousel Michelle (as I’d dubbed her after uncovering her circular romantic proclivities).
Today she had wanted to know if she should visit her cousins up north without her husband in attendance.
I had pulled the Ace of Wands, the most lascivious card in the deck, and assured her that her time away would be full of passion and new awakenings.
Her eyes widened just as her wallet did.
But now, as I admired the well-groomed man before me, I realized he already held power (anyone pretentious enough to call themselves Meister surely did), and his expensive dress hinted at a sincere self-obsession.
It was hard to imagine he lusted after anything aside from his own reflection. So, what did he want?
I plucked a blue stone from the drawer and set it atop the cards. “Lapis Lazuli. A stone for the seeker of enlightenment. A spiritual intelligence.”
His brow arched slightly. I was getting warmer.
Another thought pulsed through me. There were five sides on his cane. The pentagon.
I pulled the drawer out as far as it would go, reaching to the very back.
This was where I kept my more obscure stones.
Not lesser in value, but far more unusual.
Most patrons were drawn to the shiny ones.
The deep, rich colors with obvious beauty.
But this gentleman was no stranger to magick—he wouldn’t be swayed by amethyst or citrine.
He was an astute believer, perhaps even a practitioner.
He needed something real, something raw.
I grabbed a jagged stone from the depths of the drawer and placed it alongside the others. In between the beige limestone, bits of metal sparkled. I watched as the Meister’s eyes narrowed, focusing on it.
“What is that rock?” he asked, leaning in closer.
“I find ‘rock’ too vulgar a term for this precious stone,” I replied. “It’s an alloy of aluminum, copper, and iron, scavenged from Russia’s Koryak Mountains. It harbors an icosahedral crystal structure with five-fold symmetry.”
The Meister’s eyes widened. I was getting closer.
“It’s a rare stone indeed. In fact, it was my father’s prized possession.
Even when he died, my mother couldn’t part with it,” I continued.
Though it would have kept us fed for a year, my mother preferred to starve rather than sell off my father’s private collection.
At least I re-purposed it for my readings, finding a way to generate income.
“It doesn’t have a traditional spiritual meaning, as its unique composition was only discovered in the modern century.
But given the rarity—improbability, in fact—of five-fold crystal symmetry, this stone represents a great unification.
Perhaps even of the five elements mirrored in the suits of Tarot—fire, water, air, earth, and spirit.
” I played with the arrangement of the stones on the deck.
“You’re seeking a great union, are you not, Meister? ”
The Meister leaned back, releasing a breath. He smiled and said, “Go on.”
I continued my ritual, indulging in a faro shuffle, breaking the deck in half and weaving the cards together.
I studied the Meister as my fingers worked quickly and effortlessly.
It was at this point—when I’d cracked through my inquirer’s exterior—that I brought out the pickaxe to start unearthing the layers beneath. The gooey center was what I sought.
Magick might be the Meister’s obsession, but this was mine: seeing people for who they truly were. Most of the time, there was nothing worth seeing—but still, I hunted, hoping to be proven wrong.
My eyes drifted to the empty coffee cup sitting at the edge of the table as I shuffled, a ghost of the last patron I saw before closing—Marcus.
A ghastly twig of a man, I ventured to guess I was the only woman he’d spoken to in five years.
Though I hardly counted, seeing as I wore men’s trousers and didn’t bother to brush my hair most days.
Marcus always asked about business ventures and bets on the market—stocks to buy and exotic animals to trade.
Once, he asked if purchasing an endangered African spurred tortoise for five hundred dollars was a smart choice.
It took all my willpower to stifle a chortle.
Five of Pentacles for you, sir. A bad investment, and quite illegal in Greenwich County.
The truth was, when people came into my shop, they already had half the answer in mind.
Most were afraid of making decisions, of being the hero of their own story.
They asked for the cards dealt by Fate, all the while knowing the answer before it slipped from my lips.
A bit of confirmation bias is all they wanted, and I was happy to offer it, if it kept my mother and I fed, and this shack of a bookstore over our heads.
I delved into people’s worlds of wants and desires all the time, but no one has ever stopped to ask me what I wanted. Not that I have time for desires (or that it’s fathomable for a woman to even allow such things). After my father’s death, survival was paramount.
Maybe one day I’ll travel east, like in the books I’ve read. All the latest discoveries were being made there. Perhaps I could convince Gabriel to come with me. We could go searching for the secret tombs of King Martiah, or a first edition of Robert Fludd’s alchemical treaties.
It doesn’t matter, as long as it is far from dreary Greenwich and its drearier inhabitants.
But deep down, I knew it was just a dream, a story I told myself.
I’ve lived in stories my whole life: the ones I read to myself, and the ones I read to others.
This was just another story, I thought, but something stirred in me in betrayal.
Something that said opening the door for this green-eyed stranger was the moment my own story would begin to unfold.
I lifted my eyes to the Meister and made a final cut of the deck, stacking the bottom half on top. The last chance for Fate to speak.
“Now, we take hands.” I reached for him, and he obliged.
His hands were strangely warm in my clammy palms, and I let the sensation ground me.
“A truth spell, so that the spirits don’t play tricks on us with your reading.
” I glanced around the shop, exaggerating my movements.
I read the incantation aloud, bowing my head and tugging the patron’s hands to follow suit.
Lowering my voice, I asked, “What is it that you wish to know, Meister?”
He paused, deciding. “The union you spoke of. I want to know if it will be successful.” He looked up to meet my gaze, expectant.
I nodded and began to draw ten cards for the spread. I placed each down with care, as if all the truths of the world lay on the other side. I wasn’t typically this slow or methodical, but with new patrons—whose inner selves I had yet to unearth—I took my time.
“A Hermetic Kabbalah spread, is it?” the Meister asked.
“Yes, very old. And my favorite. Well-suited for your inquiry.” My eyes squinted for a fraction of a second.
He’d given me something else: Runic Norse, now arcane Tarot?
He was not an amateur practitioner; perhaps he was even a reader himself.
But that fact didn’t deter me. No one could read the way I did.
I finished laying out the cards and opened them one by one.
“In the first placement, you have the Tower. An upheaval of order has brought you here today.” He didn’t blink. Too ordinary, I chastised myself. I needed something to grip onto, something real from his world.
“The Chariot. You’re determined to create this spiritual union by any means necessary. You’re exploring unconventional routes.” I looked up from the cards, and his eyes flashed with something akin to surprise.
I continued through a few more cards, carefully watching his face as I revealed each one, tailoring my analysis based on his micro-reactions. Why are you here? The question tumbled through my mind like a stone down a mountainside. Finally, it found its mark.
“Seven of Swords, represented by the air element. There is deception at play.” I watched his throat bob and pressed on. “Someone is holding back the truth of the matter, manipulating the very air we speak.”
The Meister swallowed hard, his hand covering his mouth. “There’s no way . . .” he said, his voice breaking.
I had him now. “And now, the challenge you face . . .” I flipped the card in the eighth placement and revealed the Hanged Man. “It’s a man. Someone who is no longer with us?” I wasn’t quite sure what possessed me to say it, but his face was all I needed to confirm the budding knot in my stomach.
The Meister swallowed again and covered his mouth with three fingers. “You . . .” he whispered.
I leaned in, pressing deeper. This was what I did best: I made people fall apart. And then, carefully, oh-so-carefully, I put them back together again. It’s what my father did to suspects, and now I did to my patrons. The search for the truth being core to it all.
“And now for the how.” I turned over the next card.
“Three of Wands . . . you’ve traveled a great distance to find this person.
You believe they can help you overcome the tragedy you’ve faced.
You believe they hold a truth that others have failed to see.
” I reached for the final card, regretting it even before I saw it. I already knew what it would say.
I turned over the card and beheld the image of the Magician, the first card in the Major Arcana. The archetype represented a person who used all the elements—earth, fire, water, and air—to create a reality of her choosing. She manipulated the very fabric of the material world to dictate her will.
All knowledge was material.
All knowledge was accessible.
Fact over fiction, reality over illusion. My father’s words echoed in my mind as I stared down at the Magician.
“You’re looking for me.”