Chapter 4 Dove #2
“Yes,” I said. “I can do tarot. Ida here is a medium.”
“Okay,” she whispered shakily, sniffling. “I’d like a tarot reading, please. Now, if you have the time.”
I nodded once, stepping back from the counter and gesturing toward the curtain that led to the back rooms; the small kitchen, the storage room, and the reading room.
“I’ve got the till,” Ida said as I turned, and I nodded again, my insides churning.
It wasn’t that I was bad at tarot, I was far from it. I was amazing at it, mostly because I actually believed in it. But emotional readings…
I glanced at the woman as I held the curtain open for her. She was overly emotional, and I wasn’t sure how this would go.
Her heels clipped loudly behind me as we walked down the narrow hallway, past bundles of sage and moonstone pendants hanging from wall hooks.
We reached the reading room, and I slid the door open.
The scent of clove and sandalwood rushed to meet me, heady and familiar.
For a fleeting second, I half expected to see Margaret sitting tall in her proud white wicker chair, throne-like, high-backed, the once-vibrant lavender cushion now faded with time.
I waved the woman inside, stepping in after her and gently sliding the door shut. I gestured toward the small stool opposite the wicker chair, the two separated by a round table draped in a deep red velvet cloth.
As I settled into the wicker chair, it creaked a little—the way it always did—and I smiled to myself before looking up at the woman sitting stiffly across from me, clutching her handbag and glancing down at the deck of cards between us.
“Do you have anything in particular you want to know?” I asked calmly, picking up the deck, not Margaret’s. That one was safely packed away, secured in a soft velvet bag. My hands began to deftly shuffle the cards, the task as familiar to me as breathing.
I set the deck down between us and watched her across the table, noting her hesitation.
“You—you can’t, um, feel anyone here with me… can you?”
My heart thumped in my chest. “I thought you wanted a tarot reading.”
“Oh, well… I mean, I’m in here now,” she stammered, her fingers toying with the cross at her neck. I wondered if she even realized she was fidgeting with it. “This place has—has good word of mouth… people have really connected here… I need… closure? I don’t know.”
Cold dread filled my body. Yet another person asking for a service I had no business providing. Mediumship had always been Margaret’s strongest domain, and it was still Ida’s...
Me, on the other hand? Nada.
And yet… the thought of another one-star review appearing online. Another disappointed customer unable to get the service still printed on our signage...
It would be like proving Uncle Bill right. That I was in over my head running this place, trying to carry on Margaret’s legacy.
My mouth opened before I could stop it, the words tumbling out impulsively as they always did.
“They… don’t agree with you being here.”
It was a stab in the dark, prompted by the cross around her neck. But I regretted the words the moment they left my lips. Shame and fraudulence surged through me like ice.
She blinked. “What?”
My palms went clammy. My heart raced as I realized what I’d just done. A rolling nausea churned in my stomach. A prickling sensation at the back of my neck made me feel like Margaret was standing right behind me.
Watching.
Judging.
The candles in the room flickered slightly—probably just a draft from the vents—but the woman’s eyes widened. She let go of the cross and rose abruptly to her feet.
“Okay, point made,” she said, her voice suddenly bright and airy as she smoothed down her blazer. “Great work. He—he was an asshole anyway. I—I don’t know why I wanted to hear from him. Old habits,” she added quickly, cheeks flushing as she patted her neck once more.
“Oh no, wait.” I started to rise, but her hands were already rifling through her bag before she slapped two crinkled twenty-dollar bills on top of the table.
“Excellent work,” she said again. “He would—he would have lost his mind if he were alive and knew I had come here. It—it goes against everything… I gotta go.”
She rushed out before I could stop her.
My hands trembled in my lap as I processed what I had just done, what I had allowed myself to do. The incense curled thickly in the air, and Margaret’s chair creaked beneath me. I pressed my palms flat against the table, running them along the worn velvet as a wave of disgust washed over me.
Was this who I was now?
Was I destined to become as slimy as Uncle Bill?
I glared at the two crinkled bills on the table, then snatched them up and shoved them into my back pocket, storming out of the reading room and back into the main shop.
The woman who’d been browsing earlier was just leaving, a brown bag in hand, likely filled with things Ida had gently convinced her to buy.
“Everything all right, dear?” Ida asked as I returned to the counter. “Your customer all but cantered out of here.”
“It’s fine,” I murmured, my voice shaky. I moved to grab the tea she’d prepared earlier, grateful to find it still warm. “She—she got a little overwhelmed.”
“Ah,” Ida said with a nod, then took a long sip from her own mug.
The bell jingled again.
“Oh, fuck me,” I muttered under my breath, earning a surprised look from Ida. “Sorry. I just don’t feel well.”
“That time of the month?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Sure.”
I looked toward the door, silently begging the new customer to make a fast purchase and leave. I just wanted to return to wallowing in self-disgust, anxiety, and shame. I took a sip of whatever herbal concoction Ida had handed me. Liquorice, definitely. Something sharp and grounding.
A girl had walked in, around my age, I guessed.
Not particularly tall, but with the posture of someone trying to stand straighter than they actually wanted to.
Her red hair was pulled into a ponytail, the coppery strands catching the sunlight that filtered through the shop windows.
The rays hit the hanging crystals, casting rainbow mosaics across the floor, and across her shoulders.
She wore simple jeans, white sneakers, and a blue crop top that didn’t quite show any skin. It was the kind of outfit someone wore when they wanted to seem relaxed but also blend in. I clocked her instantly as preppy, awkward, and pretending not to be both.
She was probably here looking for a gag gift for a friend’s party.
I turned toward Ida, ready to crack a joke, when the door clicked shut behind another girl who had slipped in just before it closed, and I frowned.
Vibrant pink hair tumbled in loose waves past her shoulders, and she wore a white off-the-shoulder sequined top that sparkled like a disco ball as she stepped into the sunlight.
The sequins caught the reflections of the crystals, scattering light across the shop walls like a thousand tiny mirror flashes.
A black leather skirt hugged her hips, and she wore a frankly terrifying pair of thigh-high black boots.
She looked dressed for a night out, her sharp cat eye and bold red lips confirmed it, and I blinked.
What in the yin and yang was this pairing?
I tilted my head, unsure why I even cared or was showing interest, yet still trying to make sense of the scene in front of me.
Were they a couple? Possibly. I mean, I’d seen odder combinations.
My last girlfriend, for instance, had been a five-foot-nothing blonde who dressed like she was perpetually en route to Paris Fashion Week.
Me? I wore space buns so often my hair had permanent waves.
At the moment, I was rocking an oversized tie-dyed tee, black bike shorts, and my usual black Converse that were barely hanging on by an inch of their life.
The pink-haired girl leaned toward her redhead companion as she browsed the shelves and whispered something so sharp I could practically feel the tension from across the store.
“You can’t ignore me forever,” she hissed, low and pointed.
My brows shot up. A lovers’ spat?
Before I could get too invested, Ida’s voice snapped me back to attention.
“Dove, show me how to pull a receipt again?” she asked, squinting at the screen with a frown.
“Yeah, sure,” I murmured, brushing a loose strand of hair up and lazily twisting it into my left bun. I showed her which buttons to press, and she nodded sagely, peering over her spectacles with such serious focus you’d think I was teaching her witchcraft.
“You’re so smart,” she said warmly, following my prompts. “I’m afraid I skipped the technology skills. I still have a flip phone, you know.”
“Oh, I know,” I teased. “I’ve seen that brick. This system is still archaic though, compared to what we could have.”
Ida swatted at me with a laugh before finally pulling the receipt she’d been looking for.
“Yes, it does seem like a lot of work,” Ida murmured. “And such a waste of paper, these receipts.”
“Hmm,” I murmured.
I turned my gaze back toward the duo, only to blink in surprise. The redhead was now making her way over to the counter, sans sparkly companion. Her expression? Pure terror, if you asked me. She was clutching a candle like it was the only thing tethering her to Earth.
I blinked at her. The shop wasn’t that scary. Even for skeptics.
She set the candle down with an awkward, soft “hello,” her eyes flicking briefly to the sign advertising tarot readings, then darting quickly away.
“Would you like a reading, dear?” Ida asked gently as she keyed the candle into the till.
“Oh... n-no,” the girl stammered, her cheeks flushing. “I just noticed the deck in the display... it—it reminded me of a friend who had the same one.”
Ida nodded warmly. “It is a lovely deck. Have you ever had your cards read before?”
The girl scoffed under her breath.
And something stiffened in my spine at the sound.
My eyes narrowed.
“A few times,” the girl said quickly, shaking her head. “I don’t really… believe in it. No offense.”