Chapter 4 Dove #3
“Odd shop to come into, then,” I said before I could stop myself. But the sound of her judgy little scoff had my ears ringing as I aggressively wrapped the candle in tissue paper.
Ida nudged me sharply in the ribs.
The girl swallowed thickly before continuing. “I just used to humor her. She would pull some cards… now and then…” Her voice trailed off, and she eyed the candle before her gaze locked onto mine. Piercing green, so clear and intense it nearly knocked the wind out of me.
I didn’t like the jolt that shot through me.
I didn’t like how I suddenly noticed things about her face, how those luminous green eyes were framed by thick black lashes, how her lips were full and perfectly shaped, even though they carried that subtle smirk people wear when they think the whole thing’s a joke. .. maybe even to themselves.
“Anyone can buy a deck of cards and pull them,” I said with a shrug, clutching her candle a little tighter. “You could do it right now, even. But actually understanding them? The intention behind them? That’s a whole other ball game.”
“She was actually quite good at it,” she said, her voice edged with something defensive that sparked my interest.
“But you don’t believe in it,” I replied coolly, letting the smile that always pissed off Uncle Bill stretch across my face. “Would you like a bag?”
Her cheeks flushed, and her eyes darted away.
“You know what?” Ida cut in, suddenly chipper. “You should have a reading with Dove here. On the house. Thirty minutes. See if she can change your mind.”
The girl’s head snapped up so fast I nearly got whiplash, her green eyes wide with alarm.
“Oh, no—I don’t need a—”
“It’s fine, Ida—” I began.
“No, I insist,” Ida steamrolled, shooting me a look before pressing her hand firmly between my shoulder blades. “Off you go. I’ll look after your candle, love,” she told the girl, flashing that warm, no-room-for-argument smile of hers.
I ground my teeth together and gestured toward the curtain with a half-hearted wave. “After you.”
The girl looked like she’d rather do literally anything else, but with an encouraging nod from Ida—and probably a lifetime of people-pleasing—she slipped through the curtain.
I whirled on Ida.
“We’re giving free readings to skeptics now?” I hissed.
“Well,” she said airily, meeting my eyes, “we have to earn back that easy cash from earlier, don’t we?”
Her voice was smug as my mouth dropped open.
“Don’t think I missed your little séance moment, girly. Now get back there. It’s time to repent.”
My cheeks flamed, but I swallowed my words, knowing she was more than right, and I was lucky to be getting off this easy.
Ida turned away with a flick of her hand, and I groaned under my breath, heading behind the curtain to find the awkwardly waiting redhead, who was glancing around at the walls with wide eyes.
“This way,” I muttered grimly, leading her down the short hallway and toward the room. I slid the door open with a heavy sigh and ushered her inside.
“Listen, you don’t have to do this,” she said quickly as she entered, crossing her arms. “We can just sit here for thirty minutes.”
I rolled my eyes at her. “What’s your name?”
Her eyes narrowed, likely catching my eye roll, and she snapped, “Shouldn’t you know that?”
I blinked and sighed internally. So it was going to be like that.
Clicking my tongue, I shook my head and looked at the cards on the table.
If I was going to do this reading, then I was going to do it properly.
No half-measures, no fake fluff. I would use Margaret’s cards, the ones she’d spent decades softening with her hands.
The ones that still smelled like her and all our memories.
“Take a seat,” I told her firmly as I moved to the drawer, pulling out the velvet bag. I took a calming breath before heading to the white wicker chair and sitting down, listening to it creak once more beneath me.
I met her eyes as I placed the bag gently on the table.
“I’m Dove Marley,” I said as calmly as I could, even as tension coiled in my stomach.
She looked confused for a second, like she’d expected me to bite back. Her green eyes wavered, her pink lips parting slightly as she unfolded her arms. I tried to ignore the tiny fissure of attraction that sparked. Redheads had always been a quiet weakness of mine.
“Ellis Langley,” she said on a sigh, like I’d asked for her kidney.
Attraction: snuffed.
I loosened the pouch and brought the deck into my hands, setting it in the center of the table and meeting her gaze dead-on as the candles flickered gently.
“Shuffle the deck and split it into three piles,” I instructed.
I watched as indecision danced across her face, clear regret painted in every motion. She hesitated, picking up the cards gingerly, like they might burn her. Religious trauma, maybe?
“I don’t know why I’m doing this,” she muttered, shuffling with stiff movements. “I’m a facts person. I appreciate reality. This isn’t that. I wasn’t trying to yuck your yum out there. I just wanted a candle.”
I didn’t respond. There was no point. Most of the time, it was easier to let nonbelievers scoff and rationalize, to let them feel superior and above it all. Nothing I said would change her mind. Only the cards could do that.
She made three uneven piles in the center of the table. Once again, the candles flickered, and I pursed my lips.
Where was the draft coming from?
“Good,” I said as she glanced up. “Now put them all back together.”
The flat look she leveled at me had me suppressing a smirk.
“What was the point in splitting them?”
I didn’t bother answering her again, and the small huff that escaped her filled me with a sick sense of satisfaction.
“Right,” she muttered, stacking the cards again and sliding them toward me.
The wind chime that hung over the desk in the corner gently tinkled, and I frowned. My back straightened instinctively, and I didn’t miss the way Ellis’s eyes widened at the change in my posture.
I could understand flickering candles, there had to be a draft somewhere. But the wind chime? There was no air in here strong enough to move those heavy wooden pipes.
A prickling sensation crept up the back of my neck. I licked my dry lips and shifted my gaze back to Ellis, ignoring the feeling.
“Is there anything troubling you right now?” I asked, collecting the deck in my hands and marveling at its familiar softness. “Anything you want to know?”
She hesitated, just enough for me to catch the crack in her carefully constructed armor of superiority.
What I saw in that moment nearly floored me.
Something raw flickered in her eyes, something close to panic or grief.
It glowed like a flame and then sputtered out so quickly, I wondered if I’d imagined it.
“No,” she said smoothly, folding her arms again. “I’m fine.”
“Okay,” I breathed, trying to bury my own curiosity about that wild look in her eyes. I tapped the top of the deck once before I began to shuffle, the cards whispering in my hands as they slid against each other.
The cards will talk to anyone willing to listen, Dove, Margaret had always told me, her voice wispy and her eyes wise.
I glanced at Ellis, who was watching me shuffle. Was she willing to listen?
Not likely. She thought this was all bullshit. And yet… there was something in her expression now. Was it hope?
She schooled her features quickly, and I blinked, quietly in awe.
Ellis Langley was clearly a layered individual. And despite her rudeness, I found her intriguing.
A card jumped, sliding out mid-shuffle and fluttering down to the table, landing faceup between us.
The Tower.
I gazed down at the card, staring hard at the jagged bolt of lightning tearing through the stone walls, flames leaping from its windows as tiny figures dropped from the building like fallen stars. It was dramatic imagery, and it always made me catch my breath, no matter who I pulled it for.
Because The Tower wasn’t a card that whispered.
It screamed.
I expected a scoff from Ellis at the very least—maybe an eye roll or a muttered insult—but when I looked up, I found her gaze locked on the card, as if she couldn’t look away. Her brow was furrowed.
“The Tower,” I said softly, clearing my throat. “It’s disruption. Upheaval. The foundations of your life cracking beneath you. Sudden change. Transformation that’s painful, but necessary.”
Ellis snorted and rolled her eyes, as if snapping herself out of a trance. The questioning look on her face shifted into something else. Acceptance.
“Doom. Got it,” she said with a bitter laugh, shaking her head.
“It’s not doom,” I replied quickly. “It’s reality, really. It’s... life breaking apart so it can be rebuilt. Sometimes things have to go to shit before they can make sense again, you know?”
“Is that your professional opinion?” she asked, her tone sharp enough to make my spine straighten as I worked to conceal my annoyance.
“You can’t sell this to me as a positive thing,” she added, her expression unreadable but all-knowing.
“From my experience, people don’t come out of collapse better. They come out broken and scarred.”
I frowned at her words, my eyes searching her face for a beat.
“Scars don’t mean broken,” I murmured slowly, beginning to shuffle the cards again. “They mean healed.”
My words earned me a look—something sharp and steely—but it wasn’t anger. It was something else. Like I’d touched a nerve, something deep.
Another card slipped from the deck.
The Star.
I smirked to myself, feeling a flicker of smugness as the card backed up my last words. I looked to Ellis, who stared at it, unblinking, before—begrudgingly—shifting her gaze to me.
“The Star is hope,” I said, trying to hide my satisfaction. “It’s what comes after all the destruction, the pain, the upheaval. The stillness after the storm. The light in the dark.”
Ellis blinked and pursed her lips.
“After,” she repeated, her voice cold.