Chapter Two #2
Lyssa glanced around at the darkness beyond the ring of firelight. Was it her imagination or did the shadow of the fir trees seem closer and more looming than before? She looked back to Madame. “My father—?”
“You will not be with us much longer.” Madame did not wait but overturned the next card. What it revealed was even more alarming.
“The Hanged Man,” Abrams said. The card was of the figure of a man hanging upside down from a tree branch. His hands appeared tied behind his back.
Madame Linka nodded. “You are vulnerable, Viveka,” she said, her raspy voice menacing in the silence. “Whatever will be, you must accept. Your destiny is at hand and you must find strength within to meet it.”
Lyssa did not like this fortune…especially when deep in her bones she sensed an element of truth, of warning.
Madame turned over the third card of the Present.
A naked woman sat astride a giant creature that was half lion, half man.
The woman’s head was tilted back as if in joy, one hand raised toward a shining star.
The card made Lyssa uncomfortable, yet there was power in the strength of the girl’s legs hugging the creature.
The card upset Madame Linka.
She started muttering to herself in Romany and pushed the cards on the tray before her, attempting to create a new alignment. Duci and Abrams understood what she was saying. They exchanged glances and Duci touched the cross hanging from the leather tie at her throat.
“What is it?” Lyssa asked. “What do you see? Why are you upset?”
Madame raised dark, concerned eyes to her. “The cards do not speak sense,” she said, her voice full of foreboding.
Lyssa reached toward the card of the woman. “What is the meaning of this card?”
With a sharp gesture, Madame pushed Lyssa’s hand away. Then, reverently, she placed the card in a row, flanked by Death and the Hanged Man. She held her palms over the cards as if they radiated some hidden power only she could divine.
An owl hooted in the night. A sudden wind picked up energy and swept through the small camp, giving the fire’s flames new life. There was the snap and cracking sound of green wood being burned.
Lyssa leaned toward Madame. “What does it mean?”
“It is Lust,” Madame answered.
The way the woman in the card sat on the manlion’s back took on a new significance. Lyssa’s mouth went dry.
Madame tapped Death. “Change is now. Here. Soon. What was will be no more.” Her pointed finger moved to the Hanged Man. “You are to meet your destiny. You must have courage, Viveka.”
“And Lust?” What was its meaning? Lyssa had to know.
“You must use your powers,” Madame said. “You must take hold of the moment and find strength. Joyously accept what is to come.”
Lyssa tightened her grasp on the card in her hand—her future. “What is to come?”
“Show me,” Madame said with a grave sincerity as if she accepted all possibilities.
She held out her hand but Lyssa did not want to surrender the card to her. Instead, she looked first. The picture was that of a galloping horse, its eyes wide. A runaway.
On its back rode a knight holding a sword high over his head as if ready to attack.
“What is it?” Madame demanded, her eyes angry.
Lyssa turned the card face around to show the others.
“The Knight of Swords,” Madame whispered and then repeated the words as if she did not quite believe what she said. “This does not bode good. He is a dangerous man, one who is intelligent and yet clever and subtle. You will not know his true intentions until he reveals them to you.”
“You are saying I will meet this man?” Lyssa questioned.
“Yes. The sword in his hand will enable him to cut to the heart of a thing and sometimes, Viveka, you will not be comfortable with what he reveals. Beware the darkest qualities of this card. This man can be ruthless. He is an angry man who, for his own reasons, searches for truth. Be careful…for he is a man who sees everything.”
“How do I protect myself, Madame?”
The seer’s gaze met hers. “You can’t.”
“Then what am I to do?”
“Accept.” Madame’s features softened in understanding. She lifted the card of the woman riding the man creature. “Lust will give you strength. You face danger. Do not shy away. Use the Knight, Viveka. Use your woman-power to make him your protector. But treat him with caution.”
For a moment, Lyssa couldn’t speak. There was a tightness in her chest, a sense of looming misfortune…and after she’d prided herself on everything going so smoothly. “Will I see Amleth Hall?”
“The cards do not say.”
Smoke rose from the green wood in the fire. The wind blew it in Lyssa’s direction. “I almost wish I had never asked for a reading,” she confessed.
Madame leaned forward and lightly touched Lyssa’s cheek. “You can’t escape your fate, Viveka. Trust the Knight, but beware his sword.”
Lyssa nodded, rubbing her thumb along the gilt edge of the card.
It was Abrams who broke the somberness of the moment. “Let us not be too grim, eh?” he said. He rose, offering his wife a hand up as he did so. “The future can wait until the morrow. Tonight, I need my sleep.”
Madame nodded. “You are right, my son, and very wise. Come, Viveka. You will dream tonight and, in the morning, tell me every detail. Then perhaps we shall know more.”
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep,” Lyssa answered.
“Keep the card close,” Duci advised. “Your Knight will protect you.”
She said the words in earnest and yet they sounded strange, because, for a moment, it had been the Knight that had frightened Lyssa. Her uncertainties dissipating, Lyssa laughed at her own gullibility. Neither Reverend Billows nor her father would be pleased.
Madame rose. Duci gathered the cards while her husband put away the folding chair and the reading table. No one seemed to notice that Lyssa still had the Knight of Swords. She stole a look at it and then turned to secretly tuck it into her bodice—
And that is when he appeared.
He stepped out of the darkness into the waning firelight, as if appearing out of nowhere.
For a second, Lyssa thought her eyes deceived her.
No man could be so tall, so broad of shoulders.
Smoke from the fire swirled around his hard-muscled legs.
His dark hair was overlong and he wore a coat the color of cobalt with a scarf wrapped around his neck in a careless fashion that would have done any dandy proud.
His leather breeches had seen better days and molded themselves to his thighs like gloves.
A pistol was stuck in his belt and his eyes beneath the brim of his hat were those of a man who had seen too much.
Here was her Knight come to life.
He spoke. “Miss Harrell?” His voice rumbled from a source deep within. It was the voice of command.
Lyssa lifted her chin, all too aware that her knees were shaking. “What do you want?”
The stranger smiled, the expression one of grim satisfaction. “I’m from your father. He wants you home.”