Chapter 15 #2
“What’s going on in that ghostly head of yours?” Khalee’s voice is soft but laced with curiosity. The flickering light from her laptop screen casts a warm glow on her face, highlighting the faintest furrow in her brows. She’s beautiful, and it pisses me off that I notice.
I drag my gaze away from her and glance around the room.
The scent of Chinese food lingers in the air, mixing with the faint traces of incense from earlier.
We’re sitting cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by a mess of witchy books and open web pages filled with obituaries.
It should be staggering, but with her, it’s not.
“Just… trying to make sense of it all,” I finally admit, my voice barely above a whisper.
She chews thoughtfully, nodding. “We’ve only just started,” she says, biting into a piece of dumpling. “We’ll find something eventually.”
I sigh, rubbing a hand over my face. “I doubt it. Without my last name, it’s going to be complicated. Several Kazemiros have died in recent months, and none of them seem to be me.”
“Maybe you didn’t die in the last few months,” she suggests, her voice steady, full of quiet determination. “We’ll have to keep looking further back.”
“I wish I could remember,” I mutter, frustration thick in my chest.
“I know.” Her voice is calm, grounding, like she’s trying to ease the storm inside me. “But you already know more than you did before. You mentioned that you recall certain aspects of your academic life… Any details about college? Anything specific?”
I shake my head. “It’s all fragments. Classes. Teachers. But the faces, they’re just… blurred.”
She watches me carefully, eyes sharp and assessing. “What about the lessons themselves? Any subject, any topic that stuck with you?”
I hesitate, digging through the fog in my brain. “Something to do with music,” I murmur. “I had a guitar, but I don’t know if it was a hobby or something serious.”
“You had,” she echoes, like she knows more than she’s letting on. “We could look for music courses, student records, something.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to force a memory, just one, something that makes sense. But it’s like chasing shadows.
She types quickly, jotting down my fragmented thoughts. Then, after a brief pause, she asks, “What about people? Colleagues? Or… girlfriends?” Her voice is a little softer, a little uncertain, and it makes me smirk.
I close my eyes again, searching. “Nothing concrete. I remember voices, ideas, but nothing solid. I remember girls like you… witches. And I think I used to laugh about it.”
She stiffens slightly, just a flicker of something across her face before she masks it with amusement. “Karma’s a bitch, huh?”
“Seems like it.” I chuckle, though there’s an edge of embarrassment in it. It’s strange, admitting this to her.
Strange, but oddly freeing.
“It’s interesting that you remember them,” she muses, her voice thoughtful now. “Maybe that means you were more involved in that world than you realize. Or maybe…” She hesitates. “Maybe one of those girls meant something to you.”
That thought lingers between us. I don’t know why it unsettles me. Could I have been drawn to someone like that before?
It doesn’t seem like me, or at least, not the version of me I’ve been piecing together.
Before I can dwell on it, she suddenly shifts, her energy sparking. “Let’s try something,” she says, hopping off the bed and heading toward her desk.
I watch as she pulls out a small wooden box, the surface carved with symbols that stir something faint in me, familiar, but just out of reach. She places it gently on the bed between us, opening it with practiced ease.
Inside, nestled in soft velvet, is a set of tarot cards, their edges worn from use. Next to them, incense sticks, a candle, a few crystals, all carefully arranged like they mean something. She moves with precision, placing the items between us, her fingers deliberate and sure.
“What are you doing?” I ask, though I already know. My chest tightens as I watch her, sensing that whatever happens next, there’s no going back.
“Reading your cards,” she replies, meeting my gaze with quiet certainty. “Maybe they’ll help us figure out more about who you were… or who you are now.”
I smirk, shaking my head. “Karma really is a bitch, huh?”
She grins, lighting the incense. The scent of sage and lavender fills the room, curling around us like a whispered secret.
The candle follows, its soft glow casting golden light over her face, making her look almost ethereal.
She picks up a small, ornate knife and runs it along the edges of the cards, a ritualistic, precise motion.
A motion stirs something in me, faint and unreachable, like an old melody I almost remember.
“Ready?” she asks, her voice low, steady.
I nod, a strange mix of anticipation and unease settling in my chest.
She starts shuffling, movements smooth and practiced. “Focus on a question,” she says, closing her eyes. “Something you need clarity on.”
I do the same, letting my thoughts drift.
Who am I?
The soft sound of the cards sliding against each other fills the air. When she stops, she holds the deck out to me. “Tell me how to cut it.”
I hesitate, then say, “To the right.”
She nods and follows my instructions, careful and methodical. As she restacks the deck, I realize I’m holding my breath. For someone who never believed in this, I’m more nervous than I should be.
Her fingers hover over the deck. “Let’s see what they have to say,” she murmurs, voice barely above a whisper.
The air shifts, heavy with something unspoken. Like the universe itself is waiting.
Then, with a steady hand, she draws the first card.
The card is The Fool. The image is of a curious orange tabby cat, perched at the edge of a windowsill, staring out at the open world as if ready to leap.
A butterfly flutters just beyond its reach, and the playful dog from traditional decks is replaced with a kitten batting at the butterfly’s shadow.
“Is that me?” I ask. “Am I a fool? Seriously?”
She laughs, catching the innocence in my question, her beautiful brown eyes flicking up to meet mine.
“The Fool represents new beginnings, taking a leap of faith,” she explains.
“It’s a card of potential, but also of the unknown.
It’s like starting a journey without knowing where it’ll lead. Taking risks.”
“Oh,” I murmur, realizing I might have jumped to conclusions too quickly. The meaning resonates with my current situation, and I nod in agreement. “I guess that’s where I am now.”
She flips the next card: The Hanged Man. This time, it’s a sleek black cat dangling upside down from a low branch, its tail swaying lazily as if it’s perfectly content in its unusual position.
“This one is about perspective, sacrifice, and letting go,” she says softly. “It’s a card of pause and reflection. It inspires us to see things differently, but it can also reflect being stuck in a situation where you need to change your outlook to move forward.”
I can feel the tension in my chest, a reminder of the fragments of memories that refuse to fall into place. “Sounds about right,” I mutter, my voice tight.
Finally, she draws the last card: The Moon.
The image reveals a silver cat standing tall in a field bathed in the glow of the full moon that dominates the sky.
Behind it rise two ancient towers, unmoving like silent guardians, while a winding path stretches into the dark horizon.
Beside the cat, a river meanders under the silvery light, its surface rippling with distorted reflections of the moon.
The cat’s gaze, hypnotic and unsettling, seems to hold ancient secrets, and the entire scene shimmers with the tension between illusion and truth.
I notice the slight change in her expression as she stares at the card, her usually calm demeanor faltering slightly. There’s a flicker of something, hesitation, maybe even concern, before she quickly masks it with a neutral look.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, my voice filled with a tinge of worry.
She shakes her head, offering me a small smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Nothing, it’s just… The Moon is a powerful card. It can evoke a range of emotions, including hidden fears and uncertainties, as well as secrets. It’s a reminder that not everything is as it seems.”
I narrow my eyes, sensing that there’s more she’s not telling me. “Are you sure that’s all?”
“The Moon represents illusions, secrets, and the subconscious,” she adds.
“It’s about the things that are hidden, the fears and uncertainties that lie in the dark.
It can reflect the inner turmoil that comes from not being able to see things clearly, as if you’re wandering through a fog or a dream. ”
“I’m not dreaming. I’m dead.”
“You’re clearly stuck in that form, so…”
I stare at the card, the imagery pulling at something deep within me.
The swirling memories, the unanswered questions, the pieces of my past that feel just out of reach, all of it seems to be captured in that single image.
“So, I’m on a journey, stuck in limbo, with no clear idea of what’s real or what’s hidden from me,” I say, trying to make sense of it all.
“Pretty much, yes.”
She closes the reading, gathers the cards to put them away, but when she’s about to place them back in the wooden box, one card slips from her fingers and lands face-up on the bed between us.
She pauses, her breath catching in her throat as she looks at the card.
I watch as her eyes widen, surprise, maybe even fear, crossing her face. She stares at the card in silence for a couple of minutes, and I can see her trying to compose herself, but the sudden tension in the room is impossible to miss.
I follow her gaze and recognize the card immediately.
It’s The Lovers.