Chapter 3 #2
While her cats dined, Goldie brewed herself a mug of something sharp and floral. Then, she sighed and moved across the room, sinking into a velvet-lined window seat. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. The screen lit up and a small cascade of notifications spilled across it.
Two texts were inviting her to different pre-Beltane events: one a ritual drum circle by the river, the other a rooftop “manifestation rave” that promised cocktails and at least one shirtless fire dancer. Goldie thumbed them aside.
The next message was from her sister, wishing her a happy early Beltane and demanding to know where she’d found the sequin cauldron she’d posted on Instagram.
The following was from her mother: a selfie with her latest boyfriend, both grinning in front of a vaguely haunted B just something Goldie had cobbled together for herself in the quiet hours, when the kettle was cooling and the cats were sprawled on the floor like sentient throw rugs.
The first card, the Root, was the hidden thing. Sometimes it named her mood before she could, and sometimes it gave her nothing but static and shadows, which usually meant that nothing, or perhaps something, was on the horizon.
The second card, the Bloom, was what reached for the light, longing to unfurl. It might hint at a conversation that was on the verge of happening, a spell that was forming in the back of her mind, or just the general vibe of Bellwether trying to catch her attention.
Together, they helped her orient herself in the swirl of magic and mess that was daily life for Goldie Flynn. It worked better than journaling for settling her mind and getting her chakras aligned for the following day.
She shuffled slowly, eyes half-lidded, letting her fingers move by feel alone. The cards were worn at the edges, softened from years of use, and the deck knew her well enough not to fuss.
She drew the Root and laid it gently to her left.
The Moon, reversed.
Goldie tilted her head, regarding the familiar image: silver beams bent over a dark lake, twin towers looming on either side like sentinels.
In reverse, the whole image felt tilted, uneasy.
The illustration shimmered in the light, like secrets buried just under the surface were stirring, trying to claw their way to the surface.
Goldie inhaled, then pulled the Bloom card.
The Tower.
Lightning split the sky in violent gold, striking the crown from a stone tower as figures tumbled from its heights. A card of change, catastrophe, and clarity, if the viewer was brave enough to stand in the rubble and look around.
Goldie stared at the spread, brows raised. Her hand drifted to push a copper curl from her face.
“Okay,” she muttered. “Rude.”
From deep inside the walls, the radiator let out a low, hissing sigh, as if the building were clearing its throat in warning.