Julian #2
Finding Madam Lu only takes about fifteen minutes of driving and two of parking, and then I’m walking up the concrete walkway to where the sign that says Psychic Readings, Palm Readings, Tarot Card Readings glows ominously.
The hours of operation are written in chalk on the front window, and she should be open for another two hours, so I open the front door without knocking.
The exterior looks the same as the other houses lining this street—white-trimmed and painted a soft green, bushes and flowers lining the walkway, and a small porch.
But the inside has been converted into a waiting room with hippie décor and various houseplants and incense.
Behind a desk in the corner is a lady in her mid-fifties, her graying hair wrapped into a tight bun with a bandana holding back her bangs. She’s in a floral dress, with a bunch of piercings in her ears and a faded tattoo of a snake on her collarbones.
“Do you have an appointment?” she asks, not bothering to look up from the laptop she’s typing on.
“No, sorry,” I tell her, approaching the desk. “I’m looking for Madam Lu? I have some questions for her if she’s not busy.”
I didn’t think of an appointment, but I guess these kinds of places require them. Worst case, I can make one for tomorrow or next weekend and come back then.
The woman finally looks up, her dark eyes taking me in with a blank expression before settling on the straps of my backpack hanging over my shoulders.
“What’s in the bag?” she questions.
I slip it off and open the zipper, pulling out the Black Book. “I wanted to ask her about this.”
Her eyes widen significantly, and then dart to the front door. Before I can say anything else, she stands, rushing to the front door to flip the open sign to closed, then locking the handle.
“Uh,” I start, and she waves me off.
“Follow me, child.”
I reluctantly follow the woman down a dim, narrow hall—only because I know I could take her in a fight if need be.
At the end of the hall are a few doors, but the only one that is open has a singular low table covered in a brown tablecloth, with a crystal ball and a deck of decorative cards in the center.
All around the walls are shelves with crystals and little dolls situated on top, and a plush red carpet in the center of the floor.
Somewhere unknown to me, another incent is burning.
“Sit,” she instructs, pointing to the pillow opposite her as she takes a seat furthest away from me.
I do as instructed, resting the book in my lap and my bag off to my side.
“So,” she continues. “You have been to Chastain Castle?”
My eyes widen, my hands beginning to tremble around the binding of the Black Book.
“Yes! I’m searching for the psychic who helped that family a few years back. Are you Madam Lu? Did you help them?”
The woman shakes her head, her hands fidgeting with the deck of cards on the table.
“No,” she says quickly. “I mean, I am Madam Lu, but there was a woman in our community who lived here up until a year ago, and she said she helped that family, and that they had the Nigrum Librum.”
“The Black Book,” I murmur.
“Yes. It’s a book of dark magic, a very famous one.” She leans forward, her eyes bright. “Why are you seeking help, child? Why bring that book to me?”
Her gaze falls to the book, and I can feel her desire to touch it, but it’s mingled with fear. As if she believes in the power it holds.
I debate telling her the entire truth, but I’m uncertain if that would be crossing boundaries with Atlas, so I settle on a half-story.
“One of the Chastains is suffering from an illness, and I believe it has something to do with this book. I was hoping you could take a look at it and see if you can see anything.” I let the words hang in the air, let her digest them, and hope they’re enough. That she won’t ask questions.
“An illness,” she repeats. I can see in her eyes that she knows it’s more. Eventually, she sighs. “Alright, I’ll take a look. Is there a specific page?”
“No,” I rush out.
If I show her the page, she might know too much.
Madam Lu holds out her hands, and I carefully place the Black Book into her palms.
“Archangel Michael, protect me now,” she mutters as soon as the book touches her skin, and she rotates it a few times, eyeing the leather binding.
With her right hand, she balances the book, her left resting over the cover lightly. She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath.
Then it’s silent. For several minutes, I stare at her. In fact, I stare at her for so long that I begin to feel as if this is a scam, and I’m tempted to rip the book from her palms and run.
Right as I’m getting up the nerve to do it, she clears her throat. “Are you focusing, Julian?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply.
Wait, when did I say my name? I didn’t say my name, did I? Holy shit, I didn’t say my name!
“She is dying, that I can see,” Madam Lu begins. “She is with child, and it is killing her.”
“Who?” I ask. “Is it Elizabeth?” I think of the name written in the book, and my mind begins to reel.
I’m honestly freaking out over the name thing and the fact that she’s bringing up a woman when there’s a woman’s name written on that page.
“I don’t know the name,” she murmurs. “But her lover is devastated. He… he tries to satisfy it, but it is not happy. It does not want a slaughtered lamb.”
“What?”