Chapter 16
VANNA
T he moment I open the box on our kitchen island to inspect the costume provided by the mayor’s wife, I’m instantly hit with a wave of regret. Why did I agree to this job? It’s an immediate no .
“What’s wrong?” Dean must have read my initial reaction from across the room.
I close the box and peer up at him as he approaches. “I can’t wear this.”
He steps beside me and opens the box back up to reveal the tattered rags of a skirt, head scarf, and compact of black powder.
He picks up the note accompanying the costume, which states the makeup is for my eyes, in case I didn’t have black shadow, and that there will be a glowing crystal ball set up at my table, so I don’t need to bring any additional “gypsy” props.
Dean rolls his lips inward and closes the box, looking back at me with raised brows. “What are you going to do?”
“Well, Princess Buttercup isn’t going to fit the gig, so… I suppose I’m just going to put on a black dress and a pointy witch hat and call it done.”
And that is exactly what I do.
Now wearing a long, black lace dress and a pair of black boots, I retrieve my velvet, wide-brimmed, pointed hat from my witch room and meet Dean where I left him in the kitchen.
He’s sitting solemnly at the marble island, watching Ace, who appears to be moments from falling asleep on the couch with Nico, midway through an animated Robin Hood movie.
Trick or treating in town earlier today with Maddie and Mia must have really tuckered him out.
“You don’t have to go to this thing,” Dean says.
“It’s fine. It’s money.”
“ Vanna…”
“Look, maybe something good will come from this,” I try to sound more upbeat about it for him.
“Maybe I’ll get lucky and do a few readings that actually resonate with some people and change a few minds in this town…
Maybe one day , I’ll be able to have a little shop of my own, The Mini Ametrine Cauldron . ”
Dean only looks back at me with a somewhat rueful expression. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned it.” He sighs, but then his jaw tenses.
“What?”
“We both know he’ll show up.”
“He might. We also know he’s not going to hurt me. Do you want me to ask him about the leverage?”
Dean slowly shakes his head. “You’re not a pawn. I will never treat you as such. He can’t say the same. Don’t forget that . Don’t forget anything he’s done to us.”
“I won’t,” I say, grabbing the box and tucking it under my arm. “Do you trust me?”
He nods, and I grab my purse from the back of a kitchen barstool and sling it over my shoulder. After kissing Dean, I tell him, “ I love you . Kiss Ace goodnight for me when you put him to bed.”
W hen I arrive at the colonial-style mansion, I’m escorted to a Gazebo draped in decorative spiderwebs and cut-out bats swinging on fishing line in the soft breeze. There’s a big, purple, glowing crystal ball in the center of the table inside.
“The hostess would like you to remain here. Someone will check in with you periodically to see if you’re in need of refreshments or a break,” the man, dressed as a Frankenstein’s Monster version of a butler, explains.
I already want to leave. Instead, I smile and hold out the box for him to take.
“What’s this?”
“A costume was sent to my home earlier. It… didn’t fit.”
He takes the box from me without comment and walks off.
I slide the bowling ball-shaped crystal closer to the edge of the table to make room for my tarot cards, and remove the little jar from my purse I brought for tips.
After placing it beside the luminescent orb, I toss a few five-dollar bills inside, hoping it might entice others to add to the jar.
Laura taught me the little psychological trick last year at the festival.
Taking my seat at the black lace-covered table, I patiently wait for partygoers to approach for a reading.
T wo hours in, the mask of my fake smile is slipping. Between physical exhaustion from the task of enduring condescending remarks under the guise of lighthearted jokes, and the eagerness to return home, each passing minute feels like twenty should have gone by.
I glance over at my dismal tip jar, which has only accumulated a few more dollars after the few I added myself, and scoff. Dean was right. I should have just stayed home. I miss him and Ace.
I’m about to pull out my cell phone to text Dean when a tall, trim man dressed in a crisp black suit steps into the gazebo with me.
Though he’s wearing a very realistic half skull mask which covers the top portion of his face, I immediately recognize him, and those piercing grey eyes.
That ever-present, intensely alluring aura of his always seems to precede him.
“Legion… What are you doing here?”
He parts his hands in a gesture of peace and steps closer to me. “I was invited by the mayor… A secret guest of honor . When I caught word that you would be here, I decided this pompous bullshit was worth attending, after all.”
“I wondered if you’d be here.”
There’s a smile in Legion’s voice when he gestures to my dress, “Though lovely as always…that’s not much of a costume , Vanna.”
“Some of us are witches all year round.”
“Indeed, and touché!”
“Would you like a reading?”
Legion seems to consider my offer for a moment in silence.
“Afraid of what the cards might reveal about you?” I prod at him, lifting my cards off the table to shuffle them slowly in my lap.
Once again, the returning grin in his voice is evident. “Are you attempting to bully me into a reading, sweet one?”
I lift my shoulder in a slight shrug. “Just an offer.”
Legion grabs the single chair across from me and sits down with a playful eagerness. It would have been endearing…if the man sitting across from me wasn’t Legion …
“Any offer from you , darling, is an offer I find myself hard pressed to refuse!”
I can’t help but roll my eyes at him, though I do so halfheartedly. “Just a general reading,” I say, shuffling the deck a moment longer. After placing the cards down on the table, I split them into three piles.
Upon flipping over the first card, I’m instantly uncomfortable and launch right into the spiel I give everyone who happens to get this particular card. “You know, the Death card doesn’t actually mean Death . I hate it when this card comes up… Most panic when they see it.”
“I’m quite familiar with the Death card and its positive aspects,” Legion replies. “Death can represent a rebirth. New beginnings .”
“That’s right.” I smile, thinking back on our little exchange at the Ametrine Cauldron.
Legion probably knows more about the tarot than I do.
When I flip over the next one, a small wave of relief washes over me.
“The Six of Cups… Not bad. Could represent finding satisfaction. Maybe a meaningful friendship? It can also be a reminder to appreciate the small pleasures in life. Paired with the first, I’d venture to say this indicates good things, thus far anyway. ”
“One can hope.” I can almost detect a small degree of anxiety in his tone. As if he’s uncomfortable having his cards read, only going along with it for me.
“We can stop, you know,” I feel compelled to offer.
Legion leans forward and picks up the third card. Sitting back in his seat, he studies it in silence.
“What is it?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.
“Pull another,” he insists.
When I hesitate, Legion reaches forward once again, this time, he fans out the three piles across the table. I stare at him as he flips a card over. His shoulders seem to sag ever so slightly, and I lower my eyes to the card.
The Seven of Cups…wishes and dreams… The card of new opportunities, and at times, illusion brought about by ego.
I can’t help but wonder if it’s the illusion part he’s dissatisfied with, and why?
He gathers the cards into a pile, slipping the one I wasn’t able to see somewhere into the middle of the deck. After shuffling them a few times, he places them in a neat stack before me.
“ Quid pro quo , my sweet?” He suddenly sounds a bit more upbeat.
I look at him curiously. “You want to read my cards?”
“ Your palm , if I may?”
“You know how to do that?”
He holds his hand out in a smooth, inviting motion. “I won’t bite,” he teases. “And in this poor lighting, I’ll only be able to see so much.”
“All…alright.” I lay my hand in his. “Don’t tell me anything bad.”
He chuckles, adjusting himself in his seat to better lean forward. “I can already see you have the healer’s mark . I’m not surprised.”
“Where is that?” I ask, leaning forward myself. I’ve flipped through books on Palmistry in Laura’s old shop before, compared lines in my hands to diagrams within the pages in the past. Though curious, I never really found the time to actually study it or retain much of what I did read.
He releases my hand, standing to grab his chair, and moves closer to me. Sitting directly beside me now, he takes my hand in his once again and brushes the pad of his index finger lightly across a small spot on my palm, just below my pinky.
“ Here ,” he says softly, “these deep, vertical lines in your Mount of Mercury. The bearer of this mark has the ability to touch the hearts of those around them, finding ways to heal their scars, both emotional and physical… It’s no wonder you took an interest in Reiki…
Why … certain types …find themselves attracted to you. ”
I lift my other hand to glance at the spot he just showed me. “I have those marks on this hand, too. Is that common?”
He shrugs.
“Can I see yours?”
Legion immediately lays his other hand within mine, and I can feel his cold eyes watching me intently. That was easy… I didn’t expect him to give in just like that … Maybe I will find a way to bring up the leverage he’s holding on Axel after all…
I stop biting my lower lip and lean in a little closer. “You have them too, but mine are a little more pronounced.”