Chapter 7 #2
“Belief is a tool, Malek. You think a thing, and then it exists. Pop. Bam. It’s how most magic works, including your own. Which is why I believe in your music! If I listen to it, even the older stuff, you will form a band again. I’m sure of it, so I want to hear more of it.”
“Maybe.” Malek laughed, then added, “Maybes are not the best for wishes.”
“But there is sometimes a hidden third answer,” Twigs added. “All you Judeo-Christian worshippers and your dualistic thinking. Porque no los dos? And teritum non data. Come on now!”
“You’re going to have to speak one language, girl.”
“Pfft. Boring. But remember that our words shape our world. If you think you’re trapped, my love, you are.” Twigs gently cupped Malek’s face, so much like a lover, but there was not a single spark between them. She smiled, and eventually, he broke the gaze and the gesture.
“I wish I knew you a long time ago,” Malek said.
She would have been in the front row at every show with All Trades, and with her magic, it would have made them safer.
Right? Probably not, but Malek liked keeping that story alive.
If belief was a tool, he wanted to reinvent his past, not just his future, while he was at it.
“So, speaking of new music…” Malek tried to be playful as he put an arm around Twigs. His long arms and legs only made him seem more awkward. “Are you gonna pay me for that mix?”
“Hah. I suppose all is fair. But I have no cash on me.”
“Twigs. You work in a—”
“I work in a fine establishment that usually uses plastic. But shush. I have something better than cash.” She pulled out a thick deck of cards that seemed to have tarot-inspired designs.
It was only when she started to shuffle and flip them over on the bar that a pang of recognition flowed through Malek.
Nat’s cards. Oh, wow. It had been a long, long time.
Nathanael Wyatt, the infamous firestarter, had toured with All Trades for a couple weeks one summer, and brought these cards that he’d made himself.
The group would huddle in a circle, playing a game with the cards similar to solitaire.
He’d hand-drawn and painted most of them, making each deck he created utterly unique.
“Oh my God, wow,” Malek said, laughing. “Where did you get these?”
“Someone made them. Nat Wyatt. He’s known for it. Famous firestarter, instrumental in the underground network helping supernaturals? Have you heard of him?”
“Come on, Twigs. You know I know him.”
“Then even better to get a reading with them!”
“I have no future that’s not tied to my patron,” Malek said. “But I’d still love a look through the art.”
Twigs huffed, but she did not press Malek.
She shuffled in a dramatic way, encouraging sections of the cards to bounce out.
As they did, she explained some of the new editions to the deck, like the one dedicated to Chaz Solomon, former vampire turned underground researcher and PI.
In the cards, he’d become The Hanged Man from the Major Arcana, who was hung upside down by his feet like a bat in a cave.
A woman with dark hair and bright red lips came up as The Empress, but instead of being surrounded by wheat like in the Rider-Waite deck, she was surrounded by scrolls of paper.
Her face appeared again on The World, the final card in the traditional Major Arcana.
The scrolls of paper had now become children, each one an elemental in the corner of the card.
“This is Imogen,” Twigs said, and the name dawned some tenuous form of recognition in Malek’s head.
Imogen—the social worker dedicated to the forgotten kids who changed into a supernatural being before their eighteenth birthday and were rejected by their family.
“She comes by a lot. You know, looking for those who end up here but who we can’t employ. ”
“Oh.”
“Yes. But, you know, she’s good. Human, but good. Deserves a card. Like Sully, too,” Twigs added. She flicked down to The Lovers card. The couple at the centre was held together by the image of an angel—now painted to look like Sully.
“What do you think?” Twigs asked once she had combed through the entire Major Arcana.
Malek didn’t know half of them. More than half.
But he’d been enchanted the entire time.
“Nat gave me these a long time ago as a favour, but since your band is on here, I figured it was the perfect payment for your mix CD.”
“Um. The cards are great, and I’m glad they’re still being made, but…
” Malek lost all previous thoughts when the next card was placed down and he saw his own face.
Malek was drawn in djinn form with blue skin that faded into the background, bleeding away like watercolours.
He stood in front of his mic, his guitar in one hand and a crown on his head.
Malek flipped the card over. He didn’t have to look further to know that cards for Tariq, Abe, and Idris would soon follow as the standard jacks.
The entire deck was like a memory palace of his own demise.
“Thanks for showing me, but I can’t take these.”
“Why not? It’s nice to be remembered.”
“Except that it’s not me anymore. I’m not in a band pretending to be an ex-djinn. I am a djinn again, and I work to right the scales of justice. Or something.”
“Or something.” She rolled her eyes and shuffled the deck again for several long seconds. No cards bounced out. Each one flew between her hands like a pro. “So you’re telling me you don’t want a tarot reading, then?”
“Thanks, but no thanks. You can keep my CD, but keep those, too.”
With another huff, Twigs folded away the cards and knocked back the rest of her drink. “Nonsense. You will get paid, but give me three minutes. I think I know what will interest you more.”
When she winked, Malek relaxed into his spot at the bar.
Twigs’s brand of magic focused on the element earth, and the one thing she was known for was her small window box full of mysterious plants.
One of the songs he’d put on her CD was something from Little Shop of Horrors, not just because it had an off-kilter harmony, but because the gigantic talking plants always reminded Malek of Twigs.
She and her plants—especially the one used to make Breeze, Malek’s drug of choice—were legendary among supernaturals.
And if Breeze was what she was giving Malek in exchange for the CD, then it was completely worth it.
While Twigs disappeared upstairs, Malek turned to the bartender and ordered another beer.
It would take him a lot more than two drinks to get drunk because of his size and different chemical composition, so he wasn’t worried about driving.
He figured he should get Caspar to drive soon anyway, since getting used to the Toronto streets was difficult enough for a native, not to mention someone who hadn’t driven anything in close to a decade.
Toronto had been cleaned up tremendously in the past four years, but at night, it still became a confusing place where too many one-ways crowded downtown areas and werewolves crossed streets without a second glance.
Malek glanced at the time, noticed it would be well past sundown by the time they got out of here, and started to pull up the map so he could plan a route when someone bumped into him.
“Sorry!”
Malek’s phone flew from his hands. It clattered on the ground and narrowly avoided snapping in two under the foot of the stranger.
Malek jumped down off his stool and stood in front of a scrawny kid with long brown hair to his shoulders.
He was tall, with long fingers that came up over his face as he cried out in surprise.
“Oh, shoot. I’m so sorry—” The kid turned to help Malek, but only ended up knocking over his beer.
“Fuck,” Malek cried out. He grabbed the glass before it shattered and set it, now empty, on the counter.
“Sorry!” The kid reached out to grab some napkins and stop the flow of alcohol, accidentally pushing it directly onto Malek instead. “Oh. Shit, shit.”
The kid grabbed more napkins and started to blot Malek’s shirt. His smile was tight as he ran his hands over Malek’s jacket and sides. “I’m so sorry. I’m just so stupid, stupid.”
“Hey, it’s fine.” Malek tried not to lose his cool. “Accidents happen, man. In fact, if you had broken my phone, I could have had an excuse to not call my boss.”
The kid furrowed his brows. He took away the napkins from Malek’s side and tilted his head. “So should I step on it now?”
“No, no, but I’m going to use you ruining my jacket as an excuse.”
The kid’s brows fell. “I’m sorry, I—”
“Hey,” Malek held his hands up. “Don’t worry about it. There are so many other things to worry about in this world. Don’t let this be one of them.”
The kid nodded, but still looked sullen.
He was dressed in jeans and a hoodie, which his hands were now buried inside.
Malek cleaned himself off with another handful of napkins, wiped down the bar counter, and picked up his phone.
Not even a scratch on it. He told the kid so, expecting him to leave after that, but he stayed around.
“Um, I can try and buy you another beer to replace the one I spilled, if you want?”
“No, no. Thank you for the offer, but—”
“William!” Twigs sauntered down the stairs, her marble-like eyes wide and angry. “William! What have I said about coming in here?”
The kid, who turned out to be William, turned to Twigs with a shocked expression—then smiled.
A complete, shit-eating grin. All of his nervousness disappeared and was replaced by bold confidence.
He even stood up straighter, making him almost six feet tall.
He gave Malek another sympathetic look before he bolted out the front door.
Malek barely had time to blink before Twigs was gone out the front as well, yelling and swearing at him.