Chapter 27 Nyx #2
I roll over and groan into the pillow at my own idiocy.
When I finally have enough courage to face the day and open my eyes again, the fucking tarot deck is dead center in the middle of my desk.
Precisely where I did not put it. It should be at the bottom of my backpack, which is at the bottom of my wardrobe, underneath a pile of clothes and shoes.
“It’s too fucking early for this,” I mutter, rubbing sleep from my eyes.
Nope. Still there.
Alright, you know what—
“Fine, you want to do this? Let’s fucking do it.
” I sit up, swipe the disintegrating, duct-taped box deck off my desk, and dump the heavy, weathered cards into my palm.
The skeletons are in various poses and backgrounds, holding swords or cups, wands or pentacles, that make the hairs on the back of my neck stand.
I try to remember what Chamberlain said about spreads and interpretations, but it all feels superficial looking at the cards in my hands.
I shuffle the cards, letting them fall through my hands, feeling where the cardstock catches and where it glides, splitting the deck over and over again until they’ve been sufficiently scrambled, surprised to find the repetitive motions are almost meditative.
The first card I flip over is Death.
Well then.
The next card is the three of Wands, and the final is eight of Swords.
Okay so… Death: change, transition, transformation—moving forward, and leaving the past behind you.
The black-robed skeleton on this card stands in a field of wilting flowers, surrounded by a halo of red ink.
One hand holds a bouquet of living flowers while the other hand is raised in some bastardized prayer of benediction.
The Three of Wands looks to the future. New opportunities, new paths to take. The skeleton on this card kneels with its palms raised towards a red sun. It’s not praying like in a church. More like… asking for a blessing, for protection, before it ventures into the darkness.
The Eight of Swords features a blindfolded skeleton, pinned into place with eight swords speared through its torso and limbs. Its head is tilted back, trying to see through the fabric covering its sightless eyes. It’s immobilized, helpless against things beyond its control.
Mkay. That’s not ominous at all.
I don’t have the pamphlet that Chamberlain gave me, but I can still imagine her peering over my shoulder, asking “But what does it mean to you?”.
Death means things are changing, moving on.
It’s permission to leave things behind. Paired with the Three of Wands, I get the sense it’s not just encouraging me to look towards the future as things change, it’s telling me there’s no turning back—that if I want to come out unscathed from whatever the unknown brings, I must be willing to not just accept change, but willingly embrace it.
To bend, so I don’t break. Because, as the Eight of Swords implies, I’m not on a path of my own choosing anymore—whatever’s coming is inevitable.
Nope, don’t like that.
I shuffle the deck, shaking my head in complete denial of how eerily relevant that was.
The second spread I pull is Temperance reversed, Three of Wands—hello again, you little shit—and Eight of Cups reversed: disharmony, no turning back, and being confused or stuck.
“Now you’re just fucking with me,” I mutter to the deck, reshuffling the cards, determined not to let some creepy cardstock get to me.
My third spread reveals the Five of Cups, Seven of Wands, and Four of Pentacles reversed: feelings of regret and pity over things not going the way you expected, fighting to prove yourself, and being self-protective to a fault out of fear of things being taken away.
“Well that’s just rude.” I gather the cards up and shove them back in the box.
While I may not believe in all this woo-woo shit, I’m not dumb enough to keep poking it with a proverbial stick.
I don’t bother hiding the deck out of sight since it’s apparently offended by my past attempts to put it out of mind.
After quickly getting dressed, I slip on Ramsey’s sweatshirt and text him that I’m on my way to breakfast. When he joins me at the table I see that flash in his eyes again. It happens a handful of times as we eat, but it’s not until we’re almost finished that I work up the courage to ask.
“Why do your eyes do that?”
He pauses mid-bite, and drops his fork to his plate with a clang. “What?” His voice is measured, but his left hand still twitches on the table, like he wants to cover his ruined eye.
“It’s like you’re looking at me but not seeing me.” He swallows, and his eyes flash again. “There—just like that. What is it?”
“I’m… talking. Mostly arguing. With the dragon. In my head.”
“So, when you’re talking like this, it’s just you. And when your voice gets all growly that’s the dragon, but when your eyes to that thing, that’s you talking to the dragon in your head? Jesus, that sounds complicated.”
He scoffs. “You have no idea.”
“Am I ever actually going to see it—him?”
“Yes,” his dragon answers, eyes flashing again.
“Really?” I ask, the rush of excitement making me giddy. “Wait—let human Ramsey answer that. Please.”
He coughs, but I catch the hint of a smile. “You want to meet the fire-breathing dickhead?”
“I think you underestimate how many people thirst over dragons these days.”
“Wait, what?”
“Have you not been on social media lately? Or like, at all? People. Want. Dragons. People who ride dragons fucking other people who ride dragons. Dragons fucking dragons. People fucking dr—”
“Fucking hell,” he runs his hand across his mouth.
“Is that a yes?”
“He could eat you. When he’s in the drivers seat, I don’t have much of a say.” His eyes flash, and I grin.
“He just argued with you, didn’t he?”
“This isn’t fair. I’m being ganged up on.”
“Dragon-Ramsey, do you solemnly swear not to eat me?”
His eyes flash, and then his pupils start to waver into slits. “Cross my heart.” I squeal loud enough to startle whoever’s in the kitchen, if the crash of metal pans from the back is any indication.
“Can we do it now?”
“I thought you wanted me to show you some dirty fighting tricks?”
“Don’t take this from me.”
He rolls his eyes, finishes his drink, and gathers his tray. “Fine, let’s go,” he mutters. “If he barbecues you, you’re not allowed to—”
“Yeah, yeah, no haunting, whatever,” I flap my hand. “Where do we go?”
He opens the door of the Great Hall and yanks the hood of his sweatshirt over my head, covering my eyes. “There’s a field out by the Training Center I usually go to. Not as many trees to burn down if he’s pissy. Which is often.”
“You’re not talking me out of this,” I deadpan, and he sighs.
Some of the paths through campus are still covered in snow and he clears them easily with his magic.
The whole time, I badger him about his powers, because even though I went through an elemental rotation for fire a couple months ago, I spent most of my time trying not to get my ass burnt to a crisp.
Thanks to his magical snow blowing, it’s not long before we arrive at the field.
“Now what?” I ask eagerly.
He looks at me and sighs. “You really want—”
“Oh my God. For the hundredth time, yes I really want to see the dragon. Pretty please.”
“Alright.” He reaches behind his head and pulls off his shirt with one arm, and I’m so caught off guard at the realization he’s been hiding that under his shirt the whole time I don’t realize he’s unbuttoning his pants until I see the barest hint of pubic hair.
I turn around to give him at least the illusion of privacy. “If you lured me out here just to get naked, we’re going to have a problem.”
He laughs. “My clothes don’t shift when I do. If you don’t want me to be naked after, I have to get naked now.”
“Alright just… tell me when. Or something.”
Don’t look. Do not look. You are not going to peek on your friend while he’s naked.
Emphasis on friend. I recognize the sound of his wings snapping open like Samhain.
I hear the groans of discomfort and pain, and grimace because I forgot about that part.
It can’t be longer than a couple minutes until the noises coming from behind me change.
Deeper. Bigger. Much, much bigger. Giant footsteps crush the snow beneath our feet and my back is engulfed with heat.
“Is that the sign? Are you done?” A rumbling comes from behind me, and gasp in shock and awe as my brain glitches, because seeing really is believing.
And what I’m seeing shouldn’t be possible.The black dragon’s head is as tall as I am, making his green eyes level with mine.
Massive horns of various lengths and thickness flare out of his skull like an ornate crest. A spiked, webbed frill runs along the back of his neck, and the wings on his back are fucking enormous.
His four legs are twice the size of me, and when he shifts I notice a spiked tail that’s long enough to curl around his entire body.
He tilts his head to peer at me, and I burst into hysterical giggles.
“This cannot be real. I’m hallucinating.”
The dragon huffs, and a rumble emanates from his chest that reminds me of a jet engine. Is he—
“Are you laughing at me?” I ask incredulously. The beast only blinks in response, revealing a third eyelid before shaking his head lightly and yawning to show me teeth longer than my arm.
“Yes, yes, very impressive.” I grin. He snaps his jaw, startling me as I jump back.
“Oh he’s got jokes, huh?” and that roaring engine sound comes from his throat again as he edges closer, sniffing me and chuffing.
“I promise you, I’m not going to taste good.
Too stringy. You’d be better off with a nice fat…
deer or something.” I gesture vaguely towards the woods.
He ignores me and continues to inhale deeply, until finally pulling his snout back and running his tongue across his lips.