Chapter 3
THREE
Card of The Day:
Embrace: Six of Swords | Release: King of Pentacles
Well, crap.
I really hated when my cards called me out. I picked up the first card. It was a new deck that I was doing a review for. Maybe I’d read it wrong.
Sigh.
Nope. That starry and hopeful sky behind the trees and shadowed swords definitely was the six of swords. New beginnings and transitions. Most decks used a woman escaping on a boat for the imagery. Not this deck. As an artist, I appreciated the differences in interpretation for tarot.
But if this deck was talking to me, it wasn’t speaking of escape. Unless I was running out of the forest. And I really didn’t want to think about that right now. Especially since I’d be running to a lawyer’s office and a man with a sphincter so tight he could probably create diamonds out of shit.
At least that was what I’d gotten from our email and text interactions so far.
The shadow side of the King of Pentacles could either represent my reluctance to head back into the corporate world or that I was walking into a shitstorm of a job.
Guess I’d find out.
I should be happy to have semi-positive cards as a little looksee into what was coming my way. It wasn’t like I had a ton going on. I mean, I always had fifteen projects going, but nothing that couldn’t be pushed back for a week to help out a friend.
April, the one person in my life who didn’t have a witchy or divinatory bone in her body. If anyone was the epitome of Queen of Swords energy, it was April. All logic with a side of benevolence for those who were in her very close circle.
As far as I was concerned, it was handy to have all different types of people in my personal toolbox, and they didn’t need to know that I had a significator card for most of them.
It was something I’d used to learn cards back in the dark ages—when I was seventeen—to figure out how to give readings to other people.
That was also how I’d made friends in high school. Every teenage girl wanted answers from the universe, especially about her love life.
I’d become the witchy goth kid in high school to cover up for the fact that I usually had to make do with thrift store clothing.
And it was easier to dye things black or find black items in the donation piles.
Not to mention that it gave me a healthy appreciation for vintage music T-shirts.
Add some cheap jewelry and black lipstick and I didn’t look like a poor kid.
Weird kid was far easier to deal with. With a mother named Rainbow Moon, I didn’t have far to travel down that twisty road.
Add in ten years and I hadn’t really grown out of the black clothes.
Now it was more of an aesthetic thing. That and it made me look damn good due to my dark hair and golden skin.
I was vain enough to enjoy that part of the deal too.
Plus, since I was always working with multiple mediums for my artwork, black was way better when it came to stains and the endless messes I tended to make.
I preferred wine red lips these days though. And the wine to go with it.
I lifted my Drink Up Witches tumbler and took a fortifying sip. I wasn’t really in the mood for the merlot, but I needed to go to the store and that wasn’t happening right now.
This would do.
I pushed my cards to the side of my drawing table and out of my mind. Learning and growth, my ass. It remained to be seen if my intuition was steering me into crashing waves or safety.
I scooped my hair up into a high ponytail then plopped into my drafting chair.
Saturday was my day to work on my weekly web comic.
I still hadn’t shared it with anyone. Hoarding all the watercolor drawings in a drawer wasn’t exactly what I’d had in mind when I started drawing the little fox.
But I wasn’t quite sure how to share her either.
I’d been inspired by a rescue fox account on Facebook, but over the last six months, Sylvia had taken on more and more of my personality.
As was my ritual, I pulled my tiger’s eye and citrine chain off my lamp and slipped it over my head. I needed all the help I could get when it came to my sacral chakra. Well, maybe only half of it. If I got any more of my sexuality side in alignment, I would be crawling up the walls.
Instead, I focused inward and breathed through the short meditation I used to open myself up. I focused on my hips and sinking into the chair. I flattened my feet on the floor and sat up straight, slowly picturing all of my chakras blooming.
As I meditated, I paid special attention to the moon flower I associated with my art, focusing on the silky fragile white flower slowly unfurling and allowing me to share some of its magic.
I cupped my fingers around the crystals wound in silver then slowly opened my eyes and reached for a sheet of my watercolor paper.
I came alive in the evening.
I’d tried like hell to train myself to be a morning person, but it just wasn’t to be. The higher the moon in the sky, the more my creativity sparked.
The longer summer days allowed me some extra daylight, like now with the last rays of the day streaming over my drawing table. I took inspiration from the pale yellow slashes and incorporated them into my drawing.
I sketched Sylvia curled into a little shrimp formation and fluffed out her tail to rest over her nose. As the rest of the room in the comic took shape, I stood to stretch out my muscles.
Ouch.
I reached around to the hand crank that changed the angle of my desk. I needed a little more height when I was standing. The heavy iron base had been a bitch to get into my studio, but I loved its antique design.
The scarred teak tabletop suited my earthy side.
The antique desk had been a rusted heap headed to the landfill when I’d found it.
It had taken a lot of TLC and a healthy bit of bribery for a metal worker friend of mine to get it back to working order.
Even more bribes had been necessary—one of which required me to do readings at a bachelorette party for free—to get it up to the second floor of my apartment building.
My sanctuary.
I lived in a small studio in a converted Victorian just outside Kensington Square’s business district on the outskirts of Syracuse, which was one more reason I’d said yes to April. I could literally walk to work.
As I drew the bit of reflection on the window beside Sylvia’s sleeping form, one of the blobs sort of looked like the sleek, triangular shape of a cat’s face. Before I knew what I was doing, I started enhancing the image and a gray cat came out of my damn fingertips.
I slumped back into my chair with a frown.
The comic was about the random life of Sylvia, the rescued fox, and her owner, Roz. It did not include a cat.
I reached for the eraser, but I couldn’t quite pull the trigger.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I couldn’t stop the grin as I swiped open my phone to read April’s text.
April:
Thanks so much for helping out. Caramel and coconut things are bonus for bribery. Mr. Shaw has a sweet tooth. I know mornings aren’t your forte so you can definitely use that for backup.
I wished I could refute that, but I could not.
I hated and also loved that April knew me so well.
Between the podcast and my bookings for tarot readings, I made a good living.
Not a great one, but a decent one, thanks to the advertising we’d been able to add to the podcast. Because of that, I didn’t feel the need to do the nine-to-five schlock like the majority of my friends.
Yet another reason I’d said yes to April. Temping for her would give a nice boost to my not-so-cushy savings account.
Me:
Funnily enough, I already went with the bribe for Monday morning.
April:
Is that right? You’re still emailing him?
I tapped my finger along my top lip. Should I mention to April that we’d texted fast and furiously last night?
Nah.
I’d been a little too unprofessional in those texts. And maybe that clip from the podcast hadn’t been the smartest move. Not that PMS was any better, texting me out of the blue on a Friday night two steps away from midnight.
I’d just change the subject for safety’s sake.
Kind of. Oh, and BTW, sending me wine is also a good bribe.
April:
Already ordered and should arrive Monday. Did I say thank you?
Yes. Perhaps the thank you should require more than just wine. This guy is a piece of work. Am I going to murder him by Friday?
I was kidding. Mostly. I’d tried to put PMS out of my head.
Yeah, I’d definitely put him in my phone as that.
Preston Michael Shaw, Esquire—seriously?
Could you get any more pretentious? I couldn’t wait to see what kind of repressed suit I’d be working for.
Add in a little too much wine last night while I was editing the podcast I did with my other bestie, Luna…
Yeah, I should lock my phone down when there was alcohol involved. Things never went well.
And I’d probably given him the wrong idea about thirteen times based on my re-read of the text messages today. What had I been thinking?
I shoved up my glasses to perch on my head and went to refill my wine while I waited for April to reply. Now that I’d moved away from my desk, I realized I was hungry but not enough to go for a full meal.
The heat of the late afternoon had left me a little sweaty and always curbed my appetite.
I opened my tiny fridge in my equally tiny galley kitchen. There definitely wasn’t much to go on in there. I really needed to go shopping. Spotting spreadable wine cheese on the top shelf, I smiled—yes, please.
I hip-checked the door closed and reached for the box of Triscuits in the overhead cabinet.
I shook the box with a disappointed sigh and didn’t bother with a plate.
I’d definitely be finishing off the meager rattle of thin salty treats.
I tucked my wine tumbler into the crook of my arm and padded over to the modernized Rococo couch that I’d bought from Kinleigh & August’s Attic.
Kinleigh Scott and her husband, August, were good friends of mine.
Since they’d hooked up, there had been a lot more interesting rehabbed furniture in their combined stores.
So far, I’d added two of their pieces to my little studio, the couch being my favorite.
The back and sides of the sofa were hand painted in a gorgeous lavender, gray, and blue paisley.
The over the top Baroque-style leaves and scroll work were painted a deep dark plum to offset the softer colors.
The velvet upholstery was a few shades lighter.
It was like the universe knew I’d needed it to go with my tapestry rug and array of framed prints that made up the corner of my apartment.
Just beyond the one good window, I had a huge cubed bookcase—one of August’s builds—as a room divider jammed with my collection of tarot and crystals.
The other side held my bed with a special drawer the size of my full bed for storage below the frame, courtesy of Kinleigh’s clever mind.
A double-door closet had been turned into my podcast recording space. My clothes made for great noise buffering.
The other half of the apartment was my art studio, meager kitchen, and child-sized bathroom with standing shower.
It wasn’t much, but it suited me. When I had a hankering for television, I had a cool little projection unit that hooked up to my iPad so I could watch The Golden Girls on the one bare wall in my place.
I glanced at my phone—no reply yet.
While I waited, I pried the top of my cheese spread open and scooped some out. My cheese to Triscuit ratio was definitely out of whack. I shrugged and popped it in my mouth as my phone buzzed.
Instead of April’s name, the distinct letters I’d plugged into my contacts glowed from the screen.
PMS.
I licked off a stray bit of cheese from my thumb and read the preview.
PMS:
I apologize for my behavior yesterday. I should not have contacted you after business hours. Nor should I have spoken to you with such familiarity.
Mercy, this dude had an iron rod shoved up his butt.
I unlocked my phone and folded myself into the corner of my couch.
Who the hell talked like that outside a Regency romance?
I only knew because that was my mom’s favorite genre lately.
I’d filched one of the old, scarred books with Fabio or some lookalike on the front the last time we’d had lunch.
She got them for like a dollar a bag at the library. She wouldn’t miss it. Probably.
Before I could reply, another text came through.
PMS:
I hope we can clean the slate and start again.
My slate’s in good shape. Takes a lot more than that to get my panties in a twist.
And there I went with the inappropriate talk. I couldn’t help myself. Hopefully, he wouldn’t turn out to be a troll when I got to the office on Monday.
Not that it mattered one way or the other. Maybe it would be better if he was a troll. Temporary boss and all that. Who needed eye candy I couldn’t act on?
Either way, I’d definitely have donuts in hand.
I quickly typed off another text.
Guess I’ll just have to do your cards tonight to make sure we’re on the right path.
I wasn’t sure what had possessed me to say that. The little chat bubbles came up and stopped, and then resumed and stopped again. Maybe I’d gone too far.
Maybe? That was basically my life motto.
I scooped out another slab of cheese for my…man, only four crackers left? Ugh. I wiped my hands and retrieved my review deck and went back to my couch. I shuffled as I thought about the ever-repressed Preston Shaw.
Just how would our Monday go?
I had to know.
Six of Wands reversed, Justice, and Eight of Swords reversed with a Hanged Man shadow card.
Hmm. Not exactly surprising that Justice had showed up, considering he was a lawyer. But maybe we were both a little anxious about getting things right in the workplace.
The Hanged Man definitely wasn’t giving me much to go on.
I really hated to wait and see. Being patient topped the list of things I sucked at.
As I scooped up the cards, one fell to the floor.
King of Swords.
My logical and chilly boss-to-be right there in the flesh. The one who’d apparently decided to ghost me.
The cards weren’t giving me much to go on. PMS definitely wasn’t.
Monday would be very interesting indeed.