CHAPTER FOUR #2
Jake nudges me, nodding to a display of books to the right of the door.
Dr Burgess Selby’s newest release of paranormal tales sits in stacks on a table draped with black cloth.
A few surprisingly realistic human skulls perch on the books.
Arms crossed, Selby scowls from a framed photo in the center.
I lean closer to Jake. “Would that be compoface?”
Jake nods and whispers, “Paranormal London author haunted by frighteningly low book sales.”
“London author disappointed to discover new readers to be as elusive as the ghosts on his tour,” I whisper back.
Jake chuckles. “You’re a fast learner.”
The tour’s pièce de résistance is a one-card-pull tarot reading.
Jake and I are invited to a private room first. It’s lit by two tabletop candelabras with real flame rather than batteries.
I expect a campy older woman with craggy features and a mess of gray hair held in a bun by carved bone pins.
When my eyes adjust to the dim light, I see a young woman sitting behind the table instead.
She can’t be more than twenty, but there’s something about her that feels ancient.
She greets us with, “Do ye invite the wisdom of the cosmos tae flow through these cards?”
“Of course.” Jake sits on one of the small stools in front of the table. “Nothing like a bit of dabbling in the occult during this holy season.”
“Winter’s been weaving magic long before the church declared December holy, lad.” She quirks a brow, but doesn’t smile. “Now hold your question in your mind. And when it’s clear, you may draw.”
Jake doesn’t hesitate at all. He flips the card on the top of the shuffled deck. Then he straightens to sit tall on the stool with knees braced wide, arms crossed over his chest. “All right, cosmos. What do you have for me?”
“The Ace of Cups,” the woman says. “This is a powerful card. You have a thirsty soul, and life has just handed you a fresh, empty cup—”
“Sounds like an invitation to hit up the pub after this.” Jake frowns, but his tone is light.
“You’ve been cracking wise all night, haven’t you?” The reader pauses. “Nothing paranormal here. Simply an invitation to fill your cup, and let it overflow with something real.” Then she cuts her eyes over to me. “Come. Draw.” She shuffles the cards and sets the stack back on the table.
A knot of tension pulls tight under my breastbone as I sit on the stool next to Jake. The card I draw depicts a nude man and woman, and what looks like an angel above them.
“The Lovers,” the reader says. “A card about choice, about union. There’s something real in front of you, but you must choose to open and meet it. With your whole, imperfect self—”
“You put that card on top, didn’t you? Some sleight-of-hand trick?”
“No. The cards speak for themselves. I’m simply the interpreter.” She stays in character so well that I almost believe she’s legitimate.
“Let me draw again, then.” My hammering pulse makes my ears feel full of cotton.
“You won’t find further clarity by shopping the deck for answers, lass.” She takes the Lovers card and slips it into the deck. Then she hands the cards to me. “Care to shuffle?”
After I shuffle, I pull the top card. The Lovers. Again.
Expecting to find an entire deck of the same, I flip the next few cards. The Empress. Two of Cups. Ace of Cups—the same card Jake pulled. I don’t know what they mean, but my mouth goes dry. Jake sits motionless and silent beside me.
“We don’t have time to talk about each of these,” the reader says, “but if you’d like to take my business card—”
There it is. The upsell. It breaks whatever spell the evening cast on me. “No thanks. I don’t believe in any of this.” I stand up and head to the door.
Jake gets to his feet and falls in at my side. He doesn’t touch me, but I feel the warmth of his hand hovering at my back.
“There’s nothing to believe or not believe.” The reader stands as we leave. “These cards simply create a shared language. Tae put your intellectual mind in conversation with your emotional soul. If this scares ye, it’s not the cards making ye feel that way.”
When Jake reaches around me to open the door, his fingertips brush my back just above the waistband of my jeans. Through the heavy fabric of my coat, it’s a barely there touch. But I feel it. “I’m not scared,” I say, though I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince.
* * *
Before we part ways for the night, we stop at the western end of the piazza in front of the enormous Christmas tree. The lights cast a reflection of fuchsia, green, and gold all around us, like an aurora borealis spilled out of the sky and splashed down onto the cobblestones.
“If it makes you feel better, the reader is in on it with Selby,” Jake says. “She tailed our group the whole time, listening in.”
I yawn so hard I feel it in my temples. “Not surprised. It’s all theater.”
Snow begins to fall. Big, plush flakes, swirling all around us. I feel like I’m inside a snow globe. I stuff my hands into my coat pockets and raise my shoulders around my neck. Silence looms for a few awkward seconds.
“I guess this is good night,” I say at the same time Jake says, “What else do you have planned while you’re here?”
We laugh and glance at the ground like we’re a couple of shy teenagers.
“No idea. I think Maddie’s plan was to live like locals for the month.”
Jake’s brows climb so high they disappear under the swoop of hair across his forehead. “You’re here the rest of the month?”
“Well, most of it. I fly home a few days before New Year’s.”
“Lucky you, being here for Christmas.” Jake tips his face up to the towering tree, then back to me. “London is magic during the festive season.”
My short laugh sends out a visible puff into the air. “I guess.”
His expression shifts to something impossible to read. “You guess?”
I’ve always tried to mask my way through the festive season, because when people learn you’re not a fan of Christmas, they treat you like a project or a pariah. I wonder which one Jake will pick. “I mean, it’s all a bit clichéd, isn’t it?”
“I’d argue that’s rather the point. Clichés happen because they’re things that are loved by loads of people. Traditions are clichés with heart.”
“Wow, put that one on a postcard.” I laugh and crinkle my nose, shifting from foot to foot before taking a step backwards. “Goodnight, Jake. Tonight was fun.”
“Oh my god. Wait.” Jake studies my face. I’m a half-done puzzle he intends to finish. “You don’t like Christmas.”
I pinch my lips closed and look up at the twinkling tree. Objectively, it’s stunning. But, to me, its beauty is overshadowed by the amount of resources it took to bring it here and keep it lit.
Jake blinks at me like I just crash-landed here from another planet. “I love Christmas.”
I can’t help but laugh. He’s adorable. “I’m happy for you. Truly. I promise my Scroogery isn’t contagious.”
“Fascinating. I have so many questions.”
Again, I laugh. “It’s not that deep. Materialism, hyperconsumerism, commercialism—”
Jake sucks a breath past his teeth. “Oof. So many isms.”
I’m suddenly hit with a jaw-cracking yawn. “Wow, so sorry.” I straighten my shoulders.
“Go,” he says. “I won’t keep you. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Jake.”
I only make it five steps before he calls out behind me. “Evie.’ He still stands in the same spot. “Let me show you Christmas in London. I don’t want this to be the last time I see you.”
“Jake—”
“Sleep on it. You don’t have to decide now.
But if you’re keen, meet me at Grey Earl’s tomorrow round ten in the morning.
If not, I’ll get the hint and I’ll make myself scarce.
” He gives me an unguarded smile, lays a hand over his heart, and does a little half-bow as he steps backwards.
“Either way, tonight was the most fun I’ve had in a very long time. ”