Page 74 of The Lovers
Piper tightens her jaw, her body rigid. She sweeps the length of her red waves over her shoulder like it’s a shield. “Are you in love with her?”
I divert my gaze away, but it doesn’t do anything to stop the blush creeping into my cheeks.Do I love Kit?I probably always have. I probably never stopped. With all this want and years of wondering finally materializing between us, the idea that love could be our endgame seems almost too good to be true.
The Lovers.
Could it be us forever?
“You do,” she whispers. Her face twists, contorting, but it’s an expression that’s much more than hurt or longing. It’s broken glass, all sharp edges, a dangerous weapon.
I push past her without another word.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Kit
Normally, I would be much better at spinning the appearance of the Tower and the Devil—two major arcana cards that when placed one after the other almost never forbode a period of ease—but I’ll admit my head is not in the game. Especially after Julia passes by looking like a fever dream I never want to wake up from.
“You’re saying this is serious,” Sean’s grandmother, Patrice, says. She’s a tiny woman with immaculately set silver hair and a small gold cross dangling at her neck, which she clutches like it will protect her from the cards. “You look worried.”
I blink, focusing on the cards again. I did say that, and I can feel the way my face has gotten stuck in a furrow of features that probably looks like someone trying to shit out a brick. These cards could very well be the harbinger of immense struggle, but I should not have said that out loud.
Think fast, Kit.
“The Devil and the Tower are not always a bad or difficultcombination, but they almost always signal a time of change on the horizon.”
“I’m eighty-three,” Patrice replies. “At my age, the only change I have to look forward to is death.”
My eyes flicker wide. This combination can indicate a sudden or jarring change that forces us to confront our deepest, darkest fears. I resist the urge to ask if there is anyone in her life that she would be shocked to lose, but I happen to know she’s happily married to Sean’s grandfather so my guess is that would get an enthusiastic yes. I decide to spin my interpretation in a different direction.
“This combination isn’t all negative,” I begin. Her eyes narrow in suspicion. “It encourages us to confront our fears in order to live a fuller life.”
“I’m not afraid of dying,” she says, her voice tinged with resignation.
“That’s very evolved of you.”
“Horseshit,” she spits. It genuinely shocks me and a laugh I’m trying to stifle barks out instead.
Millie, who is passing behind Patrice, stops short—champagne flute in hand—to eye me over her future grandmother-in-law’s head.
“This looks like some big calamity,” Patrice says, pointing to the burning building of doom. Millie’s brows quirk in curiosity; I bite back a grin. “And this is the greatest trickster there ever was.” She points to the Devil.
“In Christianity, sure, the Devil is a symbol for carnal sins, but in tarot he represents the need for shadow work—”
“Black magic?” Patrice’s voice is gritty with surprise. Milliecackles, walking up and placing her champagne-free hand on Patrice’s shoulder.
“Hey, Granny Hayden,” Millie says with the voice of a benevolent angel. “I think Bob is looking for you by the photo booth.” Bob, her beloved husband. I will the Universe to cut them some slack. Patrice gives the cards, then me, another once-over before huffing away.
Millie and I lock eyes, hers full of mirth, pupils dilated from the champagne haze. She scrunches her nose, smirking. “She’s an old-school hell-and-brimstone type, but she’s a firecracker.”
“A truly bright light,” I reply. I start to pick up the cards and reintegrate them into the deck, shuffling swiftly. I’ve been at it for a couple hours, which is almost the allotted time we agreed to for this event. My brain is in countdown mode.
“I’m so happy,” Millie says wistfully, drawing my attention up to her face. “Thank you for coming all the way out here.” She looks around, eyes misty.
I shuffle the cards.
“Break the deck,” I say. She does, into three stacks, and then she points to the middle. More confident than she was last night in her choice.
“My instinct, too.” She beams with pride. I flip it over.
