Page 30 of Foresyth Conservatory
An idea was taking shape in my mind, and I traced its contours. Could someone use the physical decks of cards to chemically date their age instead of relying on scholarly reports?
Granted, it was a first-principles question and would require a significant budget to loan and date the decks of cards from different libraries, but if I succeeded, I could put to rest the conflicting timelines found in the literature. A smile broke on my lips at the thought of imbuing this mystical field with scientific investigation. I only hoped the others could be convinced.
*
“Where were you all day? I didn’t see you in the lab,” Nina said, taking her seat next to mine.
“Preparing for this,” I said, nodding to the center of the room. The old tree swayed, as if nodding in recognition.
“This is nothing. You could write a proposal in your sleep. Wait till you submit for review. There’s nothing scarier than the Advisors evaluating your work.”
“The Advisors are involved in publishing?”
“Of course. But it’s not just quality inspection, even though that’s what it feels like, it’s also because they want to know the latest and greatest research. They’re still scholars. It’s just thattheirresearch happens in the real world.”
My stomach churned at the thought of magick—or worse, the presumption of it—seeping into the outside world. It belonged in books, buried in the long-forgotten histories of vanished ages, where it could be studied, disproved, and ultimately contained. It wasn’t magick itself that unsettled me. One cannot fear what one does not believe exists.
What frightened me was belief. The kind of belief that turns into certainty. Because with enough conviction, even fiction could be dangerous.
“Good evening, everyone,” the Meister said, striking his cane down several times, opening the circle. “Sub rosa.”
“Sub rosa,” I murmured under my breath as I stole a glance at Sequoia and Aspen seated on the loveseat. He had a hand on her knee, strumming the fabric of her skirt. I closed my eyes, and the image of her warm hand in mine from last night flashed before me.
People are not trees.
But we are,she had replied. Her eyes met mine for a second before looking away. Or was it the glint of the fireplace playing tricks on me?
“Ms. Blackburne, I believe tonight it is your turn to start,” the Meister beckoned.
I tucked a loose strand of hair back and sat up, straightening on the chaise. “Indeed, I’d like to begin with a brief history of Tarot, including the elemental suits and Major Arcana.” I cleared my throat, ready to dive into the research I had gathered.
“That won’t be necessary,” the Meister said. “You can just dive into your hypothesis.”
My stomach dropped. This was what I had been preparing for all day, all week. Hadn’t we agreed to this?
“All first years take Prognostication seminar. We’re familiar with the history of most methods—scrying, palmistry, and cartomancy, of course,” Aspen said, wrapping his arm around Sequoia’s waist.
I had prepared for a rigorous re-telling of Tarot, tracing all the threads of lineage, which would perfectly set the stage for my proposed research. Without an interest in history, what else did I have?
“I was trying to explain how there were conflicting timelines in its history—”
Leone chuckled. Sequoia crossed her legs away from me. Even Nina’s gaze dropped.
Failure built thick and hot in the pit of my stomach.
“If we studied every conflicting timeline in history, we would never graduate,” Aspen said factually. There was no menace in his tone, just academic objectivity. A part of me even appreciated it.
“Research isn’t just aboutdoingthe research, reading books, and recounting what academics say—any first year could do that. What distinguishes you as a scholar—as an Advisor—is asking the right questions,” the Meister said. “What is it that you really want to know? Absent any sense of how you would actually go about investigating it?”
I sat back in my seat, heat flushing my cheeks. What was there to know about card tricks? Aside from their methodology, there wasn’t anything substantive in them. I read people, not Tarot. They were just the medium of my manipulation. I didn’t believe in their intrinsic power; it wasn’t something to find out, it was already a fact.
“I see you thinking, Ms. Blackburne. Challenge the status quo. Question everything, even what you think is an unshakable truth.”
My pulse quickened, saliva gathering on my tongue. My mind raced with memories of my readings. Yes, I read people’s micro-reactions and profiled them accordingly, butsomewhere deep inside, I knew there was another force at play. Invisible, but ever-guiding.
The question sat at the back of my throat, rising with the bile in my stomach from all the coffee I’d had earlier in the day. I tasted the swelling truth.
“What I truly want to know,” I began, feeling the weight of every eye on me, “is this: If the cards are indeed magick, if they can prophesy the future . . . where does that power come from?” I couldn’t very well ask,is the magick of Tarot even real?
