Page 34 of Foresyth Conservatory
“No, I haven’t finished imbuing yet—you distracted me.” She sat up straighter and shifted on the cards, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, with a slight upward curve on her lips.
Ordinarily, I’d have to guide my patrons—ease them into a meditative, receptive state—but she slipped into it with unsettling ease. Her breath deepened, and I watched the tension drain from her shoulders like water from a clenched fist. After a few moments, she handed the cards back to me. They were warm. I swallowed hard, taking them from her.
“Do we invoke the powers of Sophia, our Shattered Mother, now?” Sequoia asked.
“Who?” I started to ask. But then I decided to play along, lest Sequoia question my magickal erudition. “Sophia,”I repeated before Sequoia had a chance to catch my hesitation. “Yes, of course, we invoke the Goddess.”
She giggled, covering her mouth with her fingers.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I’ve just never heard her referred to as a Goddess, but I quite like it.” She smiled.
I nodded, trying to keep the confusion off my face. I would have to research this deity further—it might be important to Julian’s case.
“Now that we have your energy on the cards, let’s seal it. I usually do this with a few crystals I select based on the inquirer’s energy fields. But since you’re magickally inclined and in tune with your own fields, I’ve let you select them yourself.” I looked down, picking up the two crystals Sequoia had provided. “Pink quartz—symbolizing the feminine divine, purity, and love. And this other one . . . black agate? A shielding stone, a protector.” I glanced at her curiously. She nodded slowly, her features softening.
I clasped her hands. “Now, let’s say a small truth spell. To let the creative forces move us toward the light of truth.” I said the words with rehearsed sincerity. She nodded, gripping my hands firmly.
I spoke the incantation, and Sequoia echoed after me. As I said the words aloud, an electric current thrummed through our connected hands, followed by an almost imperceptible buzzing in the back of my head, rising in pitch.
“Do you hear that?” I asked.
“Hear what?”
“Never mind.” I broke our hands apart, and the buzzing stopped. I took a deep breath, steeling my focus.I’m here forJulian, I reminded myself. Sequoia knows something about that night that I don’t, and I have to figure out what it is.Who killed him?
“Aspen,” Sequoia said.
“Excuse me?” I blinked.
“I want this reading to be about me and Aspen. I want to know how I can separate myself from him. Our relationship is . . . unharmonious, but I keep finding myself going back to him, again and again.”
“We’ll get to the bottom of it.” But how was I supposed to connect the night Julian died to this reading? I wracked my brain, and a memory floated to the surface.If only you weren’t so friendly toward him.Aspen’s words echoed in my head. Why had he said that to Sequoia during Circle?
“I’m actually quite experienced in love readings—they’re a specialty of mine, given their demand,” I said as an idea started to form.
“I’ll use a spread I call Love’s Dagger. The sheath represents the past and present of the relationship; the hilt represents the core issues and opposing forces; and the pommel, the resolution.” Sequoia’s eyes widened as I laid the cards down one by one.
“This is a perfect spread for my situation,” she said, her eyes fixed on the cards in awe.
My lips curved slightly. She was unaware that I had thought of it on the spot.
“We’ll start at the hilt—the core of the issue.” I revealed the cards on two opposing sides. On the left lay the Lovers, and on the right, the Five of Cups. A shiver ran down my arms. Sometimes, the cards’ coincidences struck me, butI hardened myself. I could explain her situation with any cards that appeared.
“The Lovers—the core of your relationship is a twin flame, a soul connection. You are bound to this connection by a force greater than human nature. When you are together, you are one.” I searched Sequoia’s eyes, and she nodded slowly.
I hadn’t said anything she didn’t already know, but seeing reality mirrored in the cards was an almost certain way of gaining her trust. I needed to be careful with my reading. Unlike most inquirers, Sequoia had at least a cursory familiarity with the cards and their meanings.
“The opposing force—” I pointed to the card across from it. “The Five of Cups. A shrouded figure stands over three spilled cups, bemoaning his disappointment. Two cups stand upright behind him. The cups represent the element of water—everything that has to do with our emotions, their fluidity, their ever-changing nature. You’ve been emotionally wounded by Aspen, and despite any good in your relationship, there are always more spilled cups than upright ones.” Sequoia’s eyes glinted with tears, and I knew I was getting closer, but I wasn’t quite there yet. I pulled another card from the deck and placed it on top of the Five of Cups.
“Strength, in reverse,” I noted. “The core of your disappointment comes from Aspen’s narcissism, his self-obsession with his work and himself. He holds himself to an impossible standard, and that expectation bleeds to those around him.” Sequoia’s eyes widened.
“Gods, these are eerily accurate. But I suppose you do have a lot of context—being our peer and all.” Her voice flattened.
I needed something beyond the obvious. I needed a deduction, a hypothesis—something I couldn’t know but could surmise from the facts. Something that would make her believe in the cards, and in me.
I swallowed and laid cards at the center of the dagger. I flipped them over. “The Three of Wands. Your discontent began when your affection fell away from Aspen and landed elsewhere.” I placed another bet. Sequoia didn’t move but stared intently at the cards laid before her. I continued.
