Page 33 of Foresyth Conservatory
Chapter 13: Sequoia’s Reading
I clutchedThe Book of Skornto my chest, the latest revelation crashing over me like a storm. Julian’s death was tied to Tarot. Had the Meister known all along? Had he brought me here not just as the daughter of a famous detective, but as a Tarot reader?
I can’t say what it means,his voice echoed in my head.
Anger burned in my ribs, sharp and unrelenting. I hated being manipulated. I had to uncover what had happened to Julian—and I had to do it quickly. It had only been a week since my arrival, but the moment I had the truth, I would leave. I didn’t need the research stipend. The bounty was enough to support me and my mother. I didn’t need the Meister, or the hollow weight of prestige.
The thought of leaving tonight was tempting.
Sequoia’s words echoed in my mind—her quiet observation that Aspen might be living in someone else’s shadow. Was I any different? Julian hadn’t simply died; he’d been murdered. Of that, I was certain. And if I abandoned this now—if I turned back—the one who killed him might never be brought to light. Julian’s story would end in silence. And so would mine.
My father’s highest principle had always been the pursuit of truth. Now, I wrapped myself in it like a cloak—unyielding, unbreakable.
I carried this resolve with me all the way to Sequoia’s room. Someone in this House had to know what happened the night Julian died, and Sequoia was as good a place tostart as any. Even if I found myself drawn to her, I couldn’t rule her out as a suspect until she offered an ironclad alibi.
“Dahlia!” she cooed, opening the door and swinging an arm around me. “You did brilliantly at Circle today.”
I ignored the warmth of her arm around me, though it did feel pleasant to hear that I had performed well in Circle. “Well, I have my work cut out for me. I don’t even know where to begin,” I admitted.
“At the beginning, of course—with the Fool.”
I squinted at her. “You all seem to know as much about Tarot as I do. All of you,” I said, not hiding the suspicion in my tone.
Sequoia gave me a blank stare. “Nonsense, I’ve heard you’re an illustrious reader. But we all know our fair share of the principles of fortune-telling.” She winked. “Still, if I had any real knack for it, I wouldn’t have asked you here.” Her big brown eyes threatened to swallow me whole.
“I know students aren’t supposed to practice magick together, but I really appreciate you doing this for me.”
“We’re not allowed to practice magick?” I asked, frowning. Not that I considered Tarot reading to be magick, but it seemed strange that an occult arts Conservatory would forbid the application of knowledge.
“Well, not alone, technically. The Council forbade it indefinitely, leaving it to the Advisors. But the Meister makes exceptions now and then. But we don’t need one if we aren’t asking him, right?” She fluttered her lashes.
I gently shrugged her arm off and fumbled in my bag for the deck. “Shall we, then?” I gave her a small smile. Sequoia was right; this was my strength. Reading was my best chanceto access Sequoia’s psyche and edge closer to the truth. And I wasn’t breaking any rules if I didn’t believe in magick.
She smiled and led me deeper into her room until we reached her bed.
“Do you . . . need anything in particular?” she asked.
“Sage would be great, and any stone or mineral you connect with,” I said, setting out my ceremonial cloth on her bed. The whole room smelled like her—lavender and lilac. I inhaled, letting her scent fill my chest.
What is the essence of you?I wondered, studying her as she opened a drawer and pulled out a bundle of herbs and two crystals.
Her arms were lithe, almost feline, as she set the items on the bed. Could those hands have poisoned Julian? Poison was a woman’s weapon of choice, after all.
“Thank you for doing this.” She reached over, her touch sending a jolt up my arm. “I know everyone here is so strange about magick—I just want you to know it means a lot to me.” Her brown eyes seemed to envelop me entirely.
“This is what I do. This is how I help people.”Even those who can’t truly be helped. I thought of my past clients. Did I really help them, or had I just told them comforting tales that satisfied them for a moment, only to lead them straight into the trouble they were bound to encounter anyway? I supposed if they’d wanted good advice, they’d have gone to a psychologist.
I brushed the thought aside and lit the bundle of sage over the spread I’d laid on her bed. I let the smoke billow under the cards, flipping them over to cleanse the other side. Relaxation was essential to the reading. Humans are socialcreatures, and if the inquirer sensed unease in me, they’d never let their guard down. And that was the entire point.
“You have to sit on them now,” I said, handing her the deck.
She smiled. “How delightfully unconventional.” I pushed away the thought of how close she would be to my cards.
“The purpose is to imbue them with your energy. This is the most effective method. I read for a lot of people, and you don’t want the energies getting all muddled.” I didn’t believe a word of what I was saying, but the logic held for someone with a magickally-inclined mind. I had learned this over years of reading. Ceremony was all part of priming the inquirer.
“And have many sat on this deck before?”
“More than you’d like to know.” I smiled. “That should be good.”
