Page 3 of Foresyth Conservatory
Maybe one day I’ll travel east, like in the books I’ve read. All the latest discoveries were being made there. Perhaps I could convince Gabriel to come with me. We could go searching for the secret tombs of King Martiah, or a first edition of Robert Fludd’s alchemical treaties.
It doesn’t matter, as long as it is far from dreary Greenwich and its drearier inhabitants. But deep down, I knew it was just a dream, a story I told myself. I’ve lived in stories my whole life: the ones I read to myself, and the ones I read to others.This was just another story, I thought, but something stirred in me in betrayal. Something thatsaid opening the door for this green-eyed stranger was the moment my own story would begin to unfold.
I lifted my eyes to the Meister and made a final cut of the deck, stacking the bottom half on top. The last chance for Fate to speak.
“Now, we take hands.” I reached for him, and he obliged. His hands were strangely warm in my clammy palms, and I let the sensation ground me. “A truth spell, so that the spirits don’t play tricks on us with your reading.” I glanced around the shop, exaggerating my movements. I read the incantation aloud, bowing my head and tugging the patron’s hands to follow suit.
Lowering my voice, I asked, “What is it that you wish to know, Meister?”
He paused, deciding. “The union you spoke of. I want to know if it will be successful.” He looked up to meet my gaze, expectant.
I nodded and began to draw ten cards for the spread. I placed each down with care, as if all the truths of the world lay on the other side. I wasn’t typically this slow or methodical, but with new patrons—whose inner selves I had yet to unearth—I took my time.
“A Hermetic Kabbalah spread, is it?” the Meister asked.
“Yes, very old. And my favorite. Well-suited for your inquiry.” My eyes squinted for a fraction of a second. He’d given me something else: Runic Norse, now arcane Tarot? He was not an amateur practitioner; perhaps he was even a reader himself. But that fact didn’t deter me. No one could read the way I did. I finished laying out the cards and opened them one by one.
“In the first placement, you have the Tower. An upheaval of order has brought you here today.” He didn’t blink.Too ordinary, I chastised myself. I needed something to grip onto, something real from his world.
“The Chariot. You’re determined to create this spiritual union by any means necessary. You’re exploring unconventional routes.” I looked up from the cards, and his eyes flashed with something akin to surprise.
I continued through a few more cards, carefully watching his face as I revealed each one, tailoring my analysis based on his micro-reactions.Whyare you here? The question tumbled through my mind like a stone down a mountainside. Finally, it found its mark.
“Seven of Swords, represented by the air element. There is deception at play.” I watched his throat bob and pressed on. “Someone is holding back the truth of the matter, manipulating the very air we speak.”
The Meister swallowed hard, his hand covering his mouth. “There’s no way . . .” he said, his voice breaking.
I had him now. “And now, the challenge you face . . .” I flipped the card in the eighth placement and revealed the Hanged Man. “It’s a man. Someone who is no longer with us?” I wasn’t quite sure what possessed me to say it, but his face was all I needed to confirm the budding knot in my stomach.
The Meister swallowed again and covered his mouth with three fingers. “You . . .” he whispered.
I leaned in, pressing deeper. This was what I did best: I made people fall apart. And then, carefully, oh-so-carefully, I put them back together again. It’s what my father did tosuspects, and now I did to my patrons. The search for the truth being core to it all.
“And now for thehow.” I turned over the next card. “Three of Wands . . . you’ve traveled a great distance to find this person. You believe they can help you overcome the tragedy you’ve faced. You believe they hold a truth that others have failed to see.” I reached for the final card, regretting it even before I saw it. I already knew what it would say.
I turned over the card and beheld the image of the Magician, the first card in the Major Arcana. The archetype represented a person who used all the elements—earth, fire, water, and air—to create a reality of her choosing. She manipulated the very fabric of the material world to dictate her will.
All knowledge was material.
All knowledge was accessible.
Fact over fiction, reality over illusion. My father’s words echoed in my mind as I stared down at the Magician.
“You’re looking for me.”
Chapter 2: An Offer to Not Refuse
The Meister sat across from me, dabbing his handkerchief at the corners of his eyes. I was familiar with handling emotional reactions from my patrons—occasional fits of rage, minor tantrums, and tears of revelation. I was no stranger to coddling others’ emotional woes, because I know that the cards—well, by proxy, me—brought up old wounds. After all, tapping into someone’s subconscious was a dangerous game.
But my own emotional reaction was not something I had become accustomed to. I was rarely, if ever, involved in my patrons’ readings. I was the unbiased third party, bearing witness to the secrets of the universe as they unraveled before me. These were notmysecrets.
Fear clogged my throat, but I began. “You come to my shop after it’s closed to ensure no one else would be here. To avoid interruption, or to avoid being seen?” My finger twitched in the direction of my drawer, where I kept a ceremonial dagger. Well, perhaps notceremonialfor much longer. My father's work had exposed me to the darker facets of humanity; I knew better than to assume the best intentions from anyone.
“You claim to be a scholar—you have a depth of knowledge in arcane magick, as evidenced by the runic glyphs on your cane and your discernment of my type of reading. You seem to know how many clients I have, the rate I charge them, and exactly what my shop hours are, as if you’ve investigated me and my business before you entered.”
I paused, my lip quivering as the Meister nodded in approval of my deduction.
“You’re not interested in my Tarot readings; you’re interested inme.” My brows knitted into a scowl as I spat out the last words. “Who are you, Christopher Renate? And what do you want from me?”
