Page 84 of Foresyth Conservatory
“Years one through five. The Eight of Wands and the Emperor. I was born under a blood moon; my grandmother used to say it meant I’d lead to the downfall of a king,” I said, almost rolling my eyes, recalling my Bunica’s habit of casting my fortunes based on the stars. “I don’t personally know any kings, do you?” I joked.
“What else?” Aspen prodded.
“Let’s see.” I pulled out three more cards and laid them down on top of the two. “Five of Wands, King of Wands, the High Priestess,” I said, frowning slightly. I had to pretend I was reading for someone else instead of myself. I needed toembrace the same process. I cleared my mind, listening to what rose to the surface. The Jungian way of reading cards involved listening to one’s subconscious. It was a quiet, delicate task.
“I had a lot of interests as a kid. I’d follow my dad, represented as the king here, around his lab. It mesmerized me how he could look into a microscope or interpret jagged lines from his light analyzer to find the composition of matter. One day, he brought in a sample from a crime scene—a woman who’d died in a fire, supposedly started by a cigarette. But he didn’t find any traces of tobacco or phosphorus, a common chemical in cigarettes. What he found was benzene. That was the evidence they needed to implicate her former lover. The way he could see things through those tools . . . well, that was magick to me.”
Sequoia set down her teacup and her eyes lingered on the one card I had ignored. “And what about her?”
“The High Priestess? I don’t know. I’ve never felt connected to her.”
“She represents the knowledge within, turned inward, relying on intuition,” Aspen said, his gaze steady. I nodded, recognizing the definition.
“That’s not me. If anything, I’ve spent my life pushing my intuition away.”
“It must have been there, at some point?” Sequoia suggested.
“Maybe, from my mother and grandmother. They read cards using intuition. But I don’t . . . I look for facts.”
Sequoia nodded with a knowing smile. “Thatisyour intuition. What about the next years of your childhood?”
I swallowed, pulling the next five. “The Chariot, Ace of Swords, Five of Swords, the Magician, the Devil.” I stole a glance at Aspen, regretting it immediately. Was he staring at my lips, or was I imagining it? I watched him swallow, the movement distracting me for a second.
“I . . . uh . . . started school, obviously. I studied a lot, fell in love with books—all kinds. School ones, the ones in my mom’s bookshop, and, most of all, the ones I wasn’t allowed to read,” I said, pointing to the Devil, a symbol of rebellion. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Aspen biting his lip. I ignored the shudder it elicited through me.
I pulled the next five. “The Five of Pentacles, Ace of Wands.” I flicked my gaze up at them, hoping they didn’t know as much about the cards as I did. But of course they did. “First blood, the coming of age.” I cleared my throat and continued. “The Hermit, Seven of Cups, Ace of Pentacles. Opportunities began to appear. I was admitted into Sawyer Academy; I would have been the first woman to go in the school’s history. But my parents struggled to afford it. I told my father I’d study at home and become the Hermit, but secretly, I really wanted to go. My only friend Gabriel went.” As I admitted this, the cards hummed under my hand. “But I didn’t. That didn’t stop me from reading all the books on the summer reading list, though, pretending I’d be there in the fall.” The memory felt ripe, dripping like rotting fruit. I could taste my desire, my unfulfilled potential.
Who would I have been if I’d done more, become more?
“You’re getting close, but you’re not there yet,” Sequoia said. “What do the cards reveal that you’re too scared to face? Use your intuition.”
My throat bobbed, and I already regretted the next set I was about to pull. “I don’t know if this is a good idea,” I murmured, my hands lifting from the deck. Sequoia’s hands drifted to mine and pressed them back down.
“Yes, it is. You’re doing great.” She smiled, and I swear the candle flames flickered higher. I let out a breath, surprised by how comforting her touch felt. People begged me to tell their stories, but no one had ever asked for mine.
Pain mingled with relief in my chest as memories rose to the surface like bubbles. Telling my own story was uncomfortable but felt necessary. I was beginning to realize that Julian’s death wasn’t just his story, his puzzle to solve. It was deeply my own.
My fingers found the deck again, and I pulled. A humorless chuckle escaped, hot air filling my cheeks. “Adolescence: the Tower, Nine of Wands, Judgment, the Moon, the World. Heavy Major Arcana,” I said, surrendering to the memory of that time in my life. “This is when my mother got sick. We closed the bookshop for months, in and out of hospitals. My father even paused his practice, something he’d never done. But I could tell he hated being a caretaker. I took it on, and while I knew he felt ashamed of his young daughter carrying the weight, I could see he was relieved,” I said, tracing the Tower card’s edge.
“I didn’t have much of a life, but I became a recluse during those years. I stopped helping my father in the lab. My mother was my only company, along with a warehouse of books. I learned to read her every scowl, every grimace, every unspoken need. I lost myself in those years. My only solace was the bookshop—no one could forbid me from any section. I read everything and more. But I was so alone,” I said, my voice faltering. “I convinced myself it was for thebest, that people were more trouble than they were worth,” I said, and the words stung.
For someone so obsessed with truth, I’d become skilled at hiding from my own.
“But are they? Worth the trouble?” Aspen leaned closer, watching me thumb the cards in the candlelight.
“I still haven’t decided,” I said, meeting his gaze. “That was also when I reopened my mother’s bookshop.” I broke my eyes from his, looking back down at the cards. “The books didn’t sell well, but the fortunes did.” A sad smile crept up to my lips. “It was what little help I could offer my parents.”
“It wasn’tlittle,” Sequoia said, and my chest lifted. I had never asked my parents for thanks. It was my responsibility to look after them, but their praise was non-existent, even when I felt like I was giving them my all.
“You wanted more than the bookshop, didn’t you?” she asked gently.
“Of course. I wanted the world. I wanted to travel, to experience my own adventures, not just the ones in books. The darkest adventures always fascinated me,” I admitted, my shoulders feeling lighter. “It was something in my blood—because my father had the same drive as I did. Or I had his.”
I thumbed through the next five cards, but it was Aspen’s hand that caught mine this time, warm and steady beneath my clammy fingers. I found myself welcoming it.
“The truth,” he said softly.
“The truth,” I echoed, my voice barely a whisper.
