Page 31 of A Dead Girl's Guide to Living
“Anyone can buy a deck of cards and pull them,” I said with a shrug, clutching her candle a little tighter. “You could do it right now, even. But actually understanding them? The intention behind them? That’s a whole other ball game.”
“She was actually quite good at it,” she said, her voice edged with something defensive that sparked my interest.
“But you don’t believe in it,” I replied coolly, letting the smile that always pissed off Uncle Bill stretch across my face. “Would you like a bag?”
Her cheeks flushed, and her eyes darted away.
“You know what?” Ida cut in, suddenly chipper. “You should have a reading with Dove here. On the house. Thirty minutes. See if she can change your mind.”
The girl’s head snapped up so fast I nearly got whiplash, her green eyes wide with alarm.
“Oh, no—I don’t need a—”
“It’s fine, Ida—” I began.
“No, I insist,” Ida steamrolled, shooting me a look before pressing her hand firmly between my shoulder blades. “Off you go. I’ll look after your candle, love,” she told the girl, flashing that warm, no-room-for-argument smile of hers.
I ground my teeth together and gestured toward the curtain with a half-hearted wave. “After you.”
The girl looked like she’d rather do literally anything else, but with an encouraging nod from Ida—and probably a lifetime of people-pleasing—she slipped through the curtain.
I whirled on Ida.
“We’re giving free readings to skeptics now?” I hissed.
“Well,” she said airily, meeting my eyes, “we have to earn back that easy cash from earlier, don’t we?”
Her voice was smug as my mouth dropped open.
“Don’t think I missed your littleséancemoment, girly. Now get back there. It’s time to repent.”
My cheeks flamed, but I swallowed my words, knowing she was more than right, and I was lucky to be getting off this easy. Ida turned away with a flick of her hand, and I groaned under my breath, heading behind the curtain to find the awkwardly waiting redhead, who was glancing around at the walls with wide eyes.
“This way,” I muttered grimly, leading her down the short hallway and toward the room. I slid the door open with a heavy sigh and ushered her inside.
“Listen, you don’t have to do this,” she said quickly as she entered, crossing her arms. “We can just sit here for thirty minutes.”
I rolled my eyes at her. “What’s your name?”
Her eyes narrowed, likely catching my eye roll, and she snapped, “Shouldn’t you know that?”
I blinked and sighed internally. So it was going to be likethat.
Clicking my tongue, I shook my head and looked at the cards on the table. If I was going to do this reading, then I was going to do it properly. No half-measures, no fake fluff. I would use Margaret’s cards, the ones she’d spent decades softening with her hands. The ones that still smelled like her and all our memories.
“Take a seat,” I told her firmly as I moved to the drawer, pulling out the velvet bag. I took a calming breath before heading to the white wicker chair and sitting down, listening to it creak once more beneath me.
I met her eyes as I placed the bag gently on the table.
“I’m Dove Marley,” I said as calmly as I could, even as tension coiled in my stomach.
She looked confused for a second, like she’d expected me to bite back. Her green eyes wavered, her pink lips parting slightly as she unfolded her arms. I tried to ignore the tiny fissure of attraction that sparked. Redheads had always been a quiet weakness of mine.
“Ellis Langley,” she said on a sigh, like I’d asked for her kidney.
Attraction: snuffed.
I loosened the pouch and brought the deck into my hands, setting it in the center of the table and meeting her gaze dead-on as the candles flickered gently.
