Page 28 of Roma King
She’s not paying the slightest bit of attention, though. She quickly selects three cards from the deck and lays them face up on the table.
First, the Devil. Reversed, so that the satyr on the card is facing me. Meaning: freedom. Release. A restoration of control.
Second, Justice XI. Upright. Meaning: Justice. Natural law. Righted wrongs.
The last card is the Ace of Pentacles. Upright. Meaning: Prosperity. Opportunity. Fresh starts.
I choke back my own laughter as I peer down at the images on the table. “I’d say that was a pretty clear reading, wouldn’t you? The cards are telling you the same thing I’m telling you. I’m out of here… and I’m going to be a hell of a lot better off for it.”
Shelta hisses like a feral cat, her lip curling as she stares down at the cards she’s drawn on my behalf. She’s probably regretting ever teaching me about the tarot. If I was as blissfully ignorant to their meanings as most of the people who walk into her tent, she would have spun me a line, no doubt, making something up about the reading to try and bend me to her will.
Looking up at me, she digs her finger nails into the grain of the wooden table, her fury roiling off her like smoke. “Youwillobey me, Pasha. Youwillaccept the crown. Youwillbe married. And youwillstay away from that woman in your dreams. She’s not for you, do you hear me?She’ll be the ruin of us all.”
11
ZARA
THE MIDNIGHT FAIR
Sarah won’t be stopped. No matter how hard I try to reason with her, she won’t go with us. Her face is white as a sheet as Garrett and I see her back to her car; Garrett gestures for us to get in with her, but Sarah shoos us away.
“Don’t be stupid. You’ve come all this way. You’ll be safe if Garrett’s with you, but don’t stay down there too long. Don’t get drunk. And for fuck’s sake, don’t accept any favors. You’ve no idea what kind of trouble that will lead to.”
As the car burns off down the street, Garrett and I exchange puzzled glances. “Any idea what that was about?” I ask.
He shrugs, scratching the back of his head. It was a stupid question, really. Even if he did have a clue what spooked Sarah so badly, he wouldn’t be able to tell me. During the walk back to the entrance to the subway, I mull over what just happened and a tight knot forms in my stomach. Sarah’s known for her dramatics, but this seems different. She was shaking like a leaf.
The rain grows heavier. My hair is drenched, right along with the insides of my sneakers, and my thin jacket is next to useless. Garrett didn’t even bother with a jacket, and his white shirt is plastered to his shoulders, almost transparent now.
When we reach our destination, we find that a line has formed while we were gone. At least ten people are waiting to enter down the steps into the subway tunnel, and a short, balding man is arguing with a tall, tattooed guy at the mouth of the stairwell.
“I told you, fella. No red. I ain’t gonna tell you again,” the tattooed guy growls. “We got a strict dress code tonight.”
The balding man throws his hands up in the air, making a show of looking around. “There’s no sign about a dress code, buddy. I’m wearing a button-down shirt and nice shoes. I can’t see the problem.”
“I’ve told you what the fucking problem is. The fucking problem is that you’re wearing a red jacket, and I ain’t lettin’ anyone wearing red down here tonight.”
“What kind of a rule is that? What can you possibly have against the color red?”
The guy, at least a foot and a half taller than the other man, looms over him as he stabs his finger into his chest. “I don’t have to explain myself or anything else to you, my friend. Now get gone, before I move you myself.”
“I could call the better business bureau, y’know. This kind of flagrant discrimination’s against the law. They could shut you down without a momen—”
Baldy lets out a strangled squeal as the tattooed guy lunges out and wraps his hand around Baldy’s throat. Lifting him a foot off the ground, the guy takes three steps to the left and unceremoniously deposits Baldy right into the gutter. The tatted bouncer gives Baldy a moment to regain his composure, waiting until he’s stopped coughing and spluttering before he addresses him again. “If you’re not gone by the time I’ve counted to three…”
He doesn’t even need to start counting. Baldy takes off at a fast clip down the street, sending furious, humiliated glances over his shoulder as he hurries away. The other people standing in line, including myself and Garrett, all glance warily down at their clothes. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I for one want to make sure I’m not wearing anything red.
I’m not, thank fuck.
Patrin—the kid in the orange jacket said a man by that name would be taking money at the door, and that he would be in a terrible mood—quickly snatches money out of people’s hands and ushers them down the stairs, though by the looks on a lot of people’s faces, over half of them aren’t all that sure they want to visit the fair anymore. By the time we find ourselves in front of Patrin, I’m well and truly ready to give up on the entire escapade, call an Uber and get the fuck out of here.
“What on earth do you call that?” Patrin asks.
I blink up at him, fighting to swallow the instant lump in my throat. “I’m sorry?
“I said, what the fuck do you callthat?” he demands, pointing an accusatory finger at my cell phone, which I’m holding tightly in my hand.
“Uhhh…it’s…a cell phone?”
