Page 10 of Perpetual Potion (Hedgewitch 4)

Danny Ortega stared at me, expression expectant. “So…?” he said, since I’d remained silent, inwardly trying to come up with a reading from such a calamitous collection of cards that wasn’t all doom and gloom.

“Um….” I said. I pulled in a breath, and reminded myself this wasn’t the first time I’d gotten a card pull that looked completely catastrophic. In all those cases, my clients had come out just fine in the end. Maybe they’d suffered a divorce or lost a job, but those calamities had turned out to be blessings in disguise.

“Is it bad?” Danny asked, head tilted slightly as he stared down at the cards.

Sometimes I was still astonished by how clueless people could be about the Tarot. All right, it wasn’t that I expected everyone to be an expert or something, but at the same time, the deck and the images it contained were a big enough part of popular culture that you’d think a detail or two might have sunk in.

Then again, in this instance, that could be a good thing.

“I don’t really like to be as absolute as ‘good and bad’ when I’m doing a Tarot reading,” I told Danny. “However, it does look as though there are some big changes coming for you, changes you might not be expecting. I would say to be on guard and not do anything that might cause someone to have a grudge against you.”

One dark eyebrow lifted, and his mouth pursed slightly. It seemed clear enough that he wasn’t too happy about the reading, even though I’d soft-pedaled the heck out of it.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“No,” I said, glad I still sounded calm and unruffled. “These are short three-card readings. They’re intended to give you a general sense of something, not provide a step-by-step guide. I’m just seeing the need for caution.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. Then he shot me a white-toothed smile I didn’t buy for a second, and got up from his chair. “Well, thanks, Selena. This has been…educational.”

And after he flashed another glance at my cleavage, he headed off toward the dining room, presumably in search of a drink.

The Goddess only knew I needed one as well after that particular reading.

But I gathered up my cards and shuffled and shuffled them, hoping to clear their energy a bit. After I got home, I’d cleanse them with incense and lay a piece of black tourmaline on top to absorb any negative vibrations, but for now, this would have to do.

I got up from my seat and headed into the living room, where Calvin was chatting with Hazel and Chuck. As soon as he caught sight of me, Calvin extended a hand that held a glass of chardonnay.

“How did you know?” I asked as I took it from him gratefully.

“Wild guess,” he said with a grin. Then he paused, as if he’d just gotten a good look at my expression. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, sure,” I replied. I might have been giving out freebie readings as party favors, but even so, I never divulged the results of a Tarot spread to anyone who wasn’t the querent. It just wasn’t kosher.

He seemed to understand, because he inclined his head ever so slightly and said, “Hey, Hazel was saying we should go over to her place on Halloween, since she’s got a lot of kids in her neighborhood who go trick-or-treating, and we doubt you’re going to get many at your place.”

Well, that made sense. There weren’t enough shops and businesses in Globe’s downtown to support a sidewalk trick-or-treat like I’d read some small towns did, and I highly doubted any kid’s parents would be cool with sending them off to ring the doorbell to the witch’s apartment. Hanging out at Hazel’s cozy bungalow-style house would be just what the doctor ordered.

“That would be great,” I said, and Hazel smiled.

“Perfect. We can order pizza and drink wine and hand out Snickers bars.”

“As long as I don’t eat them all myself,” I joked.

Her eyes twinkled. “I’ll buy an extra bag, just in case.”

We chatted a bit after that, and I felt myself relaxing slightly. Yes, that had been a crappy reading, but I could just chalk it up to being put on the spot and the cards not cooperating. It happened sometimes.

And then it was time for a refill, and we headed back into the dining room. To my dismay, Danny Ortega was there, but luckily, he didn’t seem to be paying any attention to me or my little group. Instead, he was talking up Lisa Callaway, the pretty — and barely twenty-two — daughter of Ingrid Callaway, the woman who owned The Flatiron, my favorite breakfast spot in Globe.

The glass in his hand looked full — and also looked as though the red wine inside was going to slop over at any second. He seemed to notice the situation at almost the same time I did, because he paused in whatever he was saying and lifted the wine to his lips so he could take a large swallow.

A second later, his eyes bulged, and one hand went to his throat. The glass fell from his other hand, wine splashing everywhere — including on Lisa’s pink princess gown — and then Danny slumped to the floor, hitting the wooden floorboards with a sharpcrack.

Before anyone else could respond, Calvin had already hastened from my side and gone to kneel down next to Danny’s limp form. He picked up the man’s hand and laid several fingers against his wrist, obviously checking for a pulse.

Calvin’s expression turned even grimmer. As everyone started to crowd around, murmuring in shock, he turned Danny over on his back and started administering CPR. “Call 9-1-1!” he said in commanding tones, and at once Chuck pulled a cell phone out of the breast pocket of his waistcoat and punched in the numbers.

Josie, who’d been absent during all this, emerged from the kitchen and stared down blankly at Danny’s unconscious body and Calvin working furiously away on him.

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