Tarotica

Sybil placed a quiche, made with eggs laid by her Rhode Island Reds, on the table beside a large wooden bowl of salad greens, fresh strawberries, and goat cheese. The aroma of hot garlic bread made his mouth water.

“Thank you, Sybil,” he said as she lit the candles. “For everything.”

“I enjoy your company,” she answered simply. “I cherish my solitude, but sometimes it can get lonely here. Besides, you’ve been a great help with the garden and you’ve fixed so much around the property. The place hasn’t looked this good in years.”

Eli filled their glasses and a wave of sadness washed over him. He missed working in the vineyard. He missed his friends and colleagues, and his old life. As he sipped the Merlot, he thought, Will Meditrina ever make wine this good again? So many of the old grapevines had been torn out and burned to keep the deadly fungus from spreading, and it would be years before the new vines produced quality grapes.

Meditrina’s success, it seemed, had led to its downfall. Ten years ago, when he first stared working there, the small family-owned operation garnered the respect of savvy locals and a handful of aficionados, but few people outside the Valley recognized its name. Then their wines won several major awards, and the world started paying attention. Especially the competition.

“I still can’t figure out how they discovered I was onto them,” he wondered aloud.

“The answer will come to you,” Sybil assured him. “Pay attention to your dreams. They often provide insights that can be useful when you’re awake.”

What would she think if she knew about my dream this afternoon? he mused. He finished his slice of quiche and reached for a second helping. “Somehow I’ve got to stop these guys before they ruin other California vineyards, too.”

“In order to do that, you’ll have to be careful and clever, not just brave. You’ll need to use all your senses— the sixth, as well as the usual five.”

“Can you see how all this will turn out?”

Sybil shook her head. “The future isn’t fixed. Everything you do and think influences what happens.”

“So what should I do?”

“First of all, don’t let fear and anger dominate your mind. Often, we attract what we dwell on.”

She smiled at him across the table. In the candlelight she seemed more beautiful than ever. He reached for her hand, wishing he could turn back time.

“Remember what I said about your dreams,” she said. “Write them down. If you like, we can discuss them and decipher the symbols they contain.”

* * *

She stood beside his bed, her long silver hair partially concealing her nakedness.

Eli turned back the covers and invited her in. As she nestled beside him, his cock jumped to attention. He brushed her hair away from her face and kissed her gently, then more urgently. Her nipples stiffened against his chest. Taking first one, then the other in his mouth, he sighed, I’ve been waiting for this moment all my life.

Sybil’s soft hand grasped his cock and began stroking it. “I want you, Eli.”

“I’ve always loved you,” he said, sliding his fingers through her silky pubic hair into her warm, wet pussy.

“I want you inside me, now.” She opened her legs wider and guided his aching cock toward her.

Eli pushed himself up on his elbows and moved between her smooth thighs. As he gazed down at her, inexplicably her face and body morphed. Miranda’s lips begged him to enter her. Miranda’s dark hair with the crazy purple streaks spilled across his pillow.

Miranda’s full, firm breasts pointed their rosy tips at him.

What’s going on? he wondered. In his ear, Miranda moaned, “Palace.” He plunged into her depths and felt his juice spurt.

He awoke drenched in sweat and semen. This hasn’t happened in ages. He got up and still half-asleep, stumbled to the bathroom. While he cleaned himself up, he contemplated his dream and grinned at the idea of discussing it with Sybil. No fucking way.

Then he recalled the word Miranda had uttered: “Palace.” Not something a woman usually said in the throes of passion. Did it mean something, and if so, what?

Card 3: The Empress

Eli couldn’t get a cell phone signal at Sybil’s house and he didn’t want to use her land line to check in with Meditrina—their caller ID would capture her number. Right now he thought it best that no one, not even his colleagues at the vineyard, knew where he was. So every few days he borrowed Sybil’s pickup and drove into town to phone Troy Aransas, Meditrina’s CEO.

Troy answered on the second ring. After exchanging pleasantries, he said, “I’ve been reading the report your professor friend sent. The link between the French fungus and the one that killed our vines seems pretty clear.”

“Are you going to press charges?”

“Hold on, Eli. All we know is the two fungi are the same. There’s no evidence anyone intentionally infected our vines.”

“Then how’d it get there? The only two places it exists are France and Meditrina’s vineyards. It wasn’t brought by FedEx.”

“I don’t know yet. We’re still trying to figure that out.”

Frustrated, Eli asked, “So why did those two French guys attack me? You think it’s a coincidence?”

“I don’t know that either. It could be just that: a coincidence.”

Eli drummed his fingers on the truck’s steering wheel. “Troy, you believe me, don’t you?”

“Believing and proving are two entirely different things. We can’t go accusing our competitors unless we have a solid case.” Troy sighed loudly. “This report adds useful information that can help us solve the mystery. I’m grateful to you for collecting all this data.”

“And risking my neck in the process,” Eli reminded him.

“That too. By the way, you had a visitor a few days ago.”

“A Frenchman?” Eli asked, his voice laced with sarcasm.

“Nope, American. A distributor you met at a wine tasting at The Palace. He left his card.”

The Palace. He’d attended a wine tasting at the elegant San Francisco hotel the evening before he’d been assaulted. Closing his eyes, Eli tried to recall the details. He remembered mentioning his discovery to a friend who worked at a vineyard in the Sonoma Valley. Perhaps someone had overheard? Someone who had a very good reason for squelching that discovery? That’s what Miranda was trying to tell me in the dream.

“Thanks, Troy. I’ll check back with you in a couple of days.”

“Okay. Watch your ass, now.”

“Absolutely. I’m quite fond of my ass.”

Next, he tried Miranda and got her voice mail. “Sorry I missed your call…”

He waited for the beep, then said in a tone that he hoped sounded sexy, “I had an erotic dream about you last night. Call me back and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Pocketing his cell phone, Eli got out of the truck and strolled down the sidewalk in search of a good cup of coffee. The morning fog was burning off and the day promised to be sunny and sweet. After walking a few blocks, he smelled the enticing aroma of java accompanied by the seductive scent of fresh-baked bread. His stomach growled.

Pavarotti’s aria from Carmen greeted him as he entered the little Italian bakery.

Eagerly he examined a glass case full of pastries: cookies, sticky buns, cannoli, and cupcakes in rainbow colors. Another case held more than a dozen cakes, plus an equal number of pies. Coffee steamed behind the