“Forgive me,” she said almost dryly. “I have to do this the long way.”
Witches who were not summoners had to infuse their cards almost every time with their magic. Marin lit two candles, brought the essence of two crystals, and still tapped her deck three times before shuffling them and spreading them in an arc over the table.
She gestured at me and I reached forward, palm hovering over the cards as I searched the identical backs for that something that pulled me to whichever one I was meant to draw.
There.
I flipped a card, frowning down at The Tower.
Marin dragged the card to her, using only one finger as she set it between the candles and crystals.
“There is chaos in your life,” she said.
“Yeah, but I don’t understand; what chaos? When?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Now. All aspects of your life are tinged with it, and I believe that is why this card comes up for you.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Readings don’t work like that,” I insisted.
Marin flipped the card and reshuffled her deck. “Ask my deck for an answer,” she prompted.
My brow raised. “Out loud? Isn’t that just for tourists?”
“It is.” She didn’t say more, and I sighed heavily.
“Ravioli, Ravioli, tell me the future-oli,” I grumped. “What does my love life have in store for me this year?”
It was a testament to my self control that I didn’t rip her Tower card in half when I drew it.
She snorted sympathetically and took it from my fingers, quite possibly fearing for the fate of the card in my hand.
“You should go home,” the witch advised, sliding her cards back into the box. “With this ill-luck surrounding you, it is a bad night to be taking chances.”
The driver’s face flashed through my head. “This man said something to me tonight. It was…” I tried to repeat the phrase as best I could, though by Marin’s expression I had heartily butchered it.
“Laissez les bons temps rouler, cher,” she said with the same rich accent that the driver had. “It’s only a saying; ‘let the good times roll. Did he say anything else?”
Did I trust her to tell her the rest?
Not at all.
“No. Just that. I’m overthinking everything. My cousin reminded me that most fortunes aren’t so heavy like humans think. I’m just being stupid.”
Marin hummed, hefting Zahir in her arms as she stood. “Go home,” she advised still. “For tonight, at the very least. I don’t think it’ll be a good night for exploring the Quarter.”
In an instant I’d plastered an amenable smile on my face and nodded. “You’re right.” She wasn’t, and I didn’t believe her warnings. “I’ll come pay a visit again soon?”
“I’m open from afternoon until very late,” Marin agreed. “And I look forward to your company.”
“Thanks for the reading.” The door opened before I could touch it, and outside sounds came whooshing back to me in the form of harsh voices and loud music.
“It was my pleasure.” Already she was back to her book, Zahir asleep once more. “Goddess keep you, George.”
“And to you as well.” I didn’t close the door behind me, and certainly did not look to grab a ride home. It was still early, and I wasn’t done exploring just yet.
Chapter 10
Thanks to the directions of more than one stranger, I finally found my way to an appropriate adventure location.
The cemetery I’d been directed to was not ruled by the witches, I’d been promised, and was one of the oldest in New Orleans.
That was perfect for me. Cemeteries were high on my list of ‘desirable adventure locations’ and even more so if I wasn’t going to get mugged by pissed off coven members.
Not to mention vampires couldn’t come in unless they were invited, rendering me safe from that crowd.
My mind drifted to Cian, Akiva, and Indra, unbidden, and my displeasure fell more firmly onto my lips. Not that they were going to show up, I wagered. Not that they would even know I was here.
Or cared.
My shoes scuffed against the pavement, though I paid them no attention. As midnight had come and gone, fog had settled around the cemetery like a heavy mantle. It was as if the graves were inverted, the bodies preserved above ground instead of under. Had a body ever come spilling out at someone’s feet because of the graves eroding away with time? That sounded traumatizing, frankly. I wondered if all the cemeteries in New Orleans were like this. Was the ground unfit for digging graves, or was there some other reason for this practice?
Either way, I was fascinated by the different body houses. Many of them were different from the ones before, and I found no real rhyme or reason in their designs. Was it up to the family of the deceased to build these tombs? Or did you come and pick out the one you liked the best?
Maybe tomb real estate agent was a viable career down here.
A wrought iron fence surrounded one tomb, and I wrapped my fingers around the bars to peer at the name etched into the white stone.
Carson White. Beloved father, brother, son. God watch over you.
Glancing down, my mouth quirked into a small frown at the sight of my witchy t-shirt. Was I being a bit sacrilegious by wearing it to a cemetery? Probably.
I pulled away from the fence, no longer interested, and continued on my walk. No one else was in the cemetery this late, not surprisingly, and it was far enough from real civilization that I could barely hear the murmur and mumbling of the party that never stopped. Once in a while music caught my ears, or a yell, but even that I was able to push away.
My steps led me to an open intersection in the middle of the cemetery. Benches sat on the rock, and I made my way over to
