I pulled it next, lying it above the spread in the center.
What awaited me at my destination?
I reached out, the thought in my mind, to hover my hand over the backs of my cards for inspiration.
But I never got that far.
In a completely new experience for me, one of my cards detached itself from my deck and plastered itself to my palm, pulling a gasp from my throat.
Instinctively my fingers curled lightly around the card, and I held it there, where it had come to me.
But there was absolutely no way to mistake this, so I laid it to the upper right of the spread.
Next I very carefully called the undrawn cards to my hand and laid them aside, before gazing at the backs of the three I had drawn.
First, I flipped the card on the left.
The Six of Cups.
Nostalgia. Revisiting the past.
My cards wanted me to be in the past? My mind jumped from one possibility to the other. Obviously that didn’t mean literally. I understood that. But it meant something important.
Where had I gone that would solve the problem of where I needed to be?
I doubted anyone was dueling in the French Quarter. It was also unlikely that Cian’s house or either of the clubs was a battleground for the preternatural tonight.
Apart from that, I’d been to a few diners, Marin’s shop, the stupid cemetery-
My thoughts froze, though the possibilities seemed to slam into each other like a traffic jam when I stopped myself.
I was so dumb.
Revisiting the Past was meant more literally than I’d thought. Where had I gone with my then-unknown allies to accomplish the means to save Aveline?
The Bayou.
Where had the witches held their counsel?
The cemetery.
I flipped the second card, surprised to see The Magician smiling up at me, her face full of clandestine secrets while her hands hovered infinitely over the four suits of the tarot cards hovering around her.
Manifestation. Resourcefulness. Power.
This was perhaps a bit too vague for my liking, as this addressed my question of the personal qualities I would require. Power was a given. Resourcefulness was vague.
Manifestation?
My fingers pressed to the card and I felt the magic push back like the tide.
It was almost painfully obvious. What was manifestation, if not creating, or summoning, something? It meant that I would have to use my magic directly, not just to help out from the sidelines.
But then–was that ever even a real possibility?
My eyes closed for a moment and I sighed. The card that still remained concealed from me radiated chaotic magic that only I could sense. As if it was goading me to pick it up, turn it over, and puzzle out the meaning.
I had a very good hunch as to what I was going to find, and I wasn’t going to like it much.
Instead of flipping the card with my hand, I gestured with two fingers over it in a sideways motion, causing the card to flip on its own.
“We really must stop meeting like this,” I mumbled, head on my hand as I stared flatly down at the Ten of Swords.
If I hadn’t known what it meant before this month, it was impossible not to now.
Painful Endings. Deep Wounds. Loss.
The man being stabbed seemed to be begging anyone looking at the card for help, all the while pinned to the card by the blades.
But had I been expecting anything different?
I picked up the cards, grabbing the first two easily enough, but when my hand touched the Ten of Swords, its magic shocked me.
It reminded me of when I’d first summoned the Major Arcana into my living room seven years ago.
Images assaulted my mind: memories from my time as a wolf. Only, these images were targeted, only the moments of killing the witches finding my mind.
Sight wasn’t the only thing that I experienced. The taste of blood, the feeling of bones crunching in my jaws; the spattering of gore against my fur and the gurgling sounds of the dying. The fear on the faces of witches I ran towards, teeth bared and eyes blazing as they met their ends.
I pulled my hand back as if I’d been shocked by an outlet.
I’d never experienced anything like this from my cards before. Feelings or a sense of direction, yes. But for the Ten of Swords to come to me instead of the other way around? For my magic to force me to remember?
My head reeled.
What if I was wrong? What if the painful endings that the Ten of Swords of my readings and my dreams weren’t prophesying my painful death?
What if the cards were warning me of the harm I would have to inflict upon other people?
In my mind, I would jump in, support my friends in their quest to rid us of the malcontent vampires, and help save the day. In my fantasy, it was surprisingly non-lethal.
But perhaps I had been kidding myself.
Perhaps, if I took this path and went along with this plan, I would be the one wielding the swords, not the one pinned to the ground asking for help.
You aren’t a killer! I thought to myself. And this doesn’t make you a bad person. It was justified. These people had come after us.
Something tickled my nose, and I had very recently learned not to ignore the feeling. Quickly I drew the Ten of Swords into my hand and set it away with the deck, looking up into my mirror.
In the reflection of my room, Merric lay on my sheets.
“How long have you been there?” I asked.
He didn’t answer immediately. His white tails lay on my pillows and he lounged like a sultan on my frameless bed. It was nothing fit for royalty, but he made it much more impressive with his presence.
“I can’t seem to decide about you
