Spell Fire (22 page)

"One card." Aunt Terra probably thought I didn't have the fortitude to survive more. She placed the tarot deck on the table, knocked on it three times, then handed it to me. "Shuffle however you like, then cut the deck into three piles."

My fingers trembled, and I fumbled with the unwieldy gilt-edged deck. After much awkwardness, the cards seemed sufficiently reassembled. I placed the deck on the table and separated it into three stacks, which I fussed with until they were even in height and distance apart.

Aunt Terra placed the third stack on top of the second, and the combined stack on top of the first. "Fan them out," she coached.

I did, poking and spreading until the cards appeared uniformly spread.

"Glide your hand above them. When your finger drops and touches a card, freeze on it."

"Okay." My fingers shook. Two-thirds of the way, my middle finger touched a card.

"Pull it from the deck."

I did as instructed, leaving the card face down, not quite ready to view my fate.

Uncle Esmun leaned forward. "Let's see what you got."

Most of the tarot cards mentioned in the almanac had been accompanied by depressing or dire warnings.
How much worse could it get?
I flipped over the card.

Number thirteen.

Death.

Chapter Twenty-Four

"It's not as bad as you think," Aunt Terra said.

It was probably worse.
There are skulls.

"The Death card has a bad rap," Uncle Esmun insisted.

"It doesn't mean
death,
death," Aunt Terra said. "Rather, the end of a cycle. Remember, Major Arcana cards mean you're working on a deep spiritual level, not a mundane level."

"So no one I love is going to die?"

"We all die," Aunt Terra said. "But this card warns of change and the symbolic death of something. A relationship. An old way of life." She glanced at Uncle Esmun and sighed. "A business failure."

"I see." A relationship
. Had my parents decided to divorce? Would Thor end whatever was between us?
A business failure…Spiral Journeys?
Her explanation didn't make me feel gobs better.

Uncle Esmun said, "Place the card under your pillow tonight. See what comes to you in your dreams."

"I bet nightmares."

"Before you go to sleep, tell yourself to remember your dreams," Aunt Terra suggested.

I rose, holding the card as if it were a dead daddy-longlegs spider. I wished I could text Jazmin or Thor. Maybe I could email Jazmin in the morning. "Guess I'll have to trust you on this."

Uncle Esmun's expression brightened. "There's the spirit."

I walked to my room, the Death card singeing my hand like a one-way ticket to a black hole.

****

I dreamt of Sophia surrounded by fire, Jazmin dressed in a lab coat, and Thor — my whole body flushed, remembering my dream about
him
. The rest of the night was a blank, though I'm sure there had been more images. I woke to twisted bed coverings, my pillow on the orchid carpet, and the comforting smell of bacon. I breathed in the promise of another family breakfast. As much as I wanted to be home, sleeping until noon, I dreaded returning to my solitary breakfasts in our industrial kitchen.

At Spiral Journeys, I counted the money in the till while I waited for the computer to boot up. Aunt Terra and Uncle Esmun were in the back, inventorying what might be their last shipment if money didn't start pouring in. My back was to the mural. Its magnetic pull pulsed through the semi-darkness.

My gaze darted to the corners of the store. Memories of the dark entities Ayelett had unleashed shuddered through me. I debated turning on more lights but decided against it. More illumination would make the store appear open, and I'd never get through my emails if people banged on the door.

With the till counted and stashed, I squirted sanitizer on my hands and waved them dry before reaching for the mouse. The Internet came up. I sent out another email blast for the solstice event, then switched to my personal email account and waited until my inbox filled the screen. New emails were listed from Jazmin, Rayne, and my French teacher. Bypassing those, I clicked on the post from Dad.

Ains,

Ship disabled in port. Mom and I are flying home. Expect to arrive on Dec. seventeen. All airlines from Palm Springs booked solid through New Year's. Exchanged your ticket for the last seat on the Alaska Airlines seven a.m. flight to San Francisco, Dec. twentieth. Use this code for online check-in on the nineteenth.

Love, Dad

He hadn't mentioned a divorce or reconciliation. The twentieth? I could be home in four days? My gaze locked on the six-letter confirmation code. A worry I couldn't quite place nagged at the fringes of my mind. I pushed the feeling aside and opened Jazmin's email.

Hey You!

Find a magic portal and transport yourself back here. The mall needs us! Everyone missed you at the showcase, but guess I already told you.

Finals went well. Yay! They are over!

How's everything in the shaman household? Have you become one yet? Found true love?

Rock on, Jaz

The clock on the computer read eight forty-five. Fifteen minutes until opening. I dashed off a quick reply.

Hey Jaz,

You did an awesome job visualizing a boyfriend for me. He's a dragon shaman! Tell you all about him when I return. I may be home before Christmas. Stay tuned.

Hugs, Ains

I'm not sure why I didn't say I'd be home on the twentieth
. An incoming email from Thor popped up: "Greetings Ainslie Ninja-Avalon-Bennett. Just saw the social media blast you did for the solstice. Awesome!"

I backed up and locked on the word
solstice.
The obsessive-compulsive part of my brain that counted stairs, sweet potato fries, and ways to entertain Isis groaned awake. The winter solstice — December
twenty-first.
Realization sucker-punched me. If I flew home to be with my parents, I'd miss the solstice event. And if I wasn't here to watch Isis, there would be no event. Aunt Terra and Uncle Esmun would lose the store for sure.

I brought up the airline's website and checked availability on my original flight. None. My former seat on the twenty-sixth had been sold. My fingers clicked the keys, checking one flight after the other. My face heated. Booked. All booked. If I didn't take the flight on the twentieth, I wouldn't be able to get home until January second, three days before school started.

My chest tightened.
Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic.
I closed the airline's tab. Returning to Thor's email, I replied: "When will you be back among the living?"

"Any word from Niffer?" Aunt Terra called out from the vicinity of the bookcases.

"No." I clicked on the send icon. "Nothing from Mom." Technically it was true.

"I'm surprised." Aunt Terra crossed to the music section and displayed a pair of New Age CDs. "Maybe they needed to recharge their phones."

"Possibly. I'm sure I'll hear from them." I mustered a Junior Cotillion smile.

Aunt Terra angled her head and examined me.

"Oops. Past nine o'clock. I better open up." With faux casualness, I asked, "What time does Jett work today?"

"Noon to six." She approached the register. "Esmun and I so appreciate your help. I feel awful. You've been working instead of doing something fun. Usually Thor fills in at Christmas, but with his health scare…" Her voice trailed off.

"I am having fun. I like hanging with you guys."

Relief softened the worry lines around her mouth and above her nose. "Promise you'll come back in the spring when things aren't so crazy." She glanced around the darkened store. "Hope we still have the place by then."

"You will." Leaden with worry and indecision, I marched toward the door. I had dressed in my floral skinny jeans and ribbed salmon top and had wound a Mediterranean blue scarf around my neck. Using the scarf as a germ shield, I flipped on the rest of the lights and unlocked the front door.

I had returned to the register when the moon-and-wolf chime clanged. Aunt Terra whisked toward the door, arms outstretched. "Betty. Arthur. I'm so sorry I wasn't here the last time you stopped by." She clasped Betty's hand and guided the older woman past the register. "The healing room is ready for you."

"I'll stay out here and flirt with this young lady," Arthur told them.

"Sell him something pretty," Betty called over her shoulder as Aunt Terra led her toward the hall.

Arthur waved her off, then leaned against one of the glass display cases ringing the register. "She's on her third cancer." He made a wet, air-sucking, loose denture sound and shook his head.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Know what she told me when she found out?"

"No. What?"

Arthur tapped the glass countertop. "She said, 'I'm going to make it to our fiftieth wedding anniversary.'"

"When is your anniversary?"

"End of July. Can you imagine? She's about to go through chemo again, and what does she think about? Our anniversary."

"I wish my parents had a marriage like yours. I'm not sure they'll make it through Christmas."

"I hope they work it out," Arthur said.

"Thanks. Me too."

"This fire fortune event you have coming up. Does it star the same Jett who works here? The kid with the hair over his eyes?"

"Yes. He's amazing. If you haven't bought tickets already, you should."

"Betty has her heart set on it."

"We'll be doing a drawing to see who gets their fortune read. She might get lucky."

He pulled out a well-worn brown leather wallet. "I'll buy two tickets." His hand shook as he pulled out two twenties. "But between you and me—" he leaned forward and lowered his voice, "—I hope you don't pull her name. The doc says the outlook isn't too good this time."

I neutralized my expression. Jett hated doing fortunes when the risk of a bad outcome was high. I shifted from one foot to the other. My back tingled. Dragon energy nudged the area between my shoulder blades. I glanced up at the mural and my stomach lurched. My face warmed and I felt myself glow. Arthur's eyes widened, and the twenties floated onto the counter.

"Ever have to make a hard decision?" I asked.

Arthur rubbed his eyes. "All the time." He stared at me, his pale eyes watery.

"How do you decide the best course?"

He huffed air out his nose and scratched the white stubble along his jaw. "I follow my heart or my gut. Betty watches for signs."

The wolf-and-moon chime clanged. A Hispanic family with a teen daughter and three younger children entered ahead of two middle-aged women sporting mannish haircuts, cotton capris, and crisp polo shirts. Mac, the alientologist, trailed the pack.

"You've got work to do," Arthur said, "so I'm going to claim one of those chairs." He nodded toward the cushioned rattan reading chairs in the book section. "And wait for Betty."

"Don't forget to buy something pretty!"

He waved while he walked away.

Mac approached the counter. He had shaved and wore faded jeans and a button-down shirt. If not for the Alientologist cap on his head, he could have passed for a teacher at Athenian Academy. "How's the budding astrophysicist?" His tone was amicable in a sort of a formal, guarded way.

"Hanging in there." My gaze migrated to the two women, who had stopped to peruse the Wicca table.

"Must be hard to keep up with school." Up close, his eyes gleamed with keen intelligence. "Esmun told me you have to take finals when you return."

"Yes. I hope my A average doesn't fall into a black hole."

"Remember to look up."

"Huh?"

He pointed up. "Watch the night sky."

"Oh. Sure." Did he expect me to search for aliens? Did he think they'd help me write my report on
The
Scarlet Letter?
I didn't bother looking for stars in the winter. Back home, there was too much fog and rain. Here, I had been too stressed or preoccupied.

"Which college did you say was your top choice?" Mac asked.

I wasn't sure I had mentioned it, but I quickly answered, "Columbia University."

He tapped the glass case. "Great school."

"Definitely. See you at six o'clock on the twenty-first?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Mac said. "I wish board members could enter the drawing."

"Hire Jett to do a private reading."

"Good idea." He left, leaving me to wonder why he hadn't just telephoned. I glanced at the digital computer clock. Ninety minutes until Jett arrived.
Not much time to develop a convincing plan B.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Jett arrived at noon, Isis in tow, his expression defiant. He hid behind his long, angled bangs and kept his lips pressed together in a pained line. He wore his clothes like a thundercloud — black long-sleeved tee, black skinny jeans, and a black leather bracelet laced over his scarred wrist. His feet must have missed the gloom and doom memo. Encased in black-and-white knockoff tennis shoes, they stuck out like twin piano keyboards.

Aunt Terra frowned at him over the line of customers at the cash register. I pulled a moonstone goddess necklace from the glass display case and handed it to a woman who had requested a closer look. As she examined the charm, I glanced at Isis.

Alongside her brother's foreboding black armor, Isis resembled a faded garden bloom. She wore her ratty pink sweater, much-washed purple princess dress, ragged lacy ankle socks, and her scuffed glittery red shoes. I wondered if she owned any other clothes. My gaze dropped to the small, plastic-looking backpack she dragged behind her. Isis kept her chin down. Her long, blond curls bounced as she walked on tiptoe.

"I'll take it," the customer said.

"Your niece will love it." I sidestepped to a twirl case and plucked up a pair of sterling-and-moonstone earrings. "Does she have pierced ears?"