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PEERING THROUGH
"For your hopes or fears—" Raven laid down the card in what she hoped was sufficiently ominous fashion "—the Tower. 'Things fall apart, the center cannot hold.'"
Usually, the Yeats quote got her a quick smile—or at least an eye-roll. This was a college town, so her chances of hitting an English major who was writing a paper on the poem were better than average. But the girl in front of her flinched, and looked up from the cards. "And . . . how does it turn out?" Her eyes were red and watery.
Raven put down the final card. Two of Swords. Dammit, how was she supposed to spin something positive out of that? "A knife's edge," she said out loud. "A delicate balance. Not even the cards can say for certain what will happen. I'm sorry." The last was involuntary, as the girl started to cry, face scrunching up like a child's, shoulders shaking silently.
The girl shook her head. "It's okay," she said, and hastily bent down to her purse, rummaging for—tissues, probably. Raven looked around, but she didn't keep tissues near her table unless she had a cold. By the time she looked back, the girl had found her tissues and was wiping her face with them. "It's just been a bad few days."
Raven hesitated a moment, then leaned forward. The boss didn't frown on being a shoulder to cry on, as long as it didn't take too long. "What's wrong?"
"It's a friend of mine." The girl wiped impatiently at her eyes with her wad of tissues. "Nobody's seen her for two days, and she isn't answering her phone, and the police won't listen to me—"
"The police?"
"She lives right down the hall from me. I know her. She wouldn't just run off like that." The girl took a long, shuddering breath, then stood up. "Thank you for the reading."
"My pleasure," Raven told her automatically. "And, er, good luck."
"Thank you," the girl said with a tiny smile, and left. Her face was still tear-streaked.
"I don't need a full reading," the guy said.
Raven studied him for a moment. Sitting all the way back in the chair, arms loosely crossed, mouth tight, hair unbrushed—okay, college town, not unusual—and shadows under his eyes as if he hadn't slept for a week. Not worth the argument, she decided. "Of course, sir," she said instead. "I can do a three-card reading—"
"Yeah, sure. My girl—" The guy cut himself off and waved one hand.
Well, then. Raven cut the deck, then began to lay out the cards, reading them off as she went. Querent: Seven of Cups, the Dreamer. Influence: Ten of Swords, betrayal and Ruin. Final outcome—oh, Goddess.
"Two of Swords," Raven said. Coincidence. Had to happen sometimes. "A dangerous balance. I—is your girlfriend missing?"
Silence. Raven looked up from the cards. The guy was staring at her. He stood up, scraping the chair back, and left without a word.
Raven linked her hands and stretched. God and Goddess, it had been a long day. Too many silly people asking silly questions. It paid the rent, but it just felt—
"Excuse me? Are you still open?"
"Of course," Raven said, hastily sitting down again. Dawn must have decided she could fit in one more quickie before leaving. "Please, sit down." When had the girl shown up? She hadn't heard any footsteps. "What sort of reading would you prefer?"
"I don't know." The girl spoke so quietly Raven had to sit forward and strain to hear her. "Something simple?"
"Sure! How about a—" Not a three-card; that would look like she was rushing her out the door. "A six-card reading?" Raven shuffled the cards as she spoke, then offered the pack to the girl for cutting.
"Six is fine." The girl didn't touch the cards. If anything, she seemed to shrink back from them.
"Okay," Raven said, cut the deck herself, and began to lay out the cards.
Querent: Seven of Cups, reversed, the Dreamer entrapped by her own dreams. Not getting out enough. Maybe that was why the girl was so pale. Crossing card: The Tower. Shit. Raven hesitated, trying to think of some way to gentle this—the girl yesterday had started crying—but this one nodded, intent on the cards.
Far Past: Five of Wands, conflict. Near past: Two of Swords. Again; third time in two days. Raven looked up, about to ask if the girl knew someone who was missing, but the girl still hadn't looked up from the cards or said anything. Coincidence, Raven told herself sternly, and returned her attention to the reading.
Major influence: Ten of Swords.
Coincidence, even if she was a fortune-teller. The point was to give the clients insight into their own lives, not use the cards to peer in herself. "Betrayal," Raven translated, biting her tongue on the urge to suggest whose, and turned over the final card. "Leading to—er, a great change. It doesn't necessarily mean death."
"It's all right," the girl said. She looked up from the cards finally, and she was smiling. "I understand. Thank you." She stood up and walked out without hesitation.
Raven caught herself halfway out of her chair. She couldn't go chasing after clients, not even ones that saw the Death card in their future and smiled. Too many unanswered questions, too many possible connections and no answers.
She picked up the cards, shuffled them without cutting, and laid them out one more time. Answer hazy; try again.
Cynthia Odiorne has been writing since she was twelve and got her hands on her first computer. Her most recent story, ". . . And The Door Will Open," appeared in the first issue of Unlined.
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