The room was barely large enough for both Gwen and I to stand without bumping elbows. Most of the floorspace was taken up by the round table smack in the center. There was a gorgeous crystal ball resting on it in a gold-gilded stand, plus two comfy-looking armchairs cozied up to either side. The main wall had a floating shelf stacked with thick taper candles. A dimmable pendant light hung from the ceiling. The floor was covered in a thick, patterned rug.
“I’m not sure how you conduct your readings, but Zelda left a bunch of her tarot cards in that corner cabinet?—”
“I have my own deck,” I murmured, staring at the crystal ball on the table. It was refracting a beam of light that spilled in between the curtains. “You know, you should really keep that covered.”
Gwen sucked in a sharp breath. “Why? Can the spirits see me from the other side? Are they watching us now?”
I glanced at her, lips twitching at the look on her face. “No, Gwen. But if the sunlight hits it the right way, it’ll start a fire.”
“Oh.Oh!” She bleated out a startled laugh. “Like a magnifying glass! I never even thought of that. Jeeze, my Aunt Colette will seriously haunt my ass from the Great Beyond if I burn down her shop.”
She grabbed me by the hand and squeezed hard. I was wearing my gloves — a pair of camel brown leather that matched my belt and boots — but it still took effort not to shy away. If Gwen noticed my skittishness, she didn’t comment on it. Her grin was just as wide and welcoming as it had been the moment I stepped through the front door.
“Thank the goddess you came to Salem, Imogen.” Her pale green eyes locked with mine and I could tell she meant every word. “You’ve been here ten minutes and, already, I can tell you belong with us. I know you said you aren’t planning to stick around but, for what it’s worth… I really hope you change your mind.”
Her words were like a lance to the heart. Not a painful one, but a blow all the same. It moved through me and settled somewhere deep inside before I could even put up a fight.
You belong with us.
I’d never really belonged anywhere. Not for years and years. Which probably explained why quite suddenly (and quite alarmingly) I was blinking back the telltale tingle of tears.
Perhaps sensing I needed a moment to collect myself, Gwen squeezed my hand again, then turned on her kickass spiked stiletto heels and left me to get settled, muttering something about restocking the amethyst before we opened for business. When I was alone, I collapsed into one of the cushioned chairs and looked around at my new ‘office’ with appreciative eyes.
It really was too bad I had to leave in a few days.
If things were different…
I could get used to belonging in a place like this.
* * *
My first day at The Gallows passed by in a blur. I did two readings for walk-in customers before noon. I was a little rusty at first — it had been a while since I had a steady psychic gig — but tarot wasn’t really something you forgot how to do. Each card had an official meaning, but it was the way they came together in a spread that made each session unique. A skilled reader could interpret connections and nuances a novice would miss.
My first client was an older woman with steel-gray hair who’d been coming to Madame Zelda for the past few months. Almost immediately, she confessed she hadn’t been a big fan of The Gallows’ former mystic in residence. She knew exactly what she wanted — a classic Celtic Cross spread — as well as the meanings of just about every card I flipped for her before I could offer my insights. Frankly, I was worried she could’ve done most of the reading herself, but she paid me more than my standard rate (plus a hefty tip!) and promised she’d be back to see me again next month. The curtain swung shut before I had a chance to inform her I’d be long gone by then.
Oh well.
My second session was with a mother-daughter duo who were in town from Indiana and had never stepped foot in a shop like Gwen’s before, let alone done anything as ‘kooky crazy’ (direct quote) as visit a ‘fortune teller.’ They wouldn’t have known the difference between the Ten of Swords and the Page of Wands if it was written across my forehead in indelible ink. I took the time to walk them through their spreads anyway, trying to make it fun for them as I introduced them to the world of major arcana.
As I shuffled the cards, I realized how much I’d missed this. My deck was a warm, familiar weight in my hands. My fingertips tingled across the thick cards, tracing the faintly embossed words and symbols etched on their faces. The deck had belonged to my mom, before I lost her, and I cherished it. It was one of my few sentimental possessions. One of the few remaining vestiges of a life I could hardly remember, anymore.
Between clients, I helped out Sally in the mystical curiosities section. Sally had shown up just before we opened for the day to serve as “emergency staff” — despite Gwen’s insistence that she had things well in hand. (She didnothave things in hand, well or otherwise, FYI.)
Sally should’ve been at home playing with her grandkids and collecting Social Security checks, not dealing with crazed customers. However, the octogenarian was not to be deterred. She’d settled in on a stool behind the counter and started toying with the cash register like she’d done it a million times.
“That girl needs all the help she can get, sugar,” she said solemnly, though her eyes were twinkling. “Glad she’s got you on staff, at least.”
I felt so guilty, I didn’t have the heart to tell her I was a temporary hire.
Sally looked a bit like Betty White, with the same mischievous grin, slight stature, and curly hair. She was also chatty, conversing with everyone who came through the doors as she rang up their crystal purchases and used books.
In the rare lull between customers, she (regrettably) turned the full force of that chattiness in my direction. Within the first five minutes of our acquaintance, I’d learned she had about a hundred grandchildren, made an award-winning cheesecake with raspberry preserve, and was a practicing Wiccan in a local coven. (The same coven that was somehow tied up in all of Gwen’s near-death drama, though she was rather spotty with the details.) She’d been best friends with Gwen’s aunt before she passed away and, as such, had been coming to The Gallows since it was just a plain old occult store, long before it was transformed into what she called a ‘hipster hotspot.’
In return, she asked me about seventy-five personal questions — everything from my middle name to my astrological sign to my place of birth, which I did my best to dodge. This was tough when we were working elbow to elbow, but grew easier as more customers flooded the shop. There was no time for chatter by the time the lunchtime rush reached full swing.
The door bells chimed constantly with new arrivals. Up front, there was a long line snaking through the maze of bookshelves, awaiting coffees. I could hear the espresso machine hissing away as Gwen tried to stay ahead of the crush of undercaffeinated patrons. It was only slightly less busy in the mystical curiosities section. A cluster of customers huddled around the pre-mixed potions. Several teenage girls were conspiring over a love spell while an older gentleman eyed up a bottle that promised to stop male-pattern baldness in its tracks. I slipped behind the counter as Sally rang them up, then helped bag their purchases.
“You okay back here alone?” I asked her. “I thought I might help Gwen get the lunch crowd under control…”