Tarot Academy 1: Spells of Iron and Bone

by Sarah Piper

  I crane my neck to look up at the four black flags waving atop the entrance, each emblazoned in silver with one of the symbols of the Tarot suits.

  The flags snap in the breeze, the silver catching the light and sparkling like diamonds. As the metal grommets clank against the flagpoles, a sensation slips over my skin like soap bubbles in a hot bath, luxurious and inviting and utterly perfect.

  It’s the magick, I realize.

  The magick of the Tarot, and the Academy itself, wrapping its arms around me. A Tarot card appears—not in my pocket or my shoe, not on the pavement at my feet, but in my mind. A couple stands on a grassy spring meadow, he in a bright green tartan, she in a long blue dress. They gaze into each other’s eyes, sharing wine from two chalices.

  The Two of Cups.

  You belong here, Stevie Milan. We are your family, and you are ours. Welcome home.

  It’s one of those messages I can’t quite explain, but my heart trusts it fully, despite all of my reservations, despite all of my fears, despite all of my shame at breaking my promise to Mom and Dad.

  Whatever happened back then was all part of the path that eventually led me here. I know it, right down to my bones. A spiral within a spiral within a spiral.

  I am meant for this.

  And maybe now, by being here, I can finally find some answers to the questions that have haunted my family for decades.

  Maybe now I can finally let them go.

  Tears blur the flags, and I shield my eyes from the sun, as if that’s what’s causing the waterworks.

  “We follow the house system here,” Dr. Devane explains. “Each house corresponds with a Tarot suit and its element, and each student is assigned to a house based on their strongest elemental gift.”

  “How do we know which one is our strongest?”

  “There’s a test. You’ll take it inside. Nothing to worry about—it’s really just a guided meditation to reveal your affinity.” He stretches his fingers toward the flags, pointing at each one in turn. “House of Flame and Fury is wands—fire. House of Blood and Sorrow is cups—water. House of Breath and Blade—that would be swords, or air. And pentacles—the earth element—that’s the House of Iron and Bone. Lucky for you, you won’t be tested on all the names. Not today, anyway.”

  “Flame and blood and blade and bone,” I breathe.

  “What was that?” He leans in closer to catch my fading words.

  “Flame and blood and blade and bone.” But it’s still just a whisper, my mind spinning, my heart hammering in my chest as the pieces click into place.

  They’ll come for you, Stevie. After the sky falls and the scorpion stings, after the star takes flight and the lightning burns… Flame and blood and blade and bone…

  The sky falls—that was the hailstorm that nailed me on the Grande, and it certainly felt like the sky was falling. The scorpion sting? That has to be Luke, the scorpion king himself, seemingly betraying me, stabbing me in the gut. And the star takes flight—I’m the star. Starla. Mom used to call me Starlight. And what else could I call that great leap from the rock face—the spread of the owl’s magickal wings—but taking flight? The lightning burns part fits, too. The minute I was on the ground, lightning blasted the smaller rock behind me.

  Holy. Shitcakes.

  “Stevie, what is it?” Devane asks.

  “My mother.” I grab his arm—fuck propriety. “She knew you would come for me.”

  He considers me a moment, but doesn’t press for an explanation. Thank Goddess; his eyes are full of so much compassion, I’m pretty sure I’d spill everything if only he’d ask.

  Instead, he says simply, “Your mother was a talented seer. It seems she knew a great many things.”

  “What things? What else do you know about her? Does anyone ever talk about her? Or my father? What about—”

  “Stevie, all of your questions will be answered in time. You’ll just… you’ll have to trust us right now. Trust me right now.” He puts his hands on my shoulders, looking deep into my eyes. “Can you do that for me?”

  I want to. Goddess knows, I want to. But despite everything Dr. Devane has done for me, how well do I really know him?

  At the end of the day, he still works for the enemies of my parents. I let my guard down, let his kindness and good looks and taco-making skills lull me into a false sense of security.

  But trust is earned, not presumed. I’d be smart to remember that.

  “Not yet,” I answer honestly, stepping away from the warmth of his touch. It’s too confusing, too easy to believe.

  A sly smile breaks across his face. “Good. You’re learning already.”

  “Trust no one?” I repeat, recalling his earlier advice.

  “Precisely.”

  “Noted.” I pull my hair back into a loose knot, square my shoulders. “But I am here, Dr. Devane. And I’m willing to give this a chance.”

  “Fair enough.” He glances up at the flags once more, then back to me, a passing group of students making the air swirl around us. “Let’s get this over with. Rip off the old Band-Aid, so to speak.”

  “Wait, what? You said the test would be easy!”

  “The house test, yes. Meeting the headmistress? I’m afraid that’s another story entirely.”

  Fourteen

  CASS

  Power.

  It emanates from her in subtle but distinct ways, if one knows where to look. The fire in her eyes, the spunky edge in her words, the sharp turns of an analytical mind. Even the way she carries herself across the landscape of this strange new place, down the hallowed marble halls of the Academy’s oldest building, speaks of fierce determination.

  Not even half a day after being liberated from her own personal hell on earth, Stevie moves through this space like she owns it. Like it’s her birthright.

  She is a witch, through and through. Despite her parents’ best efforts, once she begins her studies in earnest, there will be no steering her off this magickal path.

  I’m not surprised that after spending so many months in Tres Búhos, Kirin has grown so attached to her.

  I tried to warn him when Anna dragged us into this.

  He tried to ignore me.

  And now, I understand why.

  Something about the woman draws me in, too. It isn’t just that inexplicable vision at the moonlit pool. There’s a spark in her, a flicker of something that a deep, ancient part of me recognizes. I feel like our paths have crossed long before—it’s the only explanation. Perhaps before she was even born—at least, in her current incarnation of a fiery, beautiful, young woman. Emphasis on young.

  Christ, Devane. Where are your damn priorities?

  Not only are student-professor relationships forbidden, unprofessional, and highly unethical, but I can’t afford to be distracted—not by Starla Milan or any other woman for that matter. Kirin and the others need me. Our mission is the absolute priority now. Too many lives are at stake, including our own.

  Including that of our newest enrollee.

  A wave of fierce protectiveness rises. The thought of her coming to harm—more than she’s already endured—sends me into a dark fury.

  But I can’t let those thoughts take hold.

  My only interest in Starla—Stevie—is the prophecies. That’s how it has to be. For me, for Kirin, and for anyone else who may find himself inappropriately fantasizing about peeling her out of those delectably tight jeans and pressing his mouth between her thighs…

  “Should we knock?” Stevie asks, startling me from my musings.

  Somehow, we’ve already reached the office at the end of the hallway inside the main administration building. The wide oak door rises up before us, the name-plate polished to a shine.

  Anna Trello, Headmistress.

  “Ah, yes, here we are,” I say awkwardly.

  “You’ll back me up in there, right Doc? Sorry—I mean, Dr. Devane?”

  Ignoring her question, I turn toward the door and knock, hoping she hasn’t noticed the
bulge in my pants.

  Boundaries, Devane. Take your own damn advice for once.

  “Come in,” Anna calls, rather unceremoniously in my opinion, considering the importance of this meeting. I texted her from Lala’s; she knew we were en route, that Stevie had accepted our offer.

  Still, cold stoicism has always been Anna’s way. Maybe things were different before the incident with Stevie’s parents, but in the time I’ve known Anna, she’s always played her cards close to the vest.

  I push open the door to her office, then stand aside so Stevie can enter.

  “Guess it’s trial by fire,” she mumbles. “Thanks a lot.” But, undeterred as ever, Stevie simply rolls her eyes and marches in ahead of me, straight to the center of the room.

  Anna is seated at her desk, flanked by Professor Phaines, the Academy librarian and archivist who’ll be assisting Stevie with the research, just as he assisted her mother. At our entrance, the pair looks up from whatever paperwork they were reviewing, Phaines offering his grandfatherly smile, while Anna remains reserved.

  The air is charged, the immediate tension between the two women like an electrical field, intensifying with every passing moment of silence.

  When it’s obvious no one else is going to make the introduction, I clear my throat and say, “Starla Milan, meet Anna Trello, our headmistress, and Professor Phaines, our esteemed librarian. Colleagues, meet Starla Milan.”

  To her credit, the girl—woman, rather—raises her chin, her eyes resolute as the others extend their hands to shake.

  Stevie obliges, but there’s a definite chill in her demeanor, her movements stiff and reserved.

  Understandable. These are the very people responsible for ousting her parents. Despite the complexities of that particular tale—most of which I don’t even know myself—the terrible outcome is clearly all Stevie knows of it.

  “I’m so pleased you’ve decided to join us, Miss Milan,” Anna finally says, sitting back down and motioning for Stevie to take an empty chair in front of the desk. “I trust Dr. Devane filled you in on the requirements of your enrollment?”

  Stevie remains on her feet. “My understanding is that I’ll be taking classes to gain a foundational knowledge of magick, and working via independent study on my mother’s Tarot research.”

  Anna laughs, a tight, strangled sound that’s nothing like the woman’s genuine expression. “You make it sound as if it’s all work, no play at the Academy. But I assure you, there will be plenty of opportunities for you to enjoy yourself. You’ll be meeting lots of other witches and mages, mingling, learning new things. We’ve got shops and restaurants, arcades, pools and hot tubs. If you enjoy the outdoors, there’s lots of that to explore here, too.”

  Stevie offers a nod, but says nothing.

  Smart girl. Anna is shrewd and discerning, ferreting out information like a vulture scenting carrion. Ingratiating herself is only the first step. Thankfully, Stevie seems immune to it.

  “We want you to be happy here, Starla,” Anna continues. “Or at the very least, comfortable. This is not a prison.”

  “So I’ve been told,” Stevie says.

  “One thing I’d like to make clear from the start,” Anna says, “is the classified nature of your work. I cannot overstate the need for discretion. If word were to get out, it could cause a lot of unnecessary panic at a time when we’re not even sure what we’re dealing with.”

  “I understand,” Stevie says.

  “The people in this room, along with one other graduate research assistant you’ll meet later—are the only ones you can rely on in this delicate matter. Whether you’ve made a discovery or hit a wall, you can count on us to help you—but only us. As far as the other students and professors are concerned, you are a regular student working on a special research assignment for Professor Phaines. Is that clear?”

  “Of course, Miss Trello.”

  “I’m looking forward to working with you on the prophecies,” Phaines says. “The library is simply magnificent—wait until you see it.”

  Stevie offers another polite nod. There’s a flicker of a smile at the mention of the library, but then it’s gone, the office descending into awkward silence once again.

  There’s an elephant in the room—one that undoubtedly matches the size and shape of the hole in Stevie’s heart.

  Stevie’s pain is almost palpable. When she speaks, I can hear the animosity simmering beneath the polite veneer.

  Can Anna truly not feel it?

  I narrow my eyes at the older woman, silently begging her to do the right thing. In this moment, she has one shot to set the tone for Stevie’s entire academic career. With her next words, she can either build a bridge… or burn it down.

  “Miss Milan,” Anna says, and I know from the sudden sap dripping from her voice she’s going to burn it, likely taking us all down with her. “We are so glad you’re here. Magick is your legacy, regardless of what happened in the past. I know your mother would—”

  “Stop.” Stevie holds up a hand, immediately halting Anna’s words. “I’m going to stop you right there, because I don’t believe for a minute you knew my mother. Not enough to speak for her.”

  Anna bristles. “Begging your pardon, but your mother was a friend and mentee of mine for many years, both as an undergraduate and a graduate student. I actually knew her quite well.”

  “Really?” Stevie shrugs. “Then it’s a shame you couldn’t make it to the memorial service. Since you guys were so tight and all.”

  Anna lowers her gaze, absently fidgeting with a stack of papers on her desk. “Miss Milan, I only meant—”

  “Here’s something I bet you didn’t know. My mother loved yellow roses. And Dad—you haven’t mentioned him yet, though you must’ve known him too, right? He had a thing for Mexican chocolate—the kind with chili peppers ground up inside—even though he had high blood sugar and the doctor wanted him to cut back on sweets.”

  Anna sets down her papers, but still doesn’t meet Stevie’s eyes.

  Fucking coward.

  Every instinct is telling me to go stand by Stevie’s side, to put an arm around her, to let her and everyone else in this room know I do have her back, rules and propriety be damned. But she’s so focused, so intent on getting the words out, I don’t dare interrupt.

  “After they died,” Stevie continues, stepping closer to Anna’s desk until the woman has no choice but to look up and meet her gaze, “I’d pop into Sienna’s Gifts, a few blocks from Kettle Black—that’s our tea shop. Every Friday, without fail, I’d bike over there and buy a big bouquet of roses I couldn’t really afford and a box of Mexican chocolates to go with them. Sometimes, if Sienna’s daughter was working, she’d take pity and cut me a deal. Then I’d get back on my bike and ride out to Los Pinones Cemetery, flowers sticking out of my backpack, sweat stinging my eyes. I couldn’t afford a car, since I was supporting myself by then, but it didn’t matter. I’d hoof it up the small hill that led to their gravesite, park the bike, then kneel at the headstone with my meager offerings. Of course, the flowers would be dry and the chocolates melted by sunset—I knew that. But I did it anyway. I did it because my mother loved flowers and my father loved chocolates, and I wanted them to know I still remembered, even if no one else did.”

  “Miss Milan,” Anna says, attempting a gentle tone, which is supremely difficult for her. “I understand. You don’t have to relive this. You—”

  “Here’s something else you probably don’t know about my parents,” Stevie says. “By the time their bodies were recovered, the floodwater had all but evaporated from the canyon, but not from their flesh. They were so bloated and blue, the medical examiner wouldn’t even let me view them. Wouldn’t let me say goodbye. If it wasn’t for dental records and the government-issued serial numbers tattooed on their skin, they wouldn’t have been able to ID them.”

  My stomach churns, my heart breaking for her. How she managed to get out of bed again after this tragedy, I can only imagine.


  Anna shakes her head, eyes full of sympathy, cheeks dark with shame. Genuine, for once. “I am so sorry for—”

  “The day I buried them,” Stevie continues, her voice quavering now but her chin still held high, “it was a hundred and ten degrees in the desert. I stood there in a black dress that was much too heavy for the day, melting in the heat, the whole thing like a hazy mirage as they lowered the little box into the hole. Yeah, just a little box—we had to cremate them, so there wasn’t much point in having anything bigger. That worked out okay, because after the other expenses, caskets weren’t in the budget. So I stood there, hot outside and dead inside, my best friend Jessa the only thing keeping me upright. There were a handful of neighbors too—Kettle Black customers, Mom’s book club. Rita Hernandez. Not a big crowd by any means, but enough to remind me that my parents meant something to the people in our community. That someone other than me and Jessa would miss them, remember them. There weren’t any other witches or mages there, funny enough. No one from the Academy, from their coven. You weren’t there, Miss Trello—I would’ve remembered if you had been, or if you’d called to offer your condolences for the deaths of your so-called friends. But it didn’t matter. My parents were loved, and if they were watching over us that day, they knew it. The rest of us made sure of that.”

  A few tears glitter on her cheeks, but she doesn’t stop.

  “The funeral was on a Friday. So I started going back to the cemetery, same day each week, with the flowers and chocolates. Sometimes I brought a to-go pot of their favorite tea, too—vanilla mint, they both liked that one. Silly, right? It’s not like they could drink it. Or smell the flowers or eat the chocolates. I don’t know why I kept going. After a while it just became my ritual. I never missed a visit.”

  Anna doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Everyone in this room knows what’s coming next.

  “What day is it today?” Stevie asks casually.

  “It’s…” Anna tries to speak, but it gets stuck. She clears her throat. Tries again. “It’s Saturday.”