by Paul W Papa
Theodosia was a fortune teller who dressed the part—mostly for her clients—and while much of what she did was for entertainment purposes, Mayer knew well the gift she brought out only on special occasions, and only with the right people.
“Hello, Theo,” Mayer said.
“Hello Prometheus. Won’t you come in?”
Theodosia was one of the few people in Mayer’s world who knew his real first name and one of the even fewer who were allowed to use it. It was a handle given to him by his mother, Doris, a student of Greek mythology and paranormal studies. She received her three degrees at Berkley and it was there, working on her doctorate, that she met Mayer’s father, Elias, whose family left Germany in 1914 when the Great War broke out. Doris Blaine-Mayer bestowed upon her child the Greek name of Prometheus, meaning forethought. And, as if that name wasn’t difficult enough, she tacked on the middle name of Makarios, meaning blessed in the same language. Not easy names to have as a kid.
When she was still alive, Doris would drag her only son to Theodosia Petulengro’s house where she routinely received tarot readings. The two women became fast friends when Doris recognized immediately Theodosia’s true powers. His mother saw her as a confidant, and, because of that, so too did Mayer.
It was Theodosia who had given him the onyx bracelets he wore on his left wrist—just where she had told him to place them. The rosary beads came from a priest—one who, like Mayer, had seen far too much not to believe.
Instead of the front showroom parlor—decorated much like the inside of a gypsy caravan—where she entertained most of her guests, Theodosia took Mayer down the hallway to the kitchen in the back of the house. She offered him a seat, then turned to the stove where a kettle of hot water was at the ready.
“Earl Grey?” she asked.
Mayer nodded, placing his lid on the table.
She removed a porcelain cup from a peg under the cabinet. It had a gold brim and a pattern of red dog roses along one side. Steam, like the mushroom cloud this morning, rose high as Theodosia covered the leaves she’d encased in a silver infuser with the hot liquid. She placed the cup on a matching saucer and handed it to Mayer.
He let the leaves steep.
“You always did like it dark,” she said, then smiled as she poured herself a cup and took a seat at the table across from him. “I was told you might be coming, but there was no indication as to why.”
“I have another case,” Mayer said. “One that should be open-and-shut, but doesn’t feel that way.”
“And what do you seek from me?”
“Understanding, as always.”
“I can’t promise you understanding,” Theodosia said. “The tarot can only aid you on your journey to fulfillment. The cards reveal a possible pathway. A door you may or may not choose to open. Nothing else.”
“Enlightenment then,” Mayer said.
“Drink your tea,” Theodosia said, then pulled out a deck of cards from a pocket under her skirt. They weren’t the cards she used with her regular guests. No, these were a family heirloom, plainly decorated, passed down from mother to daughter for more generations than Mayer could recall. Of course, Theodosia knew them all and every morning, just after she rose, she thanked those who had come before her, those who had passed down the gift.
She handed the deck to Mayer, clasping his hands in hers, as she always did, briefly before letting the deck go. Her hands were soft and warm. The cards were tattered, but only around the edges—age, not abuse.
“Hold the cards and consider your question,” she said as she lit the sandalwood candle resting on the table. “Bring yourself into the cards.”
Mayer thought of what he wanted to ask, knowing that the question had to be worded properly. He knew silly things like Should I have taken this case? or Is Pierce telling me the truth? would be met with harsh criticism on the part of Theodosia, and the cards. If he wanted a proper answer—a proper reading—he first needed to understand the question.
He thought of everything that had happened already. Of Hawthorne and the will, the suicide, and the missing holes in the wall. He thought of the hairs he found on the floor, the housekeeper, Vera Krupp, and the hawk soaring high in the sky, following him, circling its prey.
Theodosia instructed him to shuffle the cards, making sure to keep them facedown. She didn’t have to tell him that each time she read for him, but she did anyway. When the deck was shuffled, she gently took the cards from him and held them next to her chest, keeping her eyes closed. There was a stillness in the air, and the room seemed a bit colder than it had only a moment before. But it was nothing new to Mayer. Nothing he hadn’t felt before.
He tried his tea.
Theodosia began dealing the cards into three stacks. This was known as the three-card spread. It was a common type of reading in that it allowed each of the positions to guide the seeker, as each represented an aspect of the question—past, present, and future. Each a part to consider.
“Ask the cards your question,” Theodosia said.
“What forces will I be dealing with and what should I consider as I proceed?”
Theodosia flashed him an approving smile and motioned for Mayer to turn over the top card of the first stack. After he did, she placed it between them in the first position. The card showed the profile of a blindfolded woman in a white robe, holding a pair of crossed swords. Theodosia laid the card just as Mayer had turned it, upside down—the reverse position.
“You are confused by your plight and are unable to see either the problem or the solution,” Theodosia said.
“Story of my life,” Mayer added and took another sip of tea.
“You seem to be missing information. Something that would make your decision clear. You must look harder. Use both your head and your heart to weigh the options,” Theodosia said. “Take in the situation as a whole. Trust your intuition.”
Theodosia motioned for Mayer to turn over the second card. The three of pentacles. On the face of this card was the image of a stonemason working with his tools. An architect on either side held the designs for the building, which was meant to represent a cathedral. The architects were bearded, elderly men, while the stonemason was young.
Theodosia chuckled as she placed the card down on the table, to the right of the first card. “In order to succeed, you must do something you do not enjoy,” she said, then added, “work as a team.”
“Dandy,” Mayer said, but he’d meant to keep it in his head.
“There is value in different levels of experience,” Theodosia said. “The stonemason cannot build the cathedral without the help of the architects. Neither can the architects build the cathedral without the stonemason. Each must play their part. The older architects respect the skill and knowledge of the stonemason, while the young stonemason appreciates the wisdom of the architects. Neither operates from a position of superiority.
“You must be willing to learn from others, Prometheus, understand that they too have something to offer, regardless of their background or level of experience. Once you have your plan in place, you must understand that each person on the team has a role to play and a unique contribution to make. This is not something you will be able to accomplish alone.”
Mayer’s day was getting better and better, which is why he shouldn’t have been surprised at all when he turned over the third card. The one he hated to see the most.
Eight
“OH DEAR,” THEODOSIA said as she placed the overturned card in the third position, reversed. “It seems the six of clubs has come back for yet another visit.”
This deceitful little card hid behind the innocence of two children, a boy and a girl, the boy handing the girl a bouquet of flowers. Love, harmony, and cooperation. But not when in reverse.
“You continue to live in the past,” Theodosia said, then she took his hands in hers. “You must let go of what happened to them. The cards are clear. You continue your private stroll down memory lane, holding onto the fear and the pain.” The
odosia looked intently into Mayer’s eyes. “You must forgive yourself, Prometheus. What happened was not your fault.”
Mayer pulled his hands back. “That’s just it, isn’t it? I don’t know what happened. One day they were here and the next . . .”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
“Your parents knew what they were getting into. They understood the risks.”
Sure. They knew what they were getting into, chasing Hitler and his search for the occult halfway around the world, but what about Prometheus Makarios Mayer? How was a seventeen-year-old kid about to graduate high school supposed to deal with it all? How was he supposed to make something of himself without the influence of the two most important people in his life?
“You got something stronger than tea?” Mayer asked. “I could use a stiff hooker.”
Theodosia stood and moved over to the cabinet. “I think I have some Carioca,” she said. “Unless you’d rather have brandy?”
“No. The rum will do,” Mayer said.
She poured a couple of fingers in a short glass and handed it to Mayer. It was sweet and smooth, just what Mayer needed to chase away the demons.
Theodosia took her seat. “Do you want to tell me about the case?”
“You sure you want to hear it?”
She nodded.
“You see the paper this morning?” he asked. “The article about R. J. Hawthorne kicking himself off?”
“I saw it,” she admitted.
“Well his partner, William James Pierce, is convinced that good ol’ R. J. could never have committed suicide, and he wants me to prove it.”
“What do the police say?”
“Sheriff’s department ruled it as a suicide. Open-and-shut case. His prints on the gun, burn marks on his hand, no sign of forced entry, nothing missing. No one to blame but Hawthorne.”
“And where do you fit into all of this?”
Mayer tapped his nose. “Just what I asked Pierce,” he said. “But he didn’t have a good answer.”
Mayer told Theodosia about the visit to the trailer, about the hairs he found on the floor, the hawk that seemed to follow him, and the red eyes.
“Hawks are guardians,” Theodosia said. “They often carry messages from our ancestors. They are gatekeepers of the East, representing honesty and clear vision.” She paused. “Did it’s shadow pass over you by chance?”
“Did it?” Mayer exclaimed. “Not only did it pass over me, it almost overtook me.”
Theodosia rubbed her hand gently across her lips.
“What is it?” Mayer asked.
“Hawks are warriors of truth,” she said. “If a hawk passes his shadow over you, it means you are in danger.”
“Ain’t that a bite,” Mayer said.
“You know that area behind the ranch is sacred to the Paiutes, right?”
“I know.”
“What is your plan?”
“I’ll have to go up there and have a look around, won’t I?”
Theodosia stood. She walked over to the kitchen cabinet, pulled a piece of paper from a small notebook and a pencil from the carnival glass holder. She wrote something on the paper, brought it back to the table, and slid it over to Mayer. “You’ll need the blessing of the tribe if you intend to go on Paiute land without desecrating it,” she said. “Call Shaman Mahkah. Tell him I sent you.”
Mayer examined the paper, the name and phone number of the Shaman scribbled upon it.
“Finish your tea,” Theodosia said as she left the room.
Mayer knew why she wanted him to finish the tea. It was the same reason she gave it to him in the first place—she wanted to read the leaves. It wasn’t the best chaser to a shot of rum, but Mayer knew not to tempt Theodosia, so he finished the drink, leaving the requisite teaspoon or so in the bottom of the cup.
When Theodosia returned and had taken her seat, Mayer pushed the teacup and saucer across the table to her. She took the teacup in her left hand and swirled the remaining liquid counter-clockwise. Then she said something quietly that Mayer did not understand and turned the cup over onto the saucer. After a minute or so, she turned it upright and gazed into the cup.
Mayer waited.
Theodosia concentrated on the leaves, but said nothing. She took the cup in her hand and turned it, holding it up to the light coming in from the kitchen’s only window, but still did not speak.
“What is it?” Mayer finally asked.
Theodosia looked at Mayer intently. “Must you take this case?” she asked.
“I’ve already accepted the scratch,” Mayer said. “And something definitely isn’t kosher with that crime scene. Why? What do you see?”
“A wolf,” Theodosia said.
“I thought the wolf was a symbol of loyalty?”
“It is. But it is also the symbol of destruction and death. Sunkmanitu, the Devine Dog, will one day chew through his chains and devour the sun at the end of times. Your wolf is baring its teeth, ready to attack. The leaves reveal danger ahead.”
“Is that all?” Mayer asked.
“There is an H. At the tip of the wolf’s teeth is the letter H.”
“You think a wolf killed Hawthorne?” Mayer asked. “There are no wolves in Las Vegas.”
Theodosia gave him a disapproving glare. “The wolf is only symbolic. It does not mean a wolf killed Hawthorne. It means there is danger in what you seek to do. The wolf is baring its teeth. If you proceed, it will bare them at you and you will be in grave danger.”
Mayer stood. “It wouldn’t be the first time,” he said.
Mayer replaced his lid, kissed Theodosia on the cheek, and slid her a sawbuck. Then he turned to leave.
“Do not take this warning lightly, Prometheus,” Theodosia warned. “It could be your undoing.”
Mayer nodded, but he didn’t look back.
Nine
MAYER RETURNED TO Atomic Liquors, parking in the back, the weight of Theodosia’s words still weighing on him like a rain-soaked overcoat. The cards had told the truth. They always did, even if Mayer didn’t want to hear it—or admit it.
He popped open his trunk and reached inside to the plain wood box he stored there, a box which housed his most valuable possession—his mother’s diary. Mayer could have found some way to get to college, to earn a degree or two, maybe even pick up where his parents left off, but why? What would it have gained him? His knowledge had come from the streets, and there was more in his mother’s writings than in any college course he could ever have taken.
He cradled the leatherbound book in his right hand, the rosary tapping against it, as he stepped inside the tavern. When his eyes adjusted to the dimness, Mayer found Virginia, Stella’s mother, behind the bar. She had on a dark blue, A-line, day dress with puffed shoulders—its white collar and sleeve bands matched the buttons that ran the length of the dress. Her time-worn face lit as he entered.
“Prometheus,” she said. “There you are. Come, take a seat.”
Virginia was like a mother to Mayer, assuming the role when his own disappeared. For her part, Virginia always treated Mayer like the son she never had, keeping him housed, fed and, on more than one occasion, out of trouble. The first time he got pinched and ended up in the can, it was Virginia who posted bail. And it was Virginia who took him to court to account for his deeds instead of trying to use her influence to get him out of the jam.
“Coffee?” she asked.
Mayer nodded, taking a seat at one of the stools and placing his lid on the bar. He would have asked for something stronger, but he didn’t want to chance one of Virginia’s famous disapproving looks. When she turned to get the coffee, Mayer slid the diary under his lid.
Virginia placed the cup and saucer in front of Mayer, then filled it with the dark steaming brew. He took a deep breath, letting the scent from the roasted beans seep into his lungs. The day had already been strange and the familiar smell was a welcome change. Virginia had given him no spoon on the saucer, nor was there sugar or cream. Jus
t how he liked it, though he would have liked it better with a little Irish whiskey.
Virginia watched him take a sip, then smiled pleasantly. “That your mother’s diary?” she asked.
Mayer swallowed hard, resisting the urge to spit out the liquid, and tried not to choke. He should have known he wouldn’t get anything past his surrogate mother; she was as keen-eyed as his own. “It is,” he admitted, after composing himself.
Virginia raised a judgmental eyebrow. “Stella tells me you have a new case.”
“Stella has a big mouth,” Mayer said, then tried the coffee again. It went down much smoother the second time.
Virginia chuckled the way mothers do. “That why you have the diary?”
He nodded.
“The secrets to life are not in those pages, Prometheus.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
Virginia leaned over the bar and lifted Mayer’s hat, exposing the book. She rubbed her hand gently over the soft cover. “I miss her, you know. Doris was more like a sister to me than a friend.”
Mayer nodded.
“She had a way of seeing things. A way of looking inside a person and recognizing the truth.”
Mayer flashed her a knowing smile and took another sip of coffee. “Theodosia claims I’m holding onto fear and pain,” he said. “That I have to forgive myself.”
“You went to see that gypsy again?” Virginia asked. It was accompanied by one of those looks he’d been trying to avoid, and more than a hint of vinegar.
“I know. You don’t approve.”
“Doris sought her advice all the time, and look where it got her?”
Mayer wrapped his hands around the plain white cup, taking in its warmth. He didn’t respond.
Virginia placed a soft hand on Mayer’s arm. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That was uncalled for.”
Mayer moved his hand atop hers and gave her a kind smile.
“I hate to say it,” Virginia said, “but that gypsy is right, this time. You hold far too much guilt. What did you think a 17-year-old could do anyway?”