Click here
Too little time passes before a knock comes at the door. Mildly annoyed that Amelia can’t leave us alone for a while, I take a few seconds to pull myself together before I open the door. I’m very glad I took this beat once I do, because it is not Amelia who stands there.
Instead, it’s a guy I do not recognize. He appears to be our age, or maybe a few years older. He wears only shades of maroon and dark green, the palette of the desert itself, but it’s his utility belt that really draws my attention. It’s where a phoenix-shaped lighter and a wooden baseball bat both hang.
Fear churns in my stomach. As a kid, I didn’t have nightmares about monsters in the closet and boogeymen under the bed. Instead, from the moment I understood I wasn’t like other boys, I had nightmares about a life trapped in the closet and “faithful” men coming to take away the things that matter most. Men who look quite a bit like this.
One second later I feel Logan at my side and remember to exhale.
“Sorry to interrupt,” the guy begins, “but you all have something I’ve been searching for for a very long time.”
Before I can utter a word in response, the door to the adjacent room opens and Amelia and Cleo poke their heads out. Their eyes widen when they see the guy before me. Upon second inspection, he looks not unlike a wand come to life, between his reedy clothes and lean limbs.
“Who are you?” I ask. “What do you want?”
“My name is Cain. I might be the first one here, but other Wanderers could start arriving soon. There’s no telling how many others Maggie called. He is offering a pretty penny for your Perillian deck, along with the missing Prince of Wands and the toolset he loaned you.”
I glance over at Cleo and can tell she’s fighting the urge to break out an “I told you so” look. So Maggie sold us out after all. Suddenly, the pieces come together. He needed the coordinates written in our deck to find the missing cards. Since we weren’t handing that over, he must have given us the toolset to find the coordinates on our own, then he sent his people to follow us. And we played right into his hands.
A hot feeling radiates up my spine. How long has this so-called Wanderer been following us? How many more like him are coming? My instinct tells me to slam the door shut, but then we’d just be trapped in this room and separated from Amelia and Cleo, who have the deck. I need to keep this guy talking to learn as much as possible, as much as I hate the idea.
“I’m sorry, but Maggie never meant for you to leave the desert with everything he gave you,” Cain continues. “But you’re lucky I got here first. Ancient Maggie and his one-track mind, thinking all of us would only want the money.”
“If you don’t want the money, then what do you want?” Amelia asks.
“Some of us place a higher power in these cards than just money,” Cain answers. “I learned about Perilli’s decks from my dad. He taught me how to be a Wanderer. All he ever wanted was to find one of Perilli’s missing cards before he died. He… didn’t get to do that.”
Grief then plays across Cain’s face, raw and unmistakable.
“When I got the call today from Maggie, only days after my dad… Well, it felt like a sign. Especially when I heard you all were so close to my age. And that you inherited the deck from someone you loved, too.”
Cain’s eyes turn to connect with Amelia, next. He can probably see it in her just as strongly, the desire to honor a legacy left behind.
“I came here to help you find the Prince of Wands, as a tribute to my dad.”
As moving as these sentiments might be, I try to remain skeptical. “How do we know you won’t just take the card from us once we find it?”
Cain turns back to me, looking like I’ve asked an offensive question. In response, I glance down at the lighter and bat on his belt. Cain understands.
“Perilli believed in finding physical expressions of our deepest beliefs. These were my dad’s,” he explains. “Baseball and phoenixes were his favorite things. I’ve carried these both with me everywhere since he gave them to me.”
“Is the phoenix part of this whole Perillian Wanderer thing?” Logan asks.
“Phoenixes fit, but being a Wanderer is about more than that,” Cain answers. “Perilli taught that the reverent throughout history have wandered the desert seeking—”
Cain then stops himself, looking around as if he has somehow said too much. I suddenly picture the phoenix painted on the Death card in our deck, its fiery wings unfurling as it rises from a mound of ashes. The card scared me when I was younger, but eventually I began to find comfort in the Death phoenix. It symbolized that death could always be about rebirth, in a way.
It wasn’t until recently I learned that phoenixes always burn themselves out, agents of their own demise.
“I’m sorry. Perilli believed knowledge worth having should be earned,” Cain says. “I can tell you more if you find the Prince.”
Staring back at Cain, I think: Of course, we have to pass some kind of test to be let inside the circle. It’s unclear whether this all smacks more of the occult or an actual cult, but I do know this: the most dangerous people on the planet can be the reverent, if properly armed and improperly motivated.
Just then I hear the sound of a car pulling into the inn entrance up front. No, more like two cars, both probably bringing more Wanderers. I suddenly realize we may have no choice but to accept Cain’s help, now. Depending on who these others are, we might not just be at risk of losing the missing Prince. We might be at risk of losing the entire deck.
“I have a hunch where the Prince of Wands is hidden,” Cain then says. “But all Wanderers do. If we go now, we might be able to beat them to the right room.”
“The only thing we should be doing is getting in Charvan and leaving,” Cleo says. “I mean, we didn’t even unpack. We can grab our bags and go right now.”
I turn to Amelia. She looks just as conflicted as I feel, but then a look of determination settles onto her face.
“I have to try to find the first card while we still have this small head start,” Amelia says. “But Cleo, you’re right. While I look, someone should pack up Charvan so we’re ready to leave the second we can.”
“I’ll stay with Cleo,” Logan says. “Chase, you go with Amelia.”
We all look at one another, not sure this is the best version of the plan. But we also know we just have to go with our gut instincts here.
“Splitting the party is never the best idea,” Cleo says, “but I’ll make sure we get the bags to Charvan without being seen.”
“Great. Let’s go,” Cain says, already moving.
Amelia spins and grabs something from inside the door—Cleo’s art backpack. We all agreed to keep the deck in there, since it has a secret compartment in the interior lining. Amelia and I then step to follow Cain, turning to give Cleo and Logan pleading nods to be careful. They return the gesture before we’re off.
Cain strides deeper down the stretch of rooms ahead of us, thankfully in the opposite direction of the front parking lot. I look over my shoulder as we follow, not seeing anyone coming for us. Yet.
“Perilli was a big Gram Parsons fan, and Gram actually died here in room eight,” Cain whispers as we walk. “They keep it open for tourists to visit. Honestly, I’ve gone there before and searched the room for the Prince, but I never found anything. It’s pretty hopeless trying to find the final missing cards without the clues in your deck.”
“How do you know so much about Perilli?” I ask. “How does anyone?”
“He had some collections of his teachings, but they’re mostly owned by Perilli’s biggest benefactors,” Cain answers, revved like an engine. “They own a place called Azure Tarot in Summerland. I bet that’s your next stop, when it comes to the other missing cards.”
As Cain promised, the door to room eight opens and we step right inside. Once we do, Cain locks the door behind us—hopefully to keep others out and not to keep us in.
“Okay, great,” Amelia says,
“but right now we need to focus on the Prince.”
“Yes,” Cain says. “There has to be a clue on the card that led you here.”
As Amelia pulls the deck out of Cleo’s bag, I do a quick survey of room eight. It looks just like the others, with its classic terra-cotta tones and wood-beamed ceiling, except there are little colorful guitar tributes nestled everywhere. The paintings hung in this room are also slightly different, more vibrant and abstractly symbolic.
“Oh my goddess,” Amelia suddenly exclaims, holding up The Magician as she pulls it from the deck. “That wand symbol in the bottom corner of that painting, it’s exactly the same one Perilli drew on The Magician, where he wrote the coordinates.”
We huddle to examine Amelia’s discovery and quickly realize she is correct. We then walk into the bathroom, where there’s a painting that takes up nearly the entire back wall. It’s made of abstract shapes and colors, so The Magician wand symbol fits right in. It would be nearly impossible to distinguish without Perilli’s card.
“I’ve checked behind all the paintings in this room, they’re bolted to the walls,” Cain says, excitement vibrating in his hushed voice. “But that Magician symbol—Perilli taught that Wands are about magic, which is really about faith. He believed all of it just represented hidden truth. And Perilli said that nothing obscures truth like perspective, because perspective shapes our reality.”
“Can looking behind bring you forward, can looking within broaden your horizons without?” Amelia whispers the Perillian quote, almost in a trance. “If we shift our perspective…”
Then, as if by instinct, Amelia reaches forward and touches the surface of the painting. I gasp as she does, but not because touching a painting is a forbidden act by most standards. I gasp because, as Amelia’s fingers press against the Magician’s symbol, the painting indents, clicking like a button. It reminds me of the way Amelia opened the toolset, which must be how she thought to press it in the first place.
The wall around the painting then comes forward, opening a hidden door… which reveals another small room, hidden behind the bathroom.
Our attention is pulled from this incredible discovery, however, as the doorknob to room eight suddenly begins to rattle, followed by a very loud banging on the door.
“Let us in!” a man’s voice shouts, full of force. “You can’t keep us out for long!”
Obviously, Cain was right about not being the only Wanderer with a hunch about this room. My bones buzz with dread. Suddenly I feel like I’m in one of Amelia’s horror movies, lost in an abandoned place while some furious assailant chases after us.
Turning back to the secret room, I see it’s more like a large closet. I also realize it has a second back door, one that appears to lead to the rear of the inn.
“Chase, that exit,” Amelia says, on the same page. “We can use it to sneak out.”
“If we go inside and close the painting-door behind us, it’ll buy us some time,” Cain adds. “No one has ever found that hidden button before, so we should be safe hiding in there.”
I breathe a sigh of relief, because this is a huge break. The feeling quickly fades, however, as we enter the secret room. Suddenly the idea of trapping ourselves in a cramped, dark room with a total stranger doesn’t feel quite as comforting.
But the moment to change our minds vanishes as Cain closes the door behind us with a quiet click. The tiny room goes dark, so Cain sparks his lighter to life. Looking around, I find the walls are painted a deep maroon color and trimmed with sand-colored molding. Abstract brown lines cover the walls, a mural pattern of wands that wraps around everything. I wonder if every room in the inn has a back exit foyer like this, or if Perilli somehow had this one custom-built behind the painting trapdoor.
The only other thing in this room rests on the floor: a clear container. Crouching down, we see there are phrases painted across it, in a neat and lean font:
Perspective is all that matters.
If you learn to master your perspective, you unlock personal power.
To give birth to the new self, you must set your former self ablaze.
And shed a light that leads the way for others.
Could this message have been left behind by Perilli himself? This thought burns away, however, when we all see what this clear container holds. Inside lies a face-down card, printed with the same back design as our own deck.
I look up and see Cain first, hovering over the container with tears in his eyes, reflecting the little flame flickering.
“I can’t believe I really found one,” he whispers in awe.
Amelia appears equally awed beside him. Not wasting another moment, she then reaches to open the container. As she unearths Perilli’s first lost card, an involuntary chill shivers through me. We may not know everything about the true origins of the deck yet, but we’ve always appreciated its power and beauty. Amelia must be feeling this also, because tears shimmer in her own eyes as she takes in the long-lost Prince of Wands.
She then hands the card to me, knowing I’ll want a closer look, too. From what I can see in the flickering lighter light, the Prince is painted in the same style as our deck. It depicts a young man dressed in red and holding an elaborate golden wand. He is led by a large black bird, its wingspan spread fully over a fiery desert.
Holding the card, it does really feel like we’ve found a piece we’ve been missing our entire lives. The sensation of discovering something so coveted, so special—it’s intoxicating.
Suddenly I begin to understand these Perillians a bit better.
We all then freeze as we hear a muffled voice through the hidden door we came through. The Wanderers obviously found a way into room eight…
But after several seconds of holding our breath, the indistinct voices dissipate. Whoever is searching the room, they don’t know how to access this secret room—and it turns out neither side can really hear much through the wall, mercifully. Still, that doesn’t mean we should linger much longer.
Though I’m distracted once again as Cain bursts into quiet sobs.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, trying to compose himself. “I just can’t believe my dad isn’t here to see this.”
“I understand,” Amelia whispers back, patting his shoulder. “These cards mean a lot to us, too. But we should really get going before—”
“I can stay behind and cover long enough for you to drive away,” Cain says, tear stains now creasing his cheeks. “But I need to ask something of you, first.”
Amelia and I both tense. Cain has helped us, but the idea he was doing it for nothing never quite sat right with me. I brace myself to finally hear his price.
“My dad always said he’d never rest until he found a card like this,” Cain begins. “I can still feel him all around, like he really is restless. There’s this Perillian belief, that only a reading with cards of your Corner can grant completion. I tried with a replica deck, but it didn’t…”
Cain pauses, sniffling and taking a breath. He then focuses his full gaze on Amelia.
“I don’t want your deck, that belongs with you. But is there any way you’d let me bring the Prince of Wands to my dad’s grave? That way I can do the reading and close his chapter.”
My brain spins. I can only imagine how Amelia must be feeling, hearing this request. It’s all too much, so fast. And we still don’t have any idea how much time we have before we are potentially discovered. The sentimental side of me wants to believe Cain—after all, every religion is made of rituals like the one he describes. Then again, my skeptical side thinks Cain could just be lying to get the card.
“You can still sneak out of here with the deck and find the other missing cards,” Cain tries. “All I want is the Prince. And I promise I’ll return it to you once it serves its purpose.”
“These cards are my last connection to my grandma,” Amelia whispers. “I just want to know more about her and why she had it.”
“Then you understand why the Prince means so much t
o me,” Cain says.
Doubt blazes in Amelia’s eyes, paralyzing her. I can tell she wants to keep the Prince, but she also isn’t sure that’s the right thing to do. At the same time, the card feels like it burns a hole in my palm.
With a sudden jolt of clarity, I realize I’m going to have to be the one to make this decision. Amelia will never be able to live with herself, whether we keep the card or give it away. But do I trust Cain for what he’s done to help us? Will he refuse to cover our exit if I don’t give him the Prince—or worse?
Phrases race through my fragmented mind, faster with each fraught second. What was it Amelia and Logan said we needed to beware most, during their diner tarot reading? Do I really believe the Prince holds the power Cain claims?
Making this decision based on just one of these questions would be hard enough… but then again, I’m uniquely prepared to make a choice from the middle.
“If the card is meant to be with us, it’ll find its way back. So we’ll give the Prince to you, Cain.”
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“I’m sorry, we have to take the Prince with us, until we know for sure who to trust.”
Click here
The words leave my mouth, and with them I know so many implications will follow. Ultimately, I have faith this card will end up exactly where it’s meant to, as valuable as it might be. Besides, giving the card to Cain is the kind thing to do.
Still, I turn to Amelia before delivering on my promise, to give her the opportunity to stop me. She stares back at me with wide eyes… but she does not tell me she disagrees.
So I turn to Cain and hand him the long-lost Prince of Wands.
He clutches the Prince and I watch the relieved look that warms his face.
“I can’t thank you both enough,” Cain whispers. “I promise to return it to you when the time is right. Until then, let’s get you out of here.”
Cain then treads lightly over to the exit door and hands me his lighter to hold. I keep my eyes on Amelia, willing her to send me some signal of approval, but she keeps her eyes fully focused on Cain. He uses his entire body to push the door as he turns the knob, hoping to be as quiet as possible. The door sticks at first and my heart stops, thinking we’re now trapped in this dark room. However, after some finessing from Cain, the door swings open and I finally exhale.
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