Major Detours

by Zachary Sergi

  “The origins of tarot cards date back as early as the fourteenth century, but the period we probably care most about is the nineteenth century, when artists started creating their own decks. I have a feeling the artist’s story we’re looking for has to do with the infamous Rider-Waite deck. Perilli was obsessed with the organization it came from: the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn.”

  “Who were they?” I ask. It really is fascinating how each Corner seems to possess a different layer of Perillian knowledge, probably also by design.

  “The Golden Dawn was founded in London in 1888, notable for admitting women alongside men. It was a secret society that studied metaphysics and the occult, so they believed the tarot was a path to personal development. As an act of initiation, new members were required to paint their own tarot decks. This was the reason Golden Dawn member A. E. Waite made his deck—a deck that was later published by Rider and Co.”

  Rosa pauses for another moment, giving me the chance to reflect that this deck-creating practice obviously wasn’t the only tradition Perilli followed. Perhaps this Golden Dawn Order was also what inspired his own fledgling secret society?

  “As they say, the more personal something is, the more universal it becomes,” Rosa continues. “The idea of solving our greatest mysteries with the deeply personal is baked into the very core of the tarot. After all, the word Arcana itself means ‘mysteries,’ or ‘secrets.’ Major mysteries, minor secrets—both coming from the Latin word Arcanum, with roots in the term Arcere.”

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  “I think our new friend Apollo is right,” Rosa begins. “The key to cracking this code is going to be about symbolism. The artist who made this puzzle believed in the power of symbols. Why the devil wouldn’t he? They’re the strongest communicative tool we have, outside words. In this hierarchy, first we have signs, which tell us simple directions. Then we have emblems, which capture qualities.”

  Rosa pauses, pointing to the golden letter on her belt: H, for Hermès—a logo as emblem, capturing a brand.

  “Symbols, on the other hand, capture the universal truths. Alphabets and numbers might count, but I’m talking icons. Sigils, like the cross. The triangle. The crown. The wolf and the sheep. The sun, the moon, and the star.”

  Rosa runs her fingers across her own pentacle pendant necklace. “Humans react to symbols on instinct. They stir up our emotions, they conjure images. Symbols tell stories. It’s why this equation, this combination of symbols, is about Perilli’s story as an artist. After all, artists use symbolism more than anyone—except, of course, for religions. Symbols transcend death, they are sturdier than their creators ever could be. And here at Chills Coven, we know nothing captures symbols quite like the tarot, as a spiritual work of art.

  “So, Apollo, I think you’re right,” Rosa concludes. “If we crack how the numeric symbolism tells the story of how Perilli saw the Pentacle King’s nature as an artist, we’ll solve the equation.”

  “I don’t know as much about the tarot,” I lie, hating every word. “But I am a psych major. Freud, Jung, and Rorschach also used symbols as analytical tools, like archetypes drawn from our collective consciousness.”

  I finish and Rosa sets her gaze on me, not saying a word. It’s unnerving.

  “You’re right on the money, honey. Jamie-Lee, was it?” Rosa finally responds. “Symbols are about giving shape to the unknowable. This idea is baked into the tarot, too. After all, the word Arcana itself means ‘mysteries,’ or ‘secrets.’ Major mysteries, minor secrets—both coming from the Latin word Arcanum, with roots in the term Arcere.”

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  Rosa places emphasis on this last word, scanning her eyes over Chase, Cleo, and me as she speaks it. None of us flinch at its mention, thank goddess, even though we all know Arcere is the name Perilli gave his supposed successor, his “chosen one.” Clearly, Rosa was using this word was a test.

  “My Latin is kind of rusty,” Chase says first. “Doesn’t Arcere mean to conceal? Or to protect?”

  “Or to prevent,” Rosa answers. “To ward off.”

  Her voice is all charm and warmth, but we all detect the meaning buried underneath. I can feel us teetering on the edge of dangerous territory. Rosa must be more suspicious of us than her coven “children.”

  But suddenly in the midst of this, an idea sprouts in my mind, fertile and ripe.

  I am walking the path to honor Grandma’s legacy.

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  I am walking the path to potential personal power.

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  Grandma clearly had sayings she always repeated, but a very specific one unfurls in my head now: If life is what happens when you’re busy making plans, then mysteries are what happen when you’re busy missing the details. It makes me think that we all glossed over that pentacle platform, but what if there are details there we missed, especially inside that hidden compartment?

  “Well, if we’re taking votes on how to solve this case,” I begin, “I say we return to the scene of the crime. From everything we’ve been exploring, I bet there are more clues hidden there. Especially since we don’t seem to have all the pieces to this particular puzzle yet.”

  Rosa looks at me, holding a penetrating stare. I can’t tell if she is buying my little ruse or if she just sees right through me.

  “Besides, my grandma always used to say: If you find yourself stuck, change your perspective,” I continue, trying not to let Rosa fluster me. “Even if there ends up being nothing where the card was hidden, a change of scenery might help us see things differently, anyway.”

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  Though it’s not an idea, really, so much as an image: the platform compartment in the Repentant shack. Suddenly, in my mind’s eye, I remember seeing writing inside its shadowed walls.

  We breezed over the platform earlier in our rush to find out what happened to the missing King card and… Anwar. But I shove all that aside now to try to focus on the image. Unfortunately, I don’t remember what the writing actually is; I just can see it’s there. I really believe the clues we need to solve this equation must be in that compartment, but how do I maneuver us back to the shack without drawing even more suspicion?

  “What if we’re thinking about this the wrong way?” I begin. “You said this Carson guy thought of Pentacles as the suit of spellcraft in all its forms?”

  Rosa stares me down, eager to hear more. I can’t tell if she is buying my little ruse or if she just sees right through me, but I press on anyway.

  “Well, doesn’t all spellcasting require specific conditions, in addition to specific ingredients? Would it make sense that, to ‘cast this spell,’ we’d need to be in the right location?”

  This idea only elicits thoughtful silence, so I keep going.

  “Maybe you missed something in the shed you found this card hidden in? After all, to solve a case, you always have to return to the scene of the crime, right? And maybe if the lockbox is only meant to be opened there, then clues would exist in the physical space?”

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  Rosa’s probing gaze doesn’t let up. Even the three stepsisters seem a bit puzzled by her stretch of silence.

  “Then again, this isn’t really our business,” I quickly add. “Sorry if we overstepped. This is all just super fascinating.”

  “Are you kidding?” Rosa finally says, slapping her knees and smiling excitedly. “You’re in on the hunt now, if you want to be!”

  I nod along with Chase and Cleo, none of us wanting to seem too eager. Cleo in particular has barely spoken a word. I know they consider themself a terrible liar, so Cleo probably doesn’t want to say anything that might give us away.

  “Then it sounds like we have a field trip to attend,” Rosa exclaims. “And if it’s okay, I’d like to ride with our wise new friends?”

  “Fine by us,” I answer, eliciting more nods from Chase and Cleo.

  “Good. I’d love to get to know you all better,” Rosa adds. “And there’s nothing I love m
ore than taking my Rosa Reads on the road.”

  I smile, trying to hide my unease. Exactly what is a “Rosa Read”? And by keeping us “wise new friends” close, is she really just keeping potential enemies closer? Well, that’s certainly what we’re doing, so I’d better remember to keep my guard up around this utterly disarming Queen of Pentacles.

  Once we’re back in Charvan, I resist the urge to check my phone for an entire thirty seconds. Of course, there’s nothing from Anwar, just like there hasn’t been the last ten times I’ve checked. It’s stupid of me—it’s not like I could actually talk to him with Rosa in the front seat chatting away with Chase about Charvan’s charming interior design. What would I even say if I could get a hold of Anwar? What could he say to make his betrayal feel less devastating? Nothing. There’s nothing and I know that. As complicated as his situation and his choice might be, Anwar has shown me who he really is. I need to believe him.

  So then why do I want so badly, so compulsively, to hear from him? Where do I put all this feeling he left me with? Now I get why people call it emotional baggage. I feel heavy, like I’m lugging a literal suitcase around. Though at the same time I feel a searing absence, this void where something has been ripped out.

  The only consolation I can fathom is finding a way to get back the deck that currently rests in Rosa’s manicured hands, retrieved from her private office. At the very least, Rosa and her coven have proved to be an effective distraction, getting my mind off Anwar. Honestly, I don’t want to think about him ever again, if I can help it.

  “So how did you start following Perilli?” Chase asks from the driver’s seat. “I tried learning more about him for my thesis research, but I couldn’t find much.”

  “I spent a good chunk of time tracking down anything I could about Perilli,” Rosa answers. “I actually got to meet him once, before he died. I was on the waitlist for a reading with him for over a year. When my time came, I drove six hours straight to be there. Perilli was actually the one to divine my connection to Pentacles. It was a real life-changer. He inspired me to quit my job and go after what I really wanted, founding Chills Coven and becoming a surrogate mother to my little house of horrors.”

  “Wow,” Chase responds. “What made the reading so special?”

  “Maybe someday you’ll earn the right to know,” Rosa answers. “But I will say, my own reading style was inspired by Perilli, if you want a glimpse behind the veil?”

  “Fire away,” Cleo says beside me. Good—I’m glad I’m not the only one dying to see how Rosa reads.

  Rosa shuffles our deck and I can tell Chase resists the urge to scream at her not to nick the edges with her nails. I want to snatch the deck just as badly, but short of pushing Rosa from a moving vehicle, we’d never make a clean getaway. Right now, restraint is our only play.

  “We can start with you, Jamie-Lee,” Rosa begins, jolting me with my alias. “Especially because you look like you’re currently holding back an avalanche.”

  “Boy problems,” I manage, figuring it’s true enough.

  Rosa swivels from the front seat and holds out the deck, also offering a devilish smile.

  “Don’t I know it, honey. Tell it to the deck,” Rosa says. “Just pick a card.”

  “Only one?”

  “It’s all I need.”

  Fascinating. Not just Rosa’s potential process, but the fact that she’s letting me touch even one part of her invaluable acquisition. Either Rosa trusts us completely or she believes we could never take the deck from her. Both are somewhat unsettling ideas.

  As I reach forward, it requires all my willpower to not grab the entire deck and instead just pull one card from the middle: the Three of Swords. Seeing it, I fight the urge to gasp.

  “These mother-tucking cards and their tricks are not for kids, are they?” Rosa cackles. “This card represents a trinity being pierced, in the form of a heart being broken. How’s that for precise, Jamie-Lee?”

  “There’s no arguing that,” I answer, laughing along nervously.

  “Well, if it’s a broken heart you’ve got, then there’s only one way to get over it,” Rosa goes on. “You’ve got to be the one who loves yourself, baby. I see you. You’ve got an enormous heart, one you’re eager to share with everyone else. But in this world, that kind of heart becomes a target, a big red bullseye. Especially for someone who probably thinks they aren’t beautiful enough to be loved.”

  Rosa’s words crash into me. It’s like she has reached into my chest and pierced me with a sword of her own.

  “But you can’t listen to that voice in your head, that same one we all have,” Rosa continues. “The screaming voice that says you’re a piece of crap in the center of the universe. You can choose to listen to a different voice, one that says you’re worthy and interconnected. And girl, if you find that voice, no boy can ever shatter your heart. Dent it maybe, but never destroy.”

  I am stunned into silence. Could what Rosa just said really be that simple? Sure, getting played sucks, but it doesn’t explain why I feel so discarded, so… worthless. Rosa is probably on to something there, but I don’t feel stunned because she hit me with this truth bomb so explosively. I’m stunned because, really, I don’t have the faintest idea how to start believing in myself that way.

  “Janelle, your turn, honey,” Rosa says, taking my card of sliced hearts back.

  Cleo almost doesn’t respond to this name at first, but then quickly snaps out of it. They jump to draw the top card, which turns out to be the Five of Pentacles.

  “Worry. Oh worry, worry, worry,” Rosa begins. “The cards don’t lie, do they? It’s obvious you’ve got lots on your mind, little quiet one. But let me tell you, if you spend too much time thinking about what you should’ve done before or what’ll happen next, you spend zero time where you actually are. Be here. Be now. And maybe don’t be so afraid to speak up? The world deserves to hear your voice.”

  Cleo looks equally shell-shocked listening to Rosa’s read. And it’s not just because her words resonate—it’s because this is suddenly starting to feel like tarot-by-ambush. Where’s the conversation, where’s the give and take? Is this really Rosa’s style, this blunt force insight—or is she just trying to rattle us?

  “Apollo, can you spare a hand?” Rosa asks, having already re-collected Cleo’s card of worries.

  Chase keeps his eye on the road while he pulls a fanned card, but I can tell he’d rather not. Still, Rosa takes his chosen card and reveals the Six of Wands.

  “Ah, victory earned,” Rosa begins. “A fitting card for someone who clearly thinks so highly of their intellect—and rightly so. But let me tell you, Apollo, if we place all our self-worth on our achievements, that self-worth will always be lost. Eventually we fail and collapse, or if not, we just look for the next mountain to climb. And something tells me you’re quite used to defining yourself by outside factors. I bet you define yourself by the things your smarts have gotten you. And probably by your relationships?”

  I look to Chase’s face and see the same stunned look Cleo and I just wore, like we’re prey flayed open by a predator.

  “Though I haven’t even gotten to the really fascinating thing about the three of you,” Rosa continues. “I don’t think any of you are actually who you say you are.”

  It’s as if a storm cloud forms inside Charvan next, primed for lightning. None of us dares speak, afraid of being struck first.

  “Or I mean to say, none of you are who you think you are,” Rosa corrects. “You shouldn’t feel bad, it’s a condition of being a teenager. I’ve been one myself, plus I’ve mentored enough to know. Now I’m sure I must sound a bit harsh, but sometimes a mother’s love should be. So I do hope you take this next bit with love.”

  I exhale hearing this, but only a little. Rosa might not be outing our secret identities, but I don’t think any of us are ready for whatever new ground she might shift under our feet.

  “Janelle, the strong and silent,” Rosa rolls on, turning to face
Cleo. “I have a feeling you’re more terrified than you let on. And that you play at being unique, but you haven’t quite discovered how magical you really are under all these clothes—which are cool as hell, I must say. But being strong isn’t just about bold projections.

  “Now, Apollo,” Rosa rattles on, turning to Chase. “I’d venture to guess you’re the type to think of yourself as a beta, the smart sidekick to the leading men and ladies you surround yourself with. But from what little I’ve seen, you have no problem speaking your mind and acting on it. I hate to break it to you, my dear boy, but underneath those glasses, you’re an alpha in waiting. Once you realize that, I fear people will begin to find you quite irresistible.

  “And finally, my sweet Jamie-Lee.”

  My whole body clenches, bracing for Rosa’s next rumble.

  “You remind me most of myself. At your age, I thought myself large and in charge, the leader of the pack. But really I spent most of my energy silencing myself, not saying what I really thought to spare other people’s feelings. I understand. You do it because you feel so deeply yourself, you end up feeling for everyone else, too. Which means you can’t bear the thought of causing anyone else pain. But here’s the hard truth, love—you’ll only be a real queen when you tell people what they need to hear, not what they want.”

  While words obviously seem to supercharge Rosa, they currently fail me. When she said she’d read us, no one warned she’d be reading us for filth. I want to say something in return, but only one thought fizzles in my head, demolishing everything else.

  What if Rosa is completely right?

  By the time we park and trek back out to the Repentant shack, I feel like I’ve pulled out half the hair on my head. I don’t even try to stop myself. I know Rosa’s reads were only words—spoken by a complete stranger, at that—but I feel wrecked by them. I play her reads on repeat in my mind, where they begin to crystallize alongside the events of this trip. Perilli’s deck. Coupled Cottage. Grandma’s legacy. Logan leaving. Anwar’s deception. Chase’s brooding. Right now it all feels so big it could swallow me whole.