Eyes of the Tarot

by Bruce Coville

  Magistimes was the magician her grandfather told her about when he spun out bedtime stories for her. Of course, that was only when he was home, not working on the sea as he was now.

  She smiled. She liked her grandfather, his wild tales, his salty smell, his pale blue eyes that had seen a million miles of ocean.

  “This is the priestess’s robe,” she said, taking out the silk kimono. “The priestess is sad because the wizard is so naughty. Someday we’ll give this back to her and make her happy again.

  “And these are Bonnie’s dolls. Only Bonnie can’t have them because she’s wicked.”

  She set the nesting dolls firmly in their place on the floor without opening them. They were for good little girls, not girls who said things that made their mothers cry.

  Not girls who saw pictures of light and fire that made people die.

  “And this is the gypsy’s crystal.” She put the crystal ball on the floor in front of her, then reached back into the trunk and pushed on the secret place. The little door popped open. She took out the leather-wrapped packet.

  “And these are grandfather’s magical cards.”

  Her grandfather had shown her the cards one day the summer before when she had come up here and found him looking at them. They were beautiful.

  She felt around in the secret place again, shuddering with the awfulness of what was left. “And this is the wizard’s bone,” she said solemnly. She turned the smooth white object over in her hand, examining it carefully. “Poor wizard.”

  She put the bone down. It was awful, but it was special because it was a secret. No one knew about it except her grandfather and her.

  She opened the leather packet and took out the cards, leafing through them, looking carefully at the strange pictures. Sometimes one of them would come to life for her, and she would understand things while she looked at it.

  Nothing happened for a while.

  Bored, she set the deck on the floor, then idly flipped over one more card.

  She stopped. Her blood ran cold.

  From somewhere a voice seemed to whisper in her ear, “Fear death by sea.”

  The card was the six of swords. It showed a wooden ferry boat crossing a river. The river of Death?

  In the boat were two passengers, and a half dozen swords.

  Though her hand was still on the card, Bonnie was no longer looking at it. Instead, she stared off into space, until she could no longer resist.

  Slowly, slowly, her eyes were drawn to the crystal ball.

  She gasped. It was no longer clear. Instead, it had clouds inside it—rolling, tossing clouds that moved and swirled as if someone were stirring them.

  Bonnie tried to look away but found that she couldn’t.

  The clouds began to clear and she saw a ship sailing far out at sea; a freighter carrying cargo.

  Her grandfather’s ship.

  Her hand trembled where it rested on the six of swords.

  Fear death by sea.

  Pirate Jenny continued to stare into the crystal. The sky it showed had grown dark with night. Some of the clouds were still left, hanging low near the water. Fog. A heavy fog.

  After a while the crystal was gone and only the image of the ship remained, growing larger and larger, until it blocked out everything else, filling Bonnie’s eyes and her mind.

  Then she was no longer in the attic at all, but out at sea, watching the ship as it plowed through the night, cutting the dark waters, its lights dimmed by the thick and clinging fog.

  Her grandfather stood on the deck, staring into the mist, which swirled around him.

  He was worried.

  No. He was more than worried.

  He was frightened.

  Death at sea. He should never have used the cards. He knew that now. He knew it and somehow Bonnie, standing beside him, breathing with him, knew it too. The Magician was powerful. And he was angry at the McBurnies for some ancient, bitter reason.

  Fear death by sea.

  He never should have used the cards.

  #

  The water in front of the ship began to glow. Pirate Jenny caught her breath and huddled against her grandfather. He didn’t know she was there. His attention was on the sea, on the thing rising from its depths to claim him.

  Staring into the water, Bonnie saw an eye, great and horrible. It was looking at her grandfather, its gaze cold and unblinking—some primeval thing called from the deepest, most secret part of the sea, called by the Magician to do his bidding.

  And then the hand came out of the water. Huge and gray, it broke the surface in silence. Cold ocean poured between its fingers. Pirate Jenny whimpered and sucked desperately on a lock of red hair. Her grandfather was silent. He had waited too long for this already.

  The hand reached toward the ship. Barnacle encrusted, dripping water and slime, it rose over the bow toward her grandfather. Bonnie could see a huge arm, wound about with glistening seaweed.

  The ship’s rail was in the way. The gray fingers closed over it, crushed it effortlessly.

  Pirate Jenny began to scream, long and soundlessly, her mouth stretched wide with nothing pouring out.

  Captain McBurnie stood without moving, resigned to his death at sea. The great gray fingers spread wide. The hand closed about the lower part of the captain’s body and he let out a short gasp. Bonnie looked up at his face. His eyes were blank, unseeing. Somehow he had withdrawn from the horror. Perhaps he was even dead.

  For his sake, Bonnie hoped so.

  The hand began to withdraw toward the sea. Suddenly Captain McBurnie came to life. A scream ripped from his lips and he began to struggle wildly, frantically.

  The hand tightened its grip. Her grandfather clawed at it, ripping his fingers on the rocky barnacles until his blood was spattered in all direction.

  He wrenched himself around, clutching at the deck. It was too smooth, and his fingers slipped across it, leaving trails of blood.

  Bonnie cried out and reached for her grandfather.

  Her hand passed right through his.

  He had crossed the edge of the bow now. For an instant the hand held him suspended above the water, and it seemed that the cold eye in the depths was examining him, deciding whether to take him. Then, with a sudden horrible rush, he was pulled down. A scream broke from his lips. It rolled across the water, cutting through the fog, the trembling anguish of a man in mortal dread for the fate of his soul.

  The scream was cut off by a pathetically tiny splash. For just an instant, Bonnie could see his form beneath the waves.

  Then he was gone.

  The waves lapped against the side of the ship.

  Everything else was silent.

  #

  Pirate Jenny, tears streaming down her cheeks, her stomach tied in knots, found herself back in the attic.

  Her grandfather was going to die. She had to save him. Had to!

  She raced downstairs to tell her mother and her grandmother what she had seen. But when she got there she found them in the kitchen, holding each other and weeping over the news they had just received… the news of her grandfather’s death at sea.

  She tried to tell them about her vision, the horrible thing she had seen in the crystal ball. But her mother grew furious, and punished her harshly.

  The next morning, while everyone else was still sleeping, Bonnie slipped silently into the attic. Her eyes dry now, she packed the cards and put them back into the trunk. She dropped the bone in beside them. Slowly, sadly, she sealed the cards away in their secret compartment. On top of it she piled the crystal ball, the nesting dolls, the kimono and the slippers.

  She closed the trunk, then leaned her head against it and cried. Her grandfather was dead, and she was never going to see visions again.

  Never.

  It was too horrible.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Bonnie sat up in bed, trembling violently. Her tears were flowing as freely as they had when she was seven.

  Now she knew.

&n
bsp; She had repressed her power because what she had seen had been too terrible to bear. She had repressed it to protect herself from such unspeakable visions. And she had repressed it because when she had tried to tell her mother about the vision, she had gotten only anger and denial and, finally, severe punishment.

  No wonder she had hidden all this from her parents. It was what she had been trained to do, by her mother herself.

  She shuddered.

  Lost at sea.

  No one had understood how such an experienced seaman as her grandfather could have been lost at sea. Some neighbors had even speculated that he had committed suicide, their whispered rumors eventually reaching her grandmother of course, tearing at the old woman’s heart.

  And in all the world only one person had known the truth, a lonely seven-year-old girl who had finally buried the vision of her grandfather’s death so deeply in her mind that it would not surface again for nearly ten years.

  Bonnie pulled her legs up against her, wrapped her arms around them, and rested her chin on her knees, mourning both her grandfather and the sad little girl who had seen him die.

  #

  “I want you to stay home today,” Mrs. McBurnie said firmly when Bonnie appeared, fully dressed, at the kitchen door. “You had a rough experience last night, and the doctor said to get plenty of rest. It’s not going to hurt you to miss a day or two of school.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt me, either,” said Randy.

  “You,” replied Mrs. McBurnie, “need all the school you can get. And remember what I told you!”

  Randy’s face fell. “I remember,” he said sullenly.

  “What was that about?” asked Bonnie after Randy had been shooed out the door.

  Mrs. McBurnie smiled uneasily. “I told him he wasn’t to say anything about what happened last night. I mean about him and Eileen.”

  “Why not?”

  “Oh, honestly, Bonnie! You’re as bad as he is. Do you know what people would say?”

  “Maybe I don’t care,” Bonnie replied bitterly. “We are what we are. Why try to pretend to be something different?”

  Mrs. McBurnie made no answer at first. She and Bonnie simply stared at each other, a fierce tension crackling between them. A deep emotion heaved in Bonnie’s breast, and she realized she was terribly angry at her mother for how hard she had tried to convince her to suppress her power when she was little. Maybe if she had had some help, some encouragement, instead of the constant condemnation, she might not have repressed her vision of her grandfather’s death all these years. She longed for help now, but didn’t dare speak of it, knowing that here she would find no understanding, only fear.

  At least now she understood why it had been so easy to keep the truth about the cards from her parents. Her mother had trained her very well. The lessons had stayed with her.

  It was Mrs. McBurnie who broke the silence. “I’ve asked Eileen to stop by after school and look in on you,” she said as she pulled on her coat. “Do you think you’ll be all right until then?”

  Bonnie allowed herself the faint hint of a smile. “Honestly, mother! They said I was all right at the hospital. Could you stop worrying so much?”

  “It’s my job. Anyway, take it easy today, will you? With your father out on the water until tomorrow, the last thing I need is to come home and find you sick. He was very upset that he had to leave before you were awake this morning, by the way. But I told him you would understand.”

  “Sure,” said Bonnie. “It’s all right. I remember that he told me he had a big trip planned. You’d better hurry, or you’ll be late for work.”

  “I know, I know,” muttered her mother, looking harried. “Sometimes I wonder if this job is worth the money it brings in.” She put her hand on the door. “Now be careful, will you?”

  “Yes, Mother!”

  Mrs. McBurnie laughed. “I’m sorry. I guess I am overdoing it. Just relax. I’ll see you later.”

  Bonnie waited half an hour, to make sure neither her mother nor her brother would suddenly return for anything.

  Then she slipped on her jacket and headed out the door herself.

  She had to talk to Madame LePanto.

  #

  The road to Madame LePanto’s cottage was strangely silent, with no sound save the crunch of the gravel beneath her sneakers. The air was still. Not a breath of wind rustled the twigs. The birds, even the insects, seemed to have vanished.

  Bonnie glanced around uneasily as she walked. The silence felt unnatural. More than that, she had a sense that someone (something?) was watching her every move; waiting, planning, preparing to strike when the moment was right.

  She thought about turning back, but felt a desperate need to see Madame LePanto. She tried to shake the strange mood by singing, but the words and the tune trailed off. The song seemed out of place in the massive, heavy silence.

  When she rounded the corner and Madame LePanto’s cottage came into view she realized how much she had come to rely on the old woman, who seemed to be her only source of strength and understanding. Right now she was counting on her to have some answers.

  The steps to the cottage creaked beneath Bonnie’s feet, the sound welcome and familiar in the strange silence. She stood in front of the door and frowned. She had never had to knock; Madame LePanto always threw the door open with a bold gesture. She waited a moment, to give the old woman a chance.

  Nothing happened.

  She lifted her hand and rapped sharply on the door.

  As with her song, the sound seemed terribly out of place.

  She listened carefully, but there was no answer.

  She knocked again, and called the old woman’s name.

  Still no answer.

  She tried the knob. The door was unlocked.

  Feeling both nervous and guilty, she opened it an inch or so. “Madame LePanto?”

  No answer.

  She stuck her head into the cottage. “Madame LePanto? Are you here?”

  No answer.

  She opened the door a little farther and leaned in. The mess from yesterday afternoon—including the overturned bookcase and the shattered crystal—was still in the parlor. Bonnie frowned. Madame LePanto had not struck her as the tidiest person in the world. Even so, it didn’t seem like her to leave the place in such disorder.

  Bonnie’s fear for herself began to subside as started to worry about the old woman instead. Gathering her courage, she stepped into the cottage.

  “Madame LePanto!” she called, more loudly this time.

  No answer. Only the great silence, which seemed to press against her like some living thing.

  Bonnie hesitated. She wondered if she should go away and come back later when Madame LePanto would be in. That was the right thing to do, for course. She had no business walking into the woman’s house while she was gone.

  If she was gone.

  A nagging voice kept insisting that something was amiss, that she had better do some exploring.

  She stood still, almost helpless with indecision. She had to talk to her tarot teacher, get her advice, her knowledge. But she was terrified of the cottage—of what she might find here.

  She shivered. Was anything here?

  There couldn’t be. All that was here was a great sense of absence.

  No. That wasn’t quite true. She still had that feeling of being watched.

  She spun around, then let out a sigh of relief. She had almost expected to see someone standing in the doorway. She turned again, wishing Alan were here with her so the two of them could stand back to back. She didn’t like not knowing what was behind her.

  Perhaps she should go. After all, what could she do here? Either Madame LePanto was here, or she wasn’t.

  She swallowed hard. There was something else. The cards. She was not finished with them yet, nor they with her. She had to get them back. Even if Madame LePanto was not here, the cards might be.

  And what if the old woman had had a heart attack or something? Common sense
told Bonnie her mentor had merely gone for a walk, or to get groceries. Fear whispered that she was in need of help.

  Bonnie knew from previous visits that the cottage had only four rooms. To the left of the entrance were the dining room and the kitchen. To the right was the parlor. Opening off the parlor was Madame LePanto’s bedroom.

  Bonnie went left, preferring to look in the less personal areas first.

  The dining room held a claw-footed table made of dark oak, surrounded by four chairs. Against one wall stood a tall buffet. There was no sign of either Madame LePanto or the cards.

  She moved on to the kitchen. It was light and sunny, far more attractive than she would have expected. A little gas range stood in the far corner, and a pile of dirty dishes filled the sink—including the cups from which they had sipped tea the day before. Again Bonnie felt certain that Madame LePanto would have taken care of these things by now.

  She turned back, crossed through the dining room and entered the parlor. A tingle shivered up her spine as she remembered the bizarre occurrences of the previous afternoon. For a moment, she thought she would turn and run.

  But her concern for Madame LePanto was growing stronger than her fear.

  She studied the chaos. Everything seemed exactly as it had when she left. She remembered how guilty she had felt about leaving Madame LePanto with the mess. But the old woman had insisted that she didn’t mind cleaning it up.

  Picking her way across the floor, she stopped in front of the bedroom doorway, which was covered with strings of black and red beads. Should she go in? She really had no right. But again, what if Madame LePanto was in trouble?

  She would just move aside the beads and peek in.

  Taking a deep breath, she counted to three, then gently took a handful of the beaded strands and pulled them aside.

  She cried out in astonishment. A fantastic sense of energy filled the room, a feeling of terrible force and power. Her scalp tingled as the hair on her head began to rustle. The fine hairs on her arms stood out from her skin. She shivered and rubbed them down, but they sprang up again.