by Thomas, Ian
“What’s this guy do?”
Mess you up, she thought.
“Um,” she stalled.
Soften it.
“So this card is…” she paused, trying to interpret the card with what she knew of Jason and placing it in the context of the others. But this didn’t fit. Not really. “Sorry,” she finally said. “Okay so this placement is other challenges that could come up in your future. Things possibly that may come up if you don’t address what’s been laid out already.” A half-truth.
“So what’s his deal?” Jason asked, his voice heavy.
“He’s generally a really good person to know. Signifies wealth, sensual pleasures, and a very good materialistic environment. Good in business, kind of a big deal.”
“So Matteo then? Matteo’s going to be a challenge?”
“Well, no. See that’s when he’s placed right-side up,” she said. “And Matteo’s only a challenge when you’ve known him as long as I have.”
“But this is my future.”
“It’s not Matteo,” she said firmly. “It’s inverted. On his bad days, that’s still not him.”
“So who’s this guy when he’s inverted?”
“A very bad man,” she admitted. “But like you say this is the future. Future’s change. Nothing is set in stone.”
“And I wouldn’t be freaked out if you weren’t,” Jason said cheekily, trying to lighten the mood.
“Right, sorry.” She took a deep breath and glanced over the cards. “I think maybe he’s what happens if you really don’t address what’s problematic in your life. As in if you ignore matters.”
“How so?”
“All that glisters is not good,” she said.
Jason sat back, understanding settling on him. “You’re saying if I continue being some kind of oh-woe-is-me loser–”
“Your words.”
“– and not embrace life or recognize my own value. Essentially becoming a man-whore–”
“Little uncomfortable now.”
“– that I could, in a lapse of judgement, end up with a demon? Metaphorically speaking.”
“Something like that,” she said, a knot in her stomach unsure this was the right reading for him. The King even seemed to shake his head at the deception. “Just be careful. I get that life’s all very exciting and sexy and things are still in the right place, reasonably unblemished and unaffected by gravity. But there are traps we all fall in.”
“Relax,” he smiled. “I get it. Though a little surprised how after-school special this really did get.”
“Me too.”
“One card left.”
“Last card? Are you shitting me?” Mouth walked in and sat next to Jason uninvited.
“I would love to do your cards,” Rowan said.
“You and every psychologist ever. So who’s this guy?” Mouth pointed the King of Pentacles. “He looks pissed. Is that because he’s upside down?”
“He’s who I’m supposed to avoid.”
“So Mitch then?”
“Not really,” Rowan replied.
“Can I just go on the record to say John was way hotter than Mitch?” Mouth said. “And you two actually had sex.”
“Could have stopped at the first part,” Rowan muttered.
“John was only using me to get close to McLachlan.”
“True,” Mouth admitted, “and just how many hours of mind-blowing sex does it take to get close to McLachlan?” He looked from Jason to Rowan. “Because I’m on pretty good terms with him and I didn’t have to put my dick anywhere.”
“And almost twenty percent of that was a compliment,” Jason said, as Rowan laughed.
“You’re welcome. Now do this last card and then I get to apologize,” Mouth replied.
“Was that in the spread?” Jason asked, sitting forward and looking over the table. Rowan tapped the fourth card. The Two of Cups. Jason’s friends being his greatest strength. He laughed. “Okay, last card. I’m ready. Let’s do this.”
Reluctantly, Rowan turned it over. The shadow of the inverted King still shrouded her. Despite the tarot being open to interpretation, that one card reversed always came back to a destructive male force. Something Jason didn't need in his life.
“Oh,” she said, a smile brightening her face.
“That a good ‘oh’?” Jason asked.
“Not in the way you’re thinking,” Mouth said quickly. “Different oh.”
Rowan cast Mouth a stony expression then returned her focus to Jason. “Okay so this is good. Very good.”
“Ten of Cups?” Mouth asked. “Really?”
“Yes. A very good card. An excellent card.”
“Okay, so tell me,” Jason prompted, brightened by some of Rowan’s joy.
“Perfect love,” she smiled. “Soulmate. The one. Mister Right. Happily ever after. You’re gonna get the happy ending, Jase.”
“Great!”
“Dick,” Mouth grunted.
“If–”
“Here it comes,” Mouth groaned.
“If you address the rest of the spread. Work through all of these,” she said, circling her hands over the first three cards. “Recognize this,” she tapped the fourth card again. “Try and avoid this guy,” she gestured to the inverted King briefly and then framed her hands around the Ten of Cups, “you could land here.”
“I’m screwed,” Jason sighed.
Rowan laughed and touched his hand, the last card overshadowing the King’s threat. “I’ll jot this down for you.”
“Thanks,” Jason said. “Mind if I take a photo of it though?”
“Dude, who needs Google when you have Rowan.”
“True.” Jason pocketed his phone without taking a photo. “Now about that apology?”
“So if that bad card isn’t Mitch,” Mouth began, then paused. “Then maybe it’s worth asking him out.”
“He’d never–”
Rowan cleared her throat loudly and glanced at the spread. “He may not, but you won’t know unless you try.”
Jason was about to protest again when they heard their boarding announcement. Rowan turned her attention to collecting her cards, thus ending the discussion.
“So,” Mouth began, “I’m sorry for all that shit before. If anyone’s likely to get killed out of us, it’ll be me. Essentially, I’m an asshole.”
Jason laughed as the three of them walked back to the gate.
“Uh, that was the part where you were supposed to say, ‘nah, Mouth, of course not. You’re not an asshole’,” Mouth said.
“Oh I know,” Jason replied.
“But you didn’t.”
“Noticed that, did ya?”
“This is why we’re friends,” Mouth laughed.
Despite the purpose of the day, Rowan was relieved there could still be some levity among them. Being civilians and all, she loved the lightness these two brought to their expanding group.
Especially after the Ordeal. Rowan understood the need to heal and lick their own wounds, but they’d become so…isolated from each other. Matteo more so than the rest.
Approaching the gate, she saw he was standing near Rebecca and Hayley. Near. Not with. Whereas Eddie and McLachlan stood some feet away. Disconnected, she thought. Not obvious, well not to anyone but her, but a detachment nonetheless. Summoning a smile she busied the two boys along.
VI
Their intentions had been noble.
The reality of the funeral, however, made a mockery of such sentimentality.
Packed with mourners, closed coffins at the front next to large photos of the brothers, and of course the crying parents, McLachlan felt their attendance was borderline offensive.
Even in a row at the back.
As the numbers grew people had been moved into side rooms or forced to stand out in the cold. When McLachlan saw that he’d wanted to leave, only a stern glance from Matteo had held him in place. Was it blame? Accountability? Fault or something similar?
Admittedly, yes,
he felt responsible for the brothers’ deaths. Regardless of what people had said about the Cult being accountable, those platitudes did not discount the fact that while he had not pulled either trigger he was the reason they had been in front of each gun.
Still, his building nausea stemmed from the two coffins and the two photos of the brothers. That could easily have been him and Dylan. The grieving parents, Connie and Frank. He would always love his brother for wanting to save him, but McLachlan knew the cost had been too great. Spending time with Dylan over the past week had proven that.
“You okay?” Rebecca whispered as an uncle started into a bible reading. While still not quite officially at a second date status and hoping beyond hope the funeral didn’t count, Rebecca had held his hand since the service began. Was this just her way, he wondered, aware his palms were uncomfortably clammy. Or had she picked up on his anxiety.
He smiled in response, then saw Jason along the pew. The boy was pale, shaken. Bookended by Rowan and Hayley, both women held his hands in theirs. Mouth sat protectively at the end of the row. McLachlan felt like he was seeing Jason for the first time in a long while. God, what must this be like for him? McLachlan didn’t know the specifics about John’s pursuit of Jason. But in the brief time he had spent with John, McLachlan had definitely felt the young man having, or rather developing, a strong affinity for the other. Would that conversation comfort Jason or only worsen his grief? There were too many people in the row between them for McLachlan to reach over and comfort him, but he would make a point of it once the service was over.
To McLachlan’s right sat Matteo, stiff and respectful, his face a mask of quiet reflection. Beyond him sat Eddie, calmly surveying the scene. McLachlan had tried to assure him a funeral was the last place the Cult would think to act, but he knew the words were nonsense as they came out. In truth, he hoped they would have some respect for the dead. Or at least some hesitancy toward McLachlan and his friends.
Honestly, he didn’t know what to expect from the Cult. It was like Dylan said, they seemed fairly broken when their attempts were thwarted. Perhaps their internal rift had developed into an all-out chasm, scattering them to the winds, and leaving him in peace for the interim. Well, that was what he hoped anyway. Didn’t mean he wasn’t comforted by the knowledge of Dylan sitting outside the church in a rental car, taking photographs of the comings and goings.
Once the service was over, the coffins having been processed through the front door, followed by the family, McLachlan was ready to leave. His tie seemed to cut off any air and he was struggling to breathe. But Matteo insisted they pay their respects to the parents. When the cold morning air hit McLachlan’s face, he felt the noose loosen from his throat.
Matteo gently edged his way through the crowd as the coffins were loaded into the hearses. McLachlan knew his friend had seen enough death in his long life to be impassive to the departed and more focused on the bereaved. Their cover story as Boyd’s clients was a lie and for that reason further guilt gnawed at McLachlan. Jason was the only one with any genuine connection and as the young man stepped up to John’s parents, McLachlan felt his eyes burn.
“Hey,” he turned to Matteo, seeing his friend affected also. “So you were right.”
“How so?” Matteo turned from the scene and walking to a distant and empty part of the church lawn.
“That Dylan and I were idiots. That we lost a lot more than we gained with our stupid plan.”
Matteo didn’t say anything at first, his demeanor oddly cold. Without looking at McLachlan, he merely said, “hindsight is a beautiful thing.”
McLachlan was stunned. Did Matteo just offer him a cliché?
“Okay, look, I get you’re probably still mad about this – about a lot of things really – but a cliché? That the best you’ve got?”
Matteo caught McLachlan’s tone and turned to him, his icy façade thawing. “Sorry, that was rude. Of me, not you.” Matteo looked around at the church and the gathered mourners. His silent way of reminding McLachlan of the time and place. “Funerals stir up a lot of old memories.”
Feeling guilty – or rather guiltier – McLachlan looked at his feet and shuffled uncomfortably. He took a subtle glance at the cars parked nearby, wondering where Dylan was.
“I just wish you’d told me,” Matteo said. “Or talked to me before committing to it.”
“I get that, I really do,” McLachlan replied, his attention snapping back. “But you’ve met Dylan, he doesn’t easily budge when he’s set on something.”
“Wonder where he gets that from?”
“You know we’re not actually related,” McLachlan said. Finally Matteo smiled, the ice non-existent.
“How’re your parents?” he asked, once more his usual warm self.
“Good, little pissed at us. They said they might give you a call to join forces in shaming us.”
“I look forward to it.”
“And how were things back here?” McLachlan said, looking around. Then realized where he was. “Well not here as such. In the city?”
When he looked back at Matteo, the ice had returned, his friend’s features seemingly frozen. His expression was still open – few would notice the detachment – but the hardness in his eyes stunned McLachlan.
“Matteo?” He spoke firmly, a hand closing on the other man’s arm. “What’s going on?”
“Holy fuck!” a woman’s voice called out close by.
“Matteo!” a man said urgently, barging between them. “I need to talk to you.”
Ben.
Caught be Ben’s shove, McLachlan staggered. Recovering, he tried to move between them, his arms now on Ben’s, trying to force him back. While McLachlan was strong, he seemed weak against the older werewolf desperate to speak to his sire. Hayley was at Matteo’s other side, her hand finding his.
“You followed us? Here?” McLachlan demanded.
“Get your filthy hands off me,” Ben spat, tearing his arms free.
“Soap, not a luxury item?” McLachlan looked Ben over in shock. Disheveled and dirty, the man was a wreck. Wild eyes glinted out from behind a thick beard and lank, long hair. A werewolf’s hair grew faster than normal peoples, but this looked like Ben had been living rough for a while. And he didn’t smell so fresh either.
“Fuck you!” Ben yelled.
“Maybe we can take this somewhere else?” Hayley asked urgently.
“Maybe you can fuck off!” Ben roared.
“Well, I tried nice.” Hayley started to push past Matteo, but he held her at bay. His instincts overriding his shock.
“If we could just talk.” Ben was saying, clutching at the man. “It’s not what you think.”
“Hey!” Rowan called out, approaching quickly.
“I did it for you. For our kind.”
“You did it for yourself!” Eddie stepped between Matteo and Ben. McLachlan looked around concerned about this definitely not being the time nor the place.
“I did it to protect us from him!” Ben pointed at McLachlan, a desperate fury in his eyes.
“The hell you did!” Eddie said, punching Ben across the face. He barely flinched. Instead Ben rounded on Eddie, the blow dropping him to the ground.
“Listen to me,” he pleaded with Matteo. “You’re a joke because of him. Not a Pack Lord. A lapdog to a filthy demonic fuckwit.”
“No Christmas card for you this year,” McLachlan said, helping Eddie up.
“Just shut the fuck up!” Ben turned on him. “Shut up. Stop talking. Stop ruining everything. And for fuck’s sake stop using sarcasm to cover up just how scared and pathetic you really are. Quips don’t match claws.” Suddenly, Ben’s dirty fingers were tipped with two inch talons. Next to him, McLachlan heard the seams of Eddie’s suit strain as his bulk grew. In seconds he would fully transform.
“Oh god,” Hayley breathed.
“Walk away,” Matteo said quietly to Ben, but his voice broke in the delivery. Hayley looked to McLachlan unsure, her hand stroking Matt
eo’s back firmly.
“But–”
“I said walk away.” His voice was firmer this time.
Before Ben could react, Dylan strode into the group, his eyes wild and gun drawn. The barrel aimed at Ben. Shock rippled through them all.
VII
“Here, hold this,” Rowan said, shoving her bag into Mouth’s hand and storming off.
“What? Why?” Mouth called after her, but Rowan didn’t turn back. Feeling very out of place amid the mourners Mouth shifted uncomfortably.
Whether it was the fact he was holding Rowan’s handbag or that his expression bore his deep-seated opinion that nothing existed outside of New York state, Mouth felt very alone. He could see Jason finishing up with John’s mother, fresh tears shared between them.
Desperately he hoped his lack of sleep didn’t result in some derisive outburst. He didn’t like his chances. Between working through the night, his mounting coursework, and the fact he was missing a class for the funeral, Mouth’s stress levels were high. And if Rebecca didn’t come back from the bathroom soon, he might actually lose it.
Which left him to focus on the scene unfolding on the grass several yards away. Interestingly, he puzzled looking around, no one seemed to have noticed the homeless guy or raised voices. Maybe there was a chance he wouldn’t be the one to ruin the funeral after all. A rather sad compromise, he realized, holding himself one rung above a crazy homeless guy.
“Hey,” Jason said, his voice breaking. “Nice bag.”
“Ya think?” Mouth replied. “With these shoes?” Jason didn’t reply. Instead, he smiled and stood next to Mouth quietly. “How’re you holding up?”
“Ask me in a day or so,” Jason said, his smile fading.
Words became a struggle for Mouth. A feeling he disliked. But he knew in that moment his foot was so close to his mouth that he could easily lose his best friend. Inhaling deeply, he put an arm around Jason’s shoulders and turned his attention back to the unfolding fracas.
“Who brings a gun to funeral? Oh right, we’re in Kansas.”