Tomorrow Wendell (White Dragon Black)

by R. M. Ridley

  Jonathan tried to imagine just what it had been like hanging out with Wendell before this had started. He concluded the man probably wouldn’t be too bad to hang around with normally, if a bit anal.

  “I meant,” Jonathan clarified, “how are you doing with the whole prediction thing.”

  “Oh. Well, like you said, we still have over a day, right? So, I guess it’s best if I just don’t dwell on it.”

  “I’m doing my best, Wendell; I need you to know that.”

  Wendell gave him a wan smile. “Don’t worry, Mr. Alvey. I understand I have presented you with a most vexing problem. I can tell you’re an honest man, and I don’t doubt you’ll pursue every avenue.”

  “I need you to believe you are not going to die—at least not anytime soon.”

  “I’ll endeavor to do so,” Wendell assured him.

  His client’s response had come with a smile which encouraged Jonathan. Wendell might be walking the road of hope finally. It was a shame; Jonathan had started to lose his own footing.

  The studio double doors beside them opened, and a flood of fit twenty-year-olds flowed from the room into the hall. Like water seeking its own level, they quickly ran down the stairs and out of the building.

  Another few minutes passed before the last fitness freak left and Mary poked her pretty, dark-haired head out the door.

  She looked at him, and he knew she catalogued the signs of his fatigue and magic use. As though to block out the truth of what she saw, Mary closed her large, green eyes for a moment. When she reopened them, she smiled past him and said, “Come on, then,” with a tilt of her head.

  They entered the mid-sized room with its well-polished hardwood floor and light scent of vanilla mixed with perspiration.

  Mary gave Jonathan a quick embrace and said into his ear, “Keeping well, I hope?”

  “As well as I do,” he replied as she stepped away.

  She scoffed. “I can smell the cigs and drink, Alvey.”

  “Yeah? Well, I like to think of the scent as well-preserved.”

  Mary turned away from him and presented her hand to Wendell. “Hi, I’m Mary Parsons. You must be Jonathan’s client.”

  “Uh—yes. I’m Wendell, Wendell Courtney. It’s nice to meet you. I hope we are not imposing too much.”

  Mary smiled. “No. Not really. Besides, it’s how I expect to see Jonathan. Out of the blue and in need. But I guess,” she said, catching Jonathan with her eyes and giving him a small shake of her head, “it’s nice to know I’m still the best around.”

  “So, what do you say, Mary? Can we do this?” Jonathan hastened.

  “Sure,” she said with a smile for his client. “For a man who prefers to sit around drinking and smoking, you are always so impatient.”

  “When it’s my time, I use it as I choose, but a client’s time is something else.”

  “You’re right,” she said. “This is client time.”

  Jonathan caught the look in her eyes. The look which warned him his time would be coming soon.

  “I’ll grab my cards. You two hunker down. I’ll be right back.”

  Wendell folded his gangly limbs and eventually sat cross-legged on the floor. The entire process reminded Jonathan of a horse lowering itself to the ground.

  Jonathan got down gingerly and with a groan. His midsection felt like it had been run over by a pickup truck loaded with road-kill corpses.

  He ignored the worried look Wendell gave him and tried to allow the pain to subside.

  Mary came back before it had.

  “Alvey?”

  “Touch of indigestion,” he lied.

  “Of course,” she replied, but her gaze lingered on him for a moment. Finally, she switched her attention to Wendell. “Now, Wendell, have you ever done anything like this before?”

  “No, Ma’am.”

  “Mary, please. ‘Ma’am’ makes me think of my great-grandmother.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s all right, Wendell. So, I don’t know why you’re here, but that’s fine. What I’m going to do is give you the cards. I want you to shuffle them while thinking about what brought you to Alvey. Just think about why you’re here tonight and get a feel for the cards. When you think you’ve shuffled them enough, simply hand them back to me.”

  “I’ll do my best, Ma—Mary.”

  Mary smiled at Wendell and passed him the tarot deck.

  As Wendell slowly shuffled the cards, his eyes closed and the corners of his lips tugged slightly downwards. Mary gave Jonathan a probing look.

  Jonathan mouthed the word ‘later’ and Mary reluctantly turned her attention back to Wendell.

  After a few moments, Wendell’s hands stopped moving. He opened his eyes almost shyly and quietly passed the cards back to Mary.

  “All right, then; let’s see what the cards have to say.” She drew the first card and placed it before her.

  It was The Fool.

  “Your first card, Wendell, is The Fool. The Fool signifies a journey. It can often refer to the body, the flesh if you will, but it can also mean something more mystical—a journey of the mind, or soul.

  “This card speaks of a coming change. The Fool can often be seen as the protagonist in the story about to unfold through the cards.”

  Mary slid the next card off the deck and laid it down. “Hmm.”

  The sound was one of contemplation as she regarded the second major arcane card drawn, The Wheel of Fortune.

  “Now this card refers to the journey of The Fool. It’s about turning points in a person’s life.” Mary looked up at Wendell. “It represents destiny or fate—the superior forces at work in a person’s life, causing sudden events and new developments. These forces can help, or they can hinder, The Fool on his journeys.

  “The Wheel represents the cycles of life and how we ride it, how life brings new developments and sudden changes to us all.”

  Mary looked quickly to Jonathan and then back to Wendell. She gave him a calm smile and smoothly drew the third card from the deck.

  The barest of a pause ensued before she laid it down.

  “The World,” she said, and Jonathan wondered if Wendell had caught the slight hitch in Mary’s voice.

  “Often The World is a card about fulfillment and accomplishment. It will signify wholeness, prosperity, and contentment. It’s another card which speaks—directly—about the journey of The Fool.

  “But this card is in the reverse position, Wendell.” Mary sighed. “Taken with what the two preceding cards tell, I read this as representing an ending, a pause in life before the next cycle.”

  Mary swallowed and reached for the fourth card from the deck. She looked at it herself before setting it down.

  Jonathan read enough in her eyes; he didn’t need to hear her words. This tempted him to stop the reading, but he hoped it still might reveal something, some clue he had missed. He knew he had no recourse but to let the reading go on.

  “The Tower,” Mary proclaimed putting the card down to the far right of The Fool. “Again this card speaks of sudden change, but The Tower represents chaos and disruption.

  “If we keep to the story analogy, then this card is saying The Fool can be, or is, experiencing hard times—a crisis. He is beset by disillusionment, uncomfortable experiences, or a downfall. It’s a card about ruin.”

  Mary glanced to Jonathan once again, but now he saw stark dread in her eyes. She started to open her mouth and Jonathan knew she was going to ask him the very same question he had asked himself a moment before.

  “Keep going,” Jonathan told her grimly.

  She nodded, drew in a deep breath, and took the fifth, and second-to-last, card of the reading from the deck before her.

  “Temperance,” she said, her voice soft, but even, as she regarded the detailed image on the card face. “In this position, at this point in the reading,” Mary looked up at Wendell and spoke the rest looking at him directly. “I’m sorry, but Temperance stands between Death and The Devil.�
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  She laid the card down and ran a finger over it.

  “She guides the souls of the dead to judgment and the underworld. Temperance is another journey card, Wendell. It’s the card that tells where you will be journeying to. It speaks of how you are being watched over, and that you will be treated fairly but the voyage has only one possible destination.”

  Mary then turned to Jonathan and said, “Do I have to?”

  “You know you do, Mary,” Jonathan uttered. “When have you ever left a reading unfinished?”

  “When have I ever done such a reading?” Mary responded grimly.

  Jonathan shrugged his shoulders. It was out of their hands and he knew Mary understood that as well as he did.

  He had learned nothing new through the reading. He doubted the last card would expose any lingering secrets, but that didn’t mean it should be left untouched.

  Even though they all knew what the last card would revel, Jonathan strongly felt it needed to be exposed.

  He knew enough about the use of Tarot decks to know Mary shouldn’t absorb the energy—the potency—of the last card from such a reading. It had to be played out. It had to be released from the deck and from her, as she was really the conduit. The cards were just the medium.

  Mary lifted the last card from the deck and Jonathan realized he had in fact learned something from this reading. He knew now this wasn’t a prank.

  This threat to Wendell was real and he was running out of time—rapidly.

  “Death,” Mary said in a hollow voice.

  “With any other reading, I might be able to show how this card doesn’t truly represent death. I could point out how a black banner emblazoned with the mystic rose is actually a symbol for life, or rebirth, but not in this reading. I’m sorry, Wendell. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Mr. Alvey is right—finish the reading,” Wendell said, keeping his eyes on the cards and not the woman interpreting them.

  Mary seemed to draw strength from Wendell’s acceptance and nodded.

  “All right. The king being trampled signifies how death takes each of us equally, with no deference to rank or age. The bishop is present to indicate one should remain calm in the face of death and keep faith in the divine plan.

  “If we refer back to the previous cards in this spread, this means to trust that fate has a role for each of us, that the wheel of life rolls on. We must take our place on the wheel and ride it to the next cycle of our life.”

  “And the woman?” Wendell asked.

  “The maiden,” Mary intoned. “She represents the sorrows and pains of the living which accompany death.”

  Mary fell silent. The reading was done.

  “Thank you for your time, Mary Parsons,” Wendell said and extended his hand to her.

  Mary nodded and clasped Wendell’s hand, not in a shake, but between both of hers.

  Jonathan noted the tears welling in Mary’s eyes and knew she would not rest easy tonight.

  “I’m sorry for how the reading went, Wendell,” Mary said, squeezing his hand. She let go of him and, turning to Jonathan, said, “I hope it was worth it, Jonathan.”

  “So do I,” he replied, and then assured her, “It wasn’t without merit. I guess I owe you an explanation.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I’d say you do. But first, pass me that flask you always carry.”

  Jonathan took the necessary time to share the whole story with Mary, during which Wendell didn’t interrupt once, but merely listened. He then left Wendell in her care and went back down the stairs into the night.

  The reading had turned out to be a lead apron, weighing heavy on the chest during an x-ray guaranteed to show tumors.

  The Whip-poor-wills had moved on at some point, but he heard the telltale call of an owl and then, a moment later, a second.

  Jonathan pushed the prophetic avian presence from of his mind and whistled sharply into the chill air.

  Once the echo of the sound had faded, he turned the corner and slipped into a dead end alley. He walked as far as down the throat of the urban tunnel as he deemed reasonable for privacy.

  Taking off his trench coat and laying it on the dumpster, he caught sight of a large dark dog. Barely more than a shape, a silhouette caught by the street light at the mouth of the alley, it came forward.

  There had been a streetlight in the actual alley itself years past. However, it had become a favorite spot, this alley, for users and hookers, neither of which appreciated having their activities illuminated for scrutiny by those passing. The light had been broken so many times by then, no one bothered to replace it anymore.

  Frank’s particular canine breed seemed to be a Boerboel. It had taken Jonathan an hour of Internet searching to figure out that little bit of information.

  The color and markings had thrown him, but after taking that out of the equation, he’d been able to narrow it down.

  Frank’s form, like all cynanthropes, manifested somewhat larger than a normal Boerboel. Jonathan guessed Frank’s canine form weighed roughly two hundred and thirty pounds, whereas a mundane Boerboel, at its largest, weighed no more than two hundred.

  The breed, a cross between English mastiffs and a native African dog, were powerful enough to thwart, or even kill, an attacking leopard. Given that, what padded down the alley at him was a were-dog whose mundane form had a reputation for enormous strength and the capability to cause serious damage.

  Ralph’s worry over Frank’s safety seemed almost ludicrous. However, even a were-beast had to worry about magic. They had more resistance to esoteric attacks, but resistance didn’t equal immunity.

  One of the few things Jonathan had garnered from the tarot reading—whatever was after Wendell had access to strong magic. Since it not only had a very real intention of killing Wendell, but also bothered to torment him first, Jonathan could only assume the thing was evil.

  Something matching that description would probably make short work of even the impressive were-creature, which had come to sit before him with a dog’s body and Frank’s eyes.

  Jonathan turned his back on the enormous brindle beast to allow Frank to transform back into his natural form. He did it out of respect of the fact that Frank remained uncomfortable with his dual nature. He also turned away to give the man a chance to conceal his nakedness.

  “I’m covered,” said Frank from behind him after a minute.

  Jonathan turned around. Frank had not only done up the buttons of the coat, but had tied the belt tightly around his waist. He noted the bare feet on the slimy, cracked cement of the alley. Frank wasn’t fidgeting though, so clearly the cold didn’t bother him.

  Were-creatures were far less susceptible to extreme temperatures. Despite being only few degrees below freezing, Frank probably hadn’t really noticed.

  “How are you holding up?” Jonathan asked.

  “I’ll survive. It’s strange to keep the form for so long, but I have to admit the run, following him downtown, was exhilarating.”

  Jonathan couldn’t help but smile a bit.

  Frank had to learn to embrace some of the benefits his other shape brought.

  There existed simple pleasures and harmless activities he could still enjoy without the fear of giving in to the wild side of his nature.

  There were temptations he must resist, but Jonathan had already made them quite clear to Frank and, truly, he wasn’t overly worried.

  As a dog, the base underlying nature was more domesticated, less feral, than a cynanthrope’s better-known cousin the lycanthrope. It would make defending against those dire lures easier for Frank.

  As long as he didn’t hunt down and kill anything, especially a human, Frank should be able to remain master of the dog and not the other way around.

  The taste, even the scent, of blood for a were-wolf was overwhelming. In the animal form, they were driven to hunt. It was their instinct. Overcoming that desire and controlling it with their human nature had to be the most important thing for a lycanthrope to learn. />
  A were-wolf would hunt. The human, therefore, had to keep a much firmer grip of the animal side of themselves.

  If a lycanthrope ever tasted human blood as a wolf, then the chances of them carrying the taste for it into the human shape became disturbingly high.

  Were-creatures were quite susceptible to human blood addictions, a genetic flaw to an otherwise generally harmless creature.

  “I’m glad you’re getting a chance to see the possible enjoyment the other side of your nature offers.”

  Jonathan thought he saw a flush come to Frank’s cheeks.

  “As long as it’s the human running the show, it’s all right to bask in the potency and speed of the canine, Frank. You should learn the things you can do on your time. You don’t want to be caught unaware by ability or urges. If you know the canine, then you can control the canine.”

  “I think I see your point now, Mr. Alvey.”

  “Frank, if you can’t get used to calling me Jonathan, can I at least get you to drop the Mister from the equation?”

  “Sure.”

  “Good. Now, did you see or smell anything—any person, vehicle, or maybe even another animal, following Wendell?”

  Frank shook his head.

  “Sorry, Alvey, but I didn’t. I tried to keep as far back as I could, while still being able to see Wendell, but I spotted nothing.

  “I even made loops around the house before he left, just to make sure there wasn’t someone hiding on the other side from me. I couldn’t see, hear, or smell anything. And let me tell you, that nose takes in a lot. It’s like seeing smells.”

  “All right. I need you to keep at it, at least until morning.”

  “Sure,” Frank said without hesitation. “Yeah, I can do that.”

  “I appreciate it, Frank. And remember—don’t get involved. If you do see anything, watch and watch only. If you think maybe you’ve been noticed, just leave. Get back to your car and go home, or better yet, to the yard. Just get yourself gone and I’ll find you, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Okay, so keep on following and observing—even if he’s with me—until I get a chance to check in with you again tomorrow.”

  “No problem, Alvey. You are buying when this is finished, right?”