Taking advantage seemed an odd choice of words. “Take advantage?” Danae repeated.
“He stole my girlfriend in high school. Payback’s a bitch, you know… but enough about me. Show me around this wonderful Ace of Wands emporium. By the way, what’s with the Christmas lights?”
Danae was happy to change the subject. She really, really did not like this man. Adopting her customer service manner again, she said, “First, it adds a little magical atmosphere to the showroom, and two, the power around here is not that reliable. We’ve burned out enough fixtures due to outages or power surges and it’s a lot cheaper to replace a string of Christmas lights.”
“Why doesn’t the landlord fix whatever’s wrong with the power?”
Danae laughed. “Pauline is, or was, the landlord. She owned the building. It’s not an electrician thing. It’s just how things are down here. We just deal with it. We have battery backup and surge protection for the computer. Besides, the showroom isn’t that busy; we get very little walk-in traffic here. It’s mostly for people who want custom wands. The tourists all go to Jackson Square. They don’t even know the Lower Ninth Ward exists unless they take a Katrina tour.”
Marc frowned. “Why not bring them here? With a little sprucing up, we could probably get with the tour organizations and make this shop one of the tour destinations. Get one of the local bars in on it; maybe offer some other enticements—palm reading, tea leaves, astrology, voodoo, that kind of thing.”
Danae gaped at him. “Have you ever taken a Katrina tour? It’s not exactly a marketing goldmine just waiting to happen. It’s a somber look at the aftermath of the hurricane. A lot of people lost their lives down here, you know. It’s never been the same. Especially here in the Lower Ninth. And you do realize voodoo is a religion, right? It’s not about poking dolls with pins and putting curses on people.”
“Whatever,” he said, already moving on to another topic. “And what’s with the pallets leaning against the front of the building. Kinda detracts from the curb appeal, don’t you think?”
“Those belong to Rocco,” she said. “He’s a Desert Storm vet. Homeless. Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome. He makes a lean-to out of the pallets and sleeps in front of the building some nights. He was very helpful when Pauline was getting the business back together after the hurricane. Pauline said he could stay there as often as he wanted.” Not to mention he was a big guy and probably kept any criminal element away.
“Well, I don’t like it,” he said. “Let him know he needs to move his pallets along somewhere else next time you see him.”
“Sure,” said Danae. That wouldn’t be a problem because she never saw Rocco. If he slept there, he didn’t show up until nighttime anyway, and he was always gone before she opened in the morning. The only way she knew he was there was that once in awhile she’d leave a container of cookies or other sweets for him and the empty container was always placed carefully in front of the door a day or two later. She’d just leave a note for him to store his pallets in the alleyway between the buildings, during the day, from now on.
“By the way,” she said, “Pauline’s lawyer called. He wants to do the reading of her will here tomorrow at noon. Aubrey will close up the stand for lunch and meet us here, if that time works for you.”
“No need,” he said, “I can meet with the lawyer in his office tomorrow morning. I need to fly back out as soon as I can tomorrow, anyway.”
“He specifically requested that Aubrey and I meet with him as well.”
*
“Is that right?” he asked. “Well then, noon it is.” That was interesting. So the girls were named in Pauline’s will. He shouldn’t have been surprised. They’d worked for her for a number of years. And who knew if Pauline was even entirely in her right mind at the end. They may have coerced her to leave them something. No worries. A little stipend would be okay. After all, they’d kept the business running for a month until he could get down here. But if it was more than that, well, contract law was his forte. He’d take care of anything he had to before the girls even knew what hit them. That reminded him: he wanted to see the books as soon as possible.
As if reading his mind, Danae said, “Would you like to see the warehouse now? After that, I imagine you’ll want to see the books.”
“You just read my mind,” he said.
Danae led him into the warehouse area, where he noted that at least it was lit with overhead fluorescent lights, not Christmas lights. She led him through the different rows, explaining the types of wands as she went. He figured he should probably pay attention.
“These are our Princess wands. Very popular with the young girls… The “Spellz” wand—we have an exclusive license with the TV show… The Wizard wand—probably our best seller… and here is where we keep the crystals, ribbons, and other items for customizing. The Quarter sales are mostly our best-selling wands with some crystals or sigils—think runes—applied to customize them. Whatever Aubrey can do on the fly. Since we have more time to work on them, the internet sales can be more customized. And our walk-in traffic is word-of-mouth, almost strictly custom, with special woods, earth crystals, essential oil soaks, and the like. We keep some of the special woods in-house. The rest is special-ordered or Pauline gathered it personally from the bayou.”
“So what were the overall sales last year?”
“Just over three-quarters of a million. Aubrey does the books, so she can give you the particulars.”
“Really,” he said. The tattoo chick did the books? He was definitely going to have a close look at those. 750K. Not a bad start. Not much left after salaries and taxes though. He liked the idea of getting the showroom/warehouse put on one of the Katrina tours. He’d talk to a tour operator. There had to be some kind of win-win there. Especially if he could bring in some of the occult elements he’d thought about earlier. Something a little edgy, or maybe a lot edgy. Definitely had potential. “It’s a nice start,” he said. “With a little marketing, it sounds like it could really take off.”
Danae agreed. “Yes, the next Secrets book from the kids’ novel series is going to be released in January. I hear it’s about a special wand. I’m thinking we could get some tie-in, like we did with the ‘Spellz’ TV series. Maybe get exclusive rights for that book like we did with ‘Spellz’.”
“Why not?” he smirked. “After all, we are the Ace of Wands.”
*
Danae decided to just ignore the snide remarks. “In case you’re wondering, our internet sales are probably two-thirds of the business. Jackson Square is probably a quarter—no pun intended–—and walk-in custom work makes up the rest.”
“So what’s with the sign in front?” he asked. “Is that a Tarot card?”
“Yes, it’s the Ace of Wands from the Rider-Waite Tarot deck. One of Pauline’s clients made it for her in exchange for a custom wand. It’s hand-carved.”
“You mean there’s actually a card called the Ace of Wands?” he asked.
“Yes. And this being a wand shop…You know how Pauline liked her plays on words.”
Marc grunted something noncommittal, then asked, “What does the card mean?”
“Probably easier for you to just look it up on the internet,” she said. “In Tarot, a lot depends on what other cards are around it, and the meaning changes depending on whether it’s in the upright or reversed position.”
She could see Marc was annoyed. “So what does it mean, in general?”
“In general, it means good things. New beginnings, prosperity, good luck. That sort of thing. If you want particulars, I know a few people who do readings. You could talk to one of them.”
“And what if the card is reversed? Death and dismemberment?”
“Close,” she said cheerfully. “Doom, decadence, ruin, perdition, if you believe in that kind of thing.”
“I don’t,” he said. “Do you?”
Danae shrugged. She’d seen a lot of things she couldn’t explain. And Pauline definitely believed
in that kind of thing. But then, her business started with the custom wands. She always said the wand chose the user, not the other way around. She had a reputation for finding just the right wood, imbued with that indefinable something, for each particular client. But there were a lot of crazies out there and she refused to dabble in the so-called “black arts”. Pauline had an uncanny sense about people and had no problem refusing to put a wand together for somebody she had a bad feeling about. Someone bent on evil could eventually find wand-makers who didn’t mind delving into necromancy if the money was there. It might be more lucrative, but Pauline always declined that kind of work. To make ends meet, she started the tourist sales in the Quarter, and at Aubrey and Danae’s urging, eventually added online sales.
“So what do the symbols on the Tarot card mean?” Marc asked. “It looks like a hand coming out of a cloud, holding a rod or a club with leaves on it, and a castle in the background.”
“The hand reaching out from the cloud is supposed to be an offer being made. Probably spiritual, since it looks like rays are coming out of it. The leaves mean the wand is still developing. The castle is supposed to represent opportunity.”
“It doesn’t look much like a wand. More like a rod or club,” Marc said.
“It’s funny you should say that,” Danae replied. “Some say the wand is the rod of Moses. Others say it’s the club of Herakles.” Was she mistaken, or did the room suddenly feel colder?
“Herakles?” he said. “I never could remember all that Greek mythology stuff.”
Of course not, Danae thought. Aloud she said, “You would probably know him as Hercules. You have heard of the twelve labors of Hercules, right?”
“Wait a minute,” Marc said. “I thought there were only ten labors of Hercules.”
“There were supposed to be, but two were disqualified, so they added two more.”
“See that’s what happens when you don’t have a lawyer look over your contract first,” Marc joked. “So which labors were DQed?”
“The second labor, which was the slaying of the Lernaean Hydra, because he had help with it; and the fifth labor, cleaning the Augean Stables.”
“He had to clean stables? Hardly sounds like a Herculean task.”
“It was intended to be humiliating. The Augean Stables contained over one thousand cattle, hadn’t been cleaned in thirty years, and he had to do it all in one day.”
“So why was he disqualified?” Marc asked. “Did he have help again?”
“Sort of. They say that he re-routed two rivers into the stables to wash out the filth, so technically, he didn’t do it himself. Plus, he also got paid for it.”
“Sounds pretty enterprising to me,” Marc said.
Danae shrugged. “There are those who say that the Lower Ninth Ward flooding during Katrina was history repeating itself: Hercules cleaning out the stables again.”
“That’s a stretch, isn’t it?”
“There was water pouring in from at least three different sources: Saint Bernard Parish and two major breaches on the Industrial Canal. The force of the water knocked homes completely off their foundations. Even the high ground that was dry during Hurricane Betsy was inundated with feet of water.” The man really had no idea.
“So,” he said, “Are you saying the people living in the Lower Ninth Ward are cattle?”
Danae gaped at him. “Pauline lived there. If you want to refer to her as cattle, be my guest. I was speaking of Hercules’ fifth labor repeating itself figuratively, but whatever. I get it. It’s all Greek to you!”
Marc placed a hand on his chest. “So sorry, didn’t mean to insult the residents of the Lower Ninth or ridicule Greek mythology. Do go on. If case history is repeating itself in mythological proportions, which labor should I be keeping an eye out for? That would be the sixth labor, right?”
Jerk, Danae thought. Clearly, the Lower Ninth and its inhabitants meant nothing to him. She shook her head. She and Pauline had returned from Danae’s apartment five days after the hurricane to find that Pauline’s home was one of those completely knocked off its foundation. Everything was gone. Everything.
The power was out everywhere. Cell calls wouldn’t go through, even if you could charge your cell phone. Text messages took days to go through. Danae had suddenly remembered that the warehouse had a landline phone extension with an older phone in the back that didn’t depend on electricity. She took Pauline there so she could call for help. The building had sustained some flooding, but nothing compared to the devastation all around it. She stayed with her as Pauline tried to reach her only kin and great nephew, Marc Sancha, who wouldn’t respond to her messages. “Probably flying around in his private plane somewhere,” Pauline had said at the time, then gave up trying to reach him, refused Danae’s offer to stay at her apartment, and set about surviving on her own. She dug in, camped out in the warehouse with Rocco for protection, and swore she’d never leave the area that was her family’s home for generations.
“Six does follow five,” Danae agreed snidely. “The sixth labor was to defeat the Stymphalian Birds.”
“Birds? Like the Hitchcock movie, The Birds?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “That movie was before my time… The Stymphalian Birds were man-eating birds with bronze beaks and sharp metal feathers. They were sacred to Ares, the god of war, which probably explains why their feathers could be used as arrows against the enemy. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, their dung was toxic, too.”
“Poisonous poo, eh? So how’d he defeat them? Let me guess. He smacked them all upside the head with his magic club!”
“Nope. A rattle. The birds had taken over a swamp and Hercules couldn’t go into the swamp because the ground wouldn’t support his weight. So, Athena gave Hercules a rattle that he could shake to frighten the birds out of the trees. Then, he could just pick ‘em off one by one with his bow and arrows.”
“A rattle, huh? Like a maraca or something? Good grief, all he’d have to do is subject them to that noise they call music down in Jackson Square and those birds would never come back! There was a guy playing the accordion, and I’d swear some old dude was actually playing a washboard. I didn’t know those things were even still around. Talk about Hicksville.”
“That’s Zydeco,” said Danae. “It’s borrowed from French and African cultures; it’s influenced many styles of music.” She happened to like it. Her uncle sang and played the washboard and spoons in a Zydeco band. Nothing better after a long day than having a beer and dancing to Zydeco music.
“You could have fooled me—gave me a headache!”
“I guess there’s no disputing taste,” Danae said sweetly.
“Hey, what’s this?” he asked, pulling the shotgun case from one of the higher shelves.
“I think it’s a shotgun,” said Danae. “Pauline called it her ‘Ace of Wands’ when we fled the hurricane with it. I think she liked to have it around for protection after the flooding.” (When the power was out for weeks and nobody walking around after dark was there for good reason), she didn’t bother to add.
“Is it loaded?” he asked, setting it carefully on a lower shelf.
“No idea.” She watched as Marc slowly opened the case.
“Huh,” he said, then snorted. “It’s just a wand.”
The hairs rose on Danae’s arms. There was no such thing as “just a wand” in this store, especially one Pauline referred to as her ‘Ace’. Maybe her very first wand? Or her favorite?
“Looks old,” he said. “The wood looks strange, too. It’s heavy.” He raised the wand and Danae could feel the energy in the room change. She saw a spark and heard a fizzing sound behind her. The familiar sound of another set of Christmas lights burning out in the showroom. She’d have to replace them tomorrow. She tried to get a good look at the wand, but Marc was fully engaged with it, first swinging it like a baseball bat, then feinting and thrusting it like a sword, then waving it like a conductor’s baton.
“Let me
see it,” she said, reaching out for the wand.
“No!” he said forcefully. “It’s mine! And what’s mine, I keep!”
Okayyy, Danae thought. Now he sounded like the spoiled brat he probably was when he was growing up. “I just want to see it,” she said.
“No!” he repeated, turning away from her.
Danae grabbed at the wand, holding it for just a moment before he tore it back out of her hand. In that instant, she felt a strange energy course through her body. For a split second, it was as though the energy analyzed her, made up its mind about her, and left her body through the same hand, like an electrical switch completing a circuit. Her hand almost glowed where she’d touched the wand, but it wasn’t burned. Physically, she felt fine, but an unease she couldn’t shake crept into her mind. Pauline used to say that no one really possessed a wand; they were just guardians of its power. She warned that people could be possessed by wands, but Danae had never really understood it until now. And even though she hadn’t seen the wand clearly, she knew intuitively that it was made of olive wood.
She tried to tell herself that there were probably plenty of wands made of olivewood, even though this one was the first she’d ever seen in all the years she’d worked with Pauline on custom wands. Nor could she remember Pauline ever mentioning olive wood. And this wand looked and felt old—really old. Like ancient old. The only wand she’d ever heard about that was made of olive wood was the rod of Hercules. She glanced over at Marc, who seemed to be oblivious to anything other than the wand. She didn’t want to think about the possibility that this could be Hercules’ wand, but if it was… She needed to get it away from Marc. She figured that if she and Pauline were guardians of the wands as Pauline often said, she ought to be able to take the wand away from Marc without either of them getting hurt. The gun case had to be some kind of storage vessel. Somehow, it held the energy in place, until Marc picked up the wand. All she had to do was get the wand back into the case and put it in a safe place somewhere…
Never Fear - The Tarot: Do You Really Want To Know? Page 55