Ember stood outside the well-preserved diner, a knot forming in her stomach. Its sleek, silver structure set against the perpetual muted light of fall made it look almost like a set piece from a pulp science fiction movie. The wind blew in small gusts, bringing the dead, dry leaves of autumn to life, if only for a split second.
Ember was certain of two things. The first: Mr. Blue Eyes was the change her cards had spoken of. She’d dreamed of him all her life, and the moment he’d walked into her tent everything had changed. Just as her gift had forewarned.
The second: Kacie was untrustworthy as a person, but her gifts were undeniably sharper than most. If anyone could tell her about her past life, it was Kacie.
Ember pried the stray red windblown strands of hair from her face, opening the glass door tentatively.
Entering was like stepping through a time machine. The owners of Cory’s had opted to keep the diner’s 1920’s original design, which accentuated the ambiance. The black and white checkered floor shone from a fresh mopping, and the light from the hanging lamps over the bar cast a dazzling glare. Ember turned toward the counter bar searching for Kacie as another wave of déjà vu overcame her.
Of course, I’ve been here before. It’s Cory’s, she thought, silently scolding herself for jumping to conclusions. The vision was clearly taking a toll on her.
Ember slowly walked past the counter, peering into the black leather booths. The diner was decked out in the favored black and orange streamers while Beistle paper cats and scarecrows hung from the trestles and roof. Small plastic jack-o-lantern centerpieces boasted red, orange, and golden mums. Ember stopped at the last table, glancing down at the woman who sat in front of her.
It had been 10 years since Ember had seen her, but Kacie looked not a day over 30, despite being in her mid-40’s.
Her blonde hair was cut short, set straight against her pale skin, which looked almost flawless.
She regarded Ember with interest sparkling in her dark green eyes.
“Long time no see sweetheart,” she said as she nodded for Ember to take the seat on the side of the booth. Ember slid in with caution.
“Let’s cut to the chase Kacie. I know you don’t want to be here any more than I do.” Ember rolled up her sleeve, exposing a bare, creamy expanse of porcelain skin.
Kacie rolled her eyes.
“You’re my niece and I haven’t seen you in years. Is it that hard to believe I’d want to see you? Catch up first?” She huffed.
Ember’s heart raced. If she could have it any other way … “Fine. What do you want to know?” Ember gently pulled her arm back into her lap.
“How’s your mother?” Kacie asked with a smile as the waitress set two cups of coffee down before them.
Ember looked at the cup in front of her with apprehension.
“You do still drink coffee, don’t you?” Kacie brought her own cup to her lips. Ember let out a sigh as she leaned over to the caddy by the window to grab a sugar packet and several creamers. “Mom’s fine,” was all she could muster.
“She still with that guy? What was his name … Thomas … Ted …” Kacie prattled on.
“Tim,” Ember said solidly.
“Yes, Tim,” Kacie smirked as she took another sip of coffee. Her silver bracelet rattling against the porcelain cup, she then set the cup down and looked at Ember, her expression softening. “What makes you think this vision has anything to do with a past life?” She folded her hands.
Ember watched her aunt and relaxed. “I’ve never had a vision before but it was like I was remembering instead of observing. I haven’t been able to shake the sense of déjà vu since.” She decided to leave out the part about her previous dreams of Mr. Blue Eyes.
Kacie’s face betrayed no emotion as she continued to listen.
“I’m not sure what it means but, one person, in particular, stood out, the man I was reading for.” Ember slowly brought her arm up and laid it out on the table for Kacie, her fingers uncurling with nervousness.
Kacie took her hand gently, the same way she had all those years ago, as they’d approached her father’s casket.
Aside from the warmth of Kacie’s fingers on her forearm, Ember felt nothing. Her thoughts drifted, and a sudden sense of calm overcame her.
Kacie let go and Ember slid her arm back to her lap.
“The man with the blue eyes …” Kacie took another sip from her coffee cup, leaving Ember on the edge of her seat. “I can’t get a reading on him, and that does concern me, but you--this is not your first rodeo with him, and it certainly won’t be your last. I’d be careful if I were you, Emmy.”
Kacie’s eyes bore a look of concern and the sight made Ember both somber and angry. “That doesn’t tell me anything.” Ember rubbed her arm underneath the table, her fingers tracing tiny circles on her skin.
“Is he the one you read the cards for?” Kacie pressed.
“Maybe,” Ember responded reluctantly.
“You really shouldn’t let people touch your cards. I’m serious.” Kacie pursed her lips.
“I know what I’m doing. I protect myself. I cleanse the cards--” A deep voice rumbled a gruff hello, interrupting them.
“Why hello Detective Jones.” Kacie’s voice shifted from concerned to excited as she gazed up at the Mack Truck that was Detective Nick Jones.
“Kacie, always a pleasure,” he said as she moved closer to Ember in the corner booth to make room for him. How his lumbering body fit into the small booth was a mystery that Ember knew would never be solved.
Ember got up immediately. “Well, look at the time. I really must be going.” She brushed past the waitress and hurried through the door, out into the fresh fall air.
Chapter Six
The sound of rain pattering against the window was like a lullaby to Ember, who lay in her bed bathed in moonlight, Stella curled up beside her knees. The jagged, leafless shadows of trees danced on her walls. She tossed and turned with the crashing thunder as she waded into the depths of darkness, further and further away from lucidity.
She followed the heartbeat of the underground; the vibrations getting louder and louder with every step she took.
She found herself in front of a large, cherrywood door, and knocked five times as if it was some sort of code.
The door opened and the familiar smell of cigars, cigarettes, and liquor assaulted her upon entering.
Lush jazz melodies cantered above the din of chatter, and Rose breathed it all in as though it was her only source of oxygen.
This was where her people lived. This was home.
Rose made her way through the crowd to the sleek, cherrywood bar and slid onto one of the slender, red velvet stools. She leaned her arms over the quilted leather surface, her black, velvet bag finding its own seat on the bar. Candelabras set on the wall lit up the bar’s back expanse, reflecting like pools of amber against the marbled glass mirror and the dark glass bottles. She peered down the way, past the heads of the middle-aged men and flappers.
Where was the bartender? Rose sighed. Suddenly her head shot up as she felt a shiver course up her spine.
“What’s your poison?” the voice caressed her like a well-aged scotch.
Rose turned to meet the man’s hot, blue-eyed gaze.
“Gin martini, dry please,” she requested confidently.
The man nodded in response, his gaze lingering a moment longer than it should have.
She watched him stalk to the back of the bar, reaching for the gin. His movements were graceful, calculated, and precise.
He strained the clear liquid into a martini glass, embellishing it with 3 olives before casually sliding it over to her.
“Thank you …” her voice trailed off, waiting for a name.
The bartender smirked. “Forget what you were saying?” He licked his lips and extended his arms out against the bar, the motion accentuating the definition in his broad shoulders and forearms, which were exposed beneath rolled up, white linen sleeves.
Rose’s heart skipped a beat.
“No, just waiting.” She sipped her martini and glanced up at him through thick, dark lashes.
“Waiting for what?” he asked, the air of challenge set between them.
“Your name, unless you don’t have one and are merely some ghost with exquisite bartending skills.” She set her martini glass down.
A smile tugged at his lips. “Name’s Deidrick, but most people call me Derek for short,” he replied smoothly.
Rose sipped the clear liquor politely. “Nice to meet you, Deidrick. My name is --” she started, before Deidrick interrupted her, pouring just a bit more from the shaker into her glass.
“Rose Hartford. I know who you are,” he said.
His electric gaze stirred questions in Rose she dared not ask yet. “Well I’m flattered,” she said smoothly as she set down her glass and untied the black satin strings on her bag.
Deidrick glanced down at her movements.
She upended the bag and the cards tumbled out together as one into her hands. “Do you believe in magic, Deidrick?” she asked, as she gently shuffled the cards, her fingers grazing the tips of the worn cardstock with purpose. She cut the deck as if she were merely cutting playing cards.
Deidrick smiled, exposing perfect white teeth and nodded toward the stage, where the musicians cast their melodies amid the patrons of the secret haven.
“What is magic, but a wish? A belief in the invisible force of nature? A seed is planted, and as the sun shines, and the rains fall, it emerges from the darkness, bright and bold and beautiful. Is that not magic?” The way in which he spoke was profound. One of the patrons interrupted his response and Deidrick turned toward their call. “Excuse me,” he said as he meandered over to a group of men then back to the bar to retrieve their liquor.
Rose set down the deck of cards and pulled one off the top.
The Lovers. Rose smiled.
The sound of thunder crashed loudly and Ember awoke in a panic. The windows had blown open from the force of the wind and rain saturated her carpet. Her altar, which held her cards to be cleansed in the moonlight, had toppled over. The cards were scattered about the room amidst the stones and bowls of black ash and salt, which had also tumbled from the upheaval of the altar. She sprung from the bed without hesitation and forced the shutters closed, her bodyweight solid on top of them as she fumbled for the lock. Her unruly hair clung to the cold sweat of her face as her body stilled. Shadows continued to dance a dark waltz against the crisp, white walls.
Rose Hartford.
Was it some strange coincidence that Ember’s middle name was Rose? She didn’t know of any Hartfords in her family though, or even in the town of Chester, for that matter.
Ember leaned down to right the upturned altar and noticed that out of all the disarrayed cards only one was exposed, begging to be read.
The memory of a card that had escaped Mr. Blue Eyes’ hand during his shuffle found its way to the surface of her mind. She hadn’t read it. How could she have forgotten? Cards that fell out during a shuffle were divine spiritual messages.
Ember knelt on the carpet, the cold rain soaking through her nightgown like a growing weed. She pulled the card to her, her heart racing.
The card was upright, but Ember knew what it was before she even looked.
It was a card she had drawn a thousand times, for so many people. It meant great love, passion, intense bonds. It meant coming across some great, meaningful path that one should not diverge from. If you were single, it also meant, in its upright position, that something big was coming your way.
Ember looked down at The Lovers, her heart beating in time with the roar of thunder outside her window.
Chapter Seven
The clock read 3:00 am. The Witching hour. At least that’s what Grandma Joanne always called it.
Ember paced back and forth in her bedroom. Getting to sleep seemed impossible now, no matter how much pillow mist or aromatherapy lotion she used. Even the diffuser blend that usually helped her relax had no effect.
She looked at Stella, and then at her deck, which sat at the center of the altar, bathed in moonlight.
The cards called to her, like a siren calls a sailor; a song only she could hear.
“What do you think Stella?” The white cat rolled over onto her back and let out a meow. Ember pulled her hair to the side and crossed her arms.
She never used the cards at home. It was one of her rules, used to separate her life from her gift. Her home was a sacred space and she wanted to keep it that way. Yet the cards seemed to all but scream her name. She hadn’t felt such a pull since she’d picked up the black velvet bag in her grandmother’s attic.
No one knew where the bag had come from, or what it contained at the time. She had only been 9 years old and was still mourning the loss of her father. It wasn’t until Kacie caught her on the floor with all the cards spread around her that anyone had realized what she had.
“Do you know what those do?” Kacie had knelt beside her.“I think they tell stories,” she’d answered as she drew another card from the deck and placed it down on the faded green carpet.
Kacie had hovered her hand above one of the cards.
“In a way, yes. They tell stories--stories of the past, present, and future. Some people, people like me and grandma see the stories more clearly, and sometimes that can be a great help to people.” She had smiled gently before pointing to a card painted with a man in a jester hat.
“What do you think this one says?” she’d asked softly.
“I think he kind of looks like a fool. He isn’t taking things seriously.” She had giggled, thinking his outfit was funny.
“There are many ways to read this story.” Kacie had pointed to the staff the fool carried and then to his bag. “This card is in the upright position, which means, if memory serves me right, that he is on a journey of new beginnings. He travels throughout life with his staff and his bag and a grand sense of adventure. But if he isn’t careful, if he does not pay attention, he might end up very badly hurt.”
Ember had picked up the card and stared at it for a long time, studying the art, listening to its energy, its voice.
She’d collected the cards one by one, trying to remember their beautiful pictures.
That was so long ago but Ember still remembered it vividly.
She’d learned all she could about the cards in the following years--how to read them, how to channel her own instincts, how to trust her gut, how to cleanse, and most importantly how to protect herself psychically. She had learned that the cards had a voice of their own and that refusing to listen usually meant things didn’t end well.
Ember walked over to her altar and opened a small box, which held bundles of dried white sage.
She wrapped her fingers around a large bundle and opened a drawer of colored candles. Finding what she was looking for, she set the small, tapered, white candle in a holder on the other side of the deck, grabbed the long-handled lighter, and lit the wick. She suspended the white sage above the flickering flame, rotating it slowly to blacken the tips of the fresh herb until a steady stream of smoke escaped into the air.
Ember took a deep breath and stilled her nerves.
“Blessed be me, blessed be ye, so no harm may come to thee.” She spoke the familiar words as she set the sage down, burning still, in an empty ceramic bowl that had recently held the remains of black ash. Ember shuffled the cards with deliberate intent, infusing her concentration on Deidrick.
Derek, for short.
That was his name, wasn’t it? But who was he? Kacie had said they knew each other before and that this wouldn’t be the last time they crossed paths.
She pondered his bright, blue eyes, thinking on the energy that had emanated from him only days ago in the tent; the way he’d smirked, the sound of his voice, smooth like jazz melodies and gin martinis.
She set the deck down harder than she meant to and drew the first card for a full Celtic cross sprea
d.
The rain continued to pour, a symphony on the glass.
Chapter Eight
Ember’s phone beeped loudly, stirring her awake. Her eyes fluttered, filtering in the late morning light. She glanced at her alarm clock. It was 10:00 am. She groaned as she reached out, swatting at the source of the ludicrous beeping.
It was a text from Ava. Rubbing her eyes, Ember unlocked her phone.
She was greeted by a photo of a female pirate costume if a female pirate actually wore knee-high boots and a petticoat.
She read the text.
You’re free Sunday morning, right? I just got an email from Gregg. One of their performers called in sick and he wants US to fill in! He said if things go well, we can talk about a regular gig! A REGULAR gig at the Renaissance Festival!
Ember chewed her bottom lip.
What about the Witch Festival? I thought that was Sunday.
Ava texted back immediately.
The time slot for Ren Fest is in the morning. Witch Festival doesn’t start until 4. We can do both.
Ember tapped out the reply quickly.
Do I have to wear that?
She waited for the response.
I mean, you’d probably bring in some good tips if you did, not going to lie.
Ember chuckled.
When Ava texted her a string of eggplant emojis and peaches, Ember couldn’t help but let out a deep-hearted laugh.
***
Despite Ava’s suggestions, Ember refused to wear anything with a petticoat. She’d settled on a much simpler outfit, repurposed from several items in her closet--a pink brocade patterned fashion corset from a few Halloweens ago, a long plain brown skirt, some colorful printed scarves tied around her waist and in her hair, and some chandelier earrings with bright blue beads.
Ember locked the door to her apartment behind her and turned to see Ava, who leaned against her 1967 black Impala. Somehow, she had traded her usual look, consisting of band t-shirts and a studded leather jacket, for a black, leather studded steampunk corset, black leather pants, and studded boots, with matching cuff bracelets that covered her wrists. She wore a red plume in her hair, and from the doorstep, Ember thought she looked like a late 90’s Hot Topic pirate. It wasn’t a bad look for her though.
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