by T F Allen
“Okay.” Nick swept up the money and tucked it inside his robe. A tuft of white chest hair poked through the opening he created. “To get started, mix the cards any way you like.”
Annamaria stared at the chandelier and shuffled, trying not to think about the hundreds of desperate people who’d touched these cards before her.
“Let the cards absorb your energy, your questions, your future, your past.”
Psychic Nick wasn’t helping, not one bit.
“Think about your parents. Concentrate on what you remember about them.”
She twisted the deck so violently a few cards snapped loose and flew from her hands. Two landed facedown to her side. A third flipped over and leaned against the votive candle.
“Ah, the Magus,” Nick said. “The Magician. You must be thinking about your father.”
Dumb luck, of course. She decided to go with it. “What do you see?”
Nick touched the card with his index finger. “A man who is powerful, adept. A master of many skills. Incredibly charismatic.”
She blinked. Her father was all those things and more.
Nick reached for the pile of cards she’d abandoned. “The next two will tell us about your past.”
“I already know my past.”
“Maybe they can show you something you missed, something you didn’t realize at the time.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks. No wonder this man’s tacky office doors stayed open. Nick spoke in such a way that she found herself wanting to believe his words were true. Of course, she knew better. But the draw of his voice was unmistakable.
He flipped the top card. The picture showed a man in a long cape, his head down, his shoulders turned away from the artist who drew him. Three overturned goblets lay scattered near his feet. Two more stood upright nearby.
“The Five of Cups,” he said. “Also known as the Lord of Disappointment. Your father must have let you down in some way. Or maybe it was you who disappointed him?”
Annamaria looked away. This was such bullshit. Millions of people probably believed their father had screwed them at some point during their childhood. Her past wasn’t that unique. She folded her arms. If she was going to play this game, she’d make him earn his money.
“Does any of this resonate with you, Diana?”
“Not really.”
The next card revealed a profile of a woman sitting up in bed with her head buried in her hands. Mounted on the wall behind her were nine swords, each with gleaming sharp points.
“Oh dear.” Nick ran his fingers through his hair.
“What is it?”
“Now I see why you want to talk to him. He hurt you. He hurt you so deeply you’re still feeling it.”
“Is that what the card says?”
He held it up for her. “The Nine of Swords is never easy to discuss. It’s a catalyst, an intensifier to the cards around it. When paired with the Five of Cups, it suggests you suffered a disappointment that was particularly intense.” He reached across the table and grabbed her hand. His touch sent a chill through her. “This wrong was inflicted on you by someone who lacks compassion.”
She leaned back, pulling herself from his reach. “My father left when I was a kid.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.”
“The important thing is you survived.” Nick glanced at her purse. “You persevered and overcame, made yourself into a successful woman.”
This man had no idea.
“But you didn’t come here to understand your past.” He covered the tarot deck with his massive hand. “Your question is about the future.”
He was right, in a sense. But she’d never leave something this important to the draw of a card. Psychic Nick might try to find meaning in the random selection of small painted pictures, but she stayed more focused on his every movement, on each inflection of his voice. The key to her future couldn’t be read from any card. It lived inside the man sitting opposite her.
“Here we go.” He pointed to the image on the next card. A large and powerful hand surged from a puffy cloud. Its fingers gripped a long, straight branch of wood still green with sprigs and leaves. “The Ace of Wands represents the beginning of a new life. It signals a rush of energy—a raw and powerful energy.” He grinned. “Soon you’ll become a force to be reckoned with.”
She allowed herself a smile. Again, he had no idea.
Nick moved faster, as if he could sense her patience waning. “This one’s called the Tower, one of the Major Arcana. A sudden change is coming. Something big—something connected to the energy revealed by the Ace of Wands. Does that make any sense?”
She leaned forward. “New energy? A sudden change? That’s so specific. You really are the best in Greater Memphis.”
Nick pursed his lips. “You’re free to believe them or not. But I promise these cards never lie.” He pushed the deck in front of her. “I want you to pick the last one.”
“Why?”
“To prove I’m not manipulating this. I’m a proud man, Diana. My reputation means everything to me. I can’t let you leave thinking I’m a fraud.”
His stare pierced her so deeply she felt it in her chest. “Any card I want?”
“As long as you don’t look at it first.”
She spread the deck in a line across the table. Nick probably had a lecture prepared for each card. She ran her fingers along the edges, then plucked one out of line and turned it over.
This card easily held the busiest image yet. Several figures suspended in unnatural poses formed a scene too complicated for her to decipher.
“You picked Aeon, the symbol for judgment. In Christian circles, this card represents the Final Judgment, like in the book of Revelation. But pagans see it differently.”
“What about you?”
“See this figure?” He pointed to a small child in the center. “That’s Horus, the Egyptian god of redemption. He also suffered a tragic loss of his father at a young age. Like you, he managed to persevere and overcome. He became a wise ruler, and eventually a god.”
“So I’m like an Egyptian god?”
“You’re going to make a decision that will affect the rest of your life. You’ll make a judgment—a final judgment—that can’t be taken back. This card is warning you to weigh that decision carefully. If you choose the right path, your potential is unlimited.”
The skin on her forearms tingled. Again, he’d nailed it. But his warning came too late. She’d made her decision long ago. No way she’d turn back now. In his own way, Psychic Nick helped confirm what she already knew to be true.
“I don’t know how you saw it, but that’s exactly why I came here.”
“Not sure I believe you, Diana.”
“I know how I sound, but I really mean it this time. With that last card, you clarified things. You were right about everything—my father, the betrayal, the new energy I’ve found, and the final judgment that’s coming.”
“Really?”
She didn’t need to fake her excitement now. The words spilled out like an avalanche: “My father was a preacher, of sorts. We moved a lot when I was young. I had to keep my things in one small bag in case we needed to leave in a hurry.”
Nick narrowed his eyes. “I see.”
“Then one night my parents disappeared. They grabbed our bags and left the hotel without me. They didn’t even pay the bill. I was thirteen. I didn’t have any money. The hotel manager called the police, but it was too late. They never came back.”
His keen emerald green eyes darted left and right across the room, looking everywhere at once. She didn’t let it stop her.
“I promised myself I’d make them pay when I found them. I survived, earned an Ivy League education, and developed a power my father could only dream of possessing.”
Psychic Nick wouldn’t look away. The color drained from his face, and his cheeks trembled. He grabbed the arms of his chair.
“My father was a faith healer—the kind that blows
into small towns, performs a few healings, takes a collection, then disappears before everyone realizes it’s just an act.”
“Annamaria, wait—”
She kicked the table across the room, sending the tarot cards and the votive candle flying. “My father was a fake, but I’m the real thing. Here, let me show you.”
Nick bolted for the door. She lunged after him, jumped on his back, and tackled him. Turned him over and sat on his chest. She grabbed his left wrist and pulled his hand close to her face.
“Where are you going, Daddy? This reading isn’t over yet.” She pressed her thumb into his palm. “It’s my turn to read your fortune.”
Thanks for reading this sample of The Night Janitor by T. F. Allen,
available soon at the Kindle Store.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
T. F. Allen writes suspense thrillers injected with an element of the supernatural. His short stories have appeared in Futures Mystery Anthology Magazine, Thought Magazine, and Chiron Review. He was also a finalist for the Claymore Award. He lives in Spring, Texas, with his wife and three sons.