Once Aaron, Ezra, and Kai got an idea in their heads, they moved damn fast. We finished at the thrift shop, then stopped for lunch where four old ladies giggled and winked at me, presumably for having such attractive tablemates—not weird at all, thanks grannies. After that, we headed back to the guild where Sabrina gave me a crash course in diviner magic and tarot card reading.
Now here I was, a few hours later, set up in the drop-in center at a youth shelter, dressed in a new thrift-store outfit and trying my best to look lost and helpless.
Sitting crossed-legged on a stiff sofa, I fanned out five cards and thoroughly examined each one. How did a drawing of a naked couple predict the future? Who used tarot cards to decide if they should bang someone?
The drop-in center was open and bright, stretching across the front of the building with a wall of windows facing me. Frosted glass obscured the street outside, and utilitarian sofas, plastic chairs, and tables filled the space, with a half-dozen computer desks lining the back wall. The white paint was covered with bright posters—descriptions of services offered by the center, art and music programs, tutoring and lessons, work and housing assistance, medical office hours, and more.
I imagined Nadine sitting in this same spot. She’d just run away from home, and for the first time in her life, she was facing the cold, wide-open adult world. This was a good place for her to end up—private, protected, and run by people dedicated to helping at-risk youth. If things had gone differently, she would have gotten all the help she needed.
Instead, a corrupt shitbag had sent her straight into the clutches of the city’s most terrifying rogue mythic.
Gregory Stern, according to Kai’s research, was a sorcerer who’d never completed his apprenticeship. After slipping into heavy alcoholism and getting booted from multiple guilds, he’d joined a sleeper guild—a type of guild where mythics paid a basic membership fee and otherwise lived their lives as regular humans, zero magical involvement in anything. From what we’d learned, Gregory had cleaned up his act, moved through several rehabs and support type jobs, then settled at the youth shelter, where he was a respected counselor known for his easygoing approach and ability to connect with difficult teens.
He wasn’t so well known for trading vulnerable magic-gifted kids to the Ghost on the side.
With my backpack tucked close, I laid out seven tarot cards on the seat beside me. Just in case Gregory wanted proof of my supposed mythic abilities, we’d chosen an easily fudged talent. Good thing, too, because my acting skills had already been thoroughly tested. I’d gone through an involved check-in process, then met with two different counselors who’d walked me through all the shelter’s services, gently probed me about my situation, and filled my backpack with pamphlets and printouts for everything I could possibly need.
It made my heart ache. This place should have been Nadine’s salvation. It wasn’t a shelter so much as a resource center offering everything a teenager could need, whether they were struggling, homeless, or anywhere in between.
Idly flipping the tarot cards, I scanned the nearest people. A young woman managed the desk at the front, and almost twenty kids were scattered around the room, quietly doing their own thing. No sign of Gregory.
Resigning myself to a long wait, I slipped my phone out and texted Aaron. The guys were nearby but keeping out of sight, ready to leap to my defense, but they wanted me to check in every ten minutes.
An hour crawled by, then another. I alternated between fiddling with my borrowed tarot cards and texting Aaron, but my thoughts dwelled on Nadine.
What had driven her to run away from home? In the family photo Kai had shown me, her parents were embracing her like they couldn’t have loved her more, but there was a familiar vacancy to her face that made me wonder how happy her home life had been.
Drawing my knees up to my chest, I wrapped my arms around them, staring at the meaningless tarot cards. I knew all about broken families and deceptive parents. My father was a master at appearing not only functional, but charming and sympathetic. In the eyes of other adults, I’d been the rebel child, the troublemaker, the liar.
In grade school, when I’d told a lunch supervisor that I never ate anything because there was no food in my house, she scolded me for being a picky eater. When I told my junior high science teacher that I didn’t finish my homework because I spent the weekend sleeping in a park to avoid my father, he rolled his eyes at my melodramatic excuses. When I told my aunt I was afraid to go home because my father’s drinking buddies were there, she scoffed and called me ungrateful for the roof over my head.
No one had believed anything—not that my father spent most nights in a drunken rage that settled into a drunken stupor, not that his private nickname for me was “stupid cow,” and not that I spent every moment at home terrified of triggering his temper. No, I was a drama queen child and he was a loving father who enjoyed a relaxing beer or two in the evening. Even if he had a few too many on occasion—no biggie, right?
The hopeless rage of those years was easy to recall, and the longer I sat on the sofa, surrounded by quiet teens with nowhere else to go, the feeling crept through me until I was vibrating, jaw clenched and hands shaking. Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried to pull myself together. I was an adult now. I’d moved across the country to start a new life away from my father, and I was surviving just fine on my own. He had no power over me. I was in control of my future.
“Hello. Would you be Victoria?”
My eyes snapped open. A man sat on the sofa and smiled welcomingly, my tarot cards between us. Gregory Stern. He’d aged since his MagiPol photo, but he was unmistakably the same guy. White hair, big bald spot, portly build, and surprisingly warm brown eyes almost lost in deep wrinkles.
The old, impotent rage of my worst years burned through me, and I sucked in air through my nose. I needed to get a hold of myself before I blew this.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” he continued. “I’m Greg, a counselor here.”
He offered his hand and I reluctantly shook it. I wanted to grab him by the shirtfront and demand to know where he’d sent Nadine—and how many other helpless kids he’d callously thrown into the mythic underworld.
“Jennifer mentioned that she spoke to you earlier,” he said. “How are you feeling? Did you have any questions?”
Teeth gritted, I searched his eyes for signs of deception. He sounded genuinely caring, like he really wanted to know how I was coping.
When I took too long to respond, his expression softened. “I won’t say I know how you’re feeling, Victoria. The challenges you’re facing are uniquely your own, but you aren’t alone. That I do know. You don’t have to fight through this by yourself, and if you want to talk, we’re always here. Anything you share with us is private, which I’m sure Jennifer explained.”
My practiced cover story evaporated from my head. I gave a short nod, unable to find a trap in his words, but his earnest compassion was a trap in itself. Even knowing he was a scumbag, part of me wanted to believe he was here to help. A scared teen would be even more susceptible.
And he was a patient hunter, too. Instead of forcing me to communicate, he stood up. He was leaving. Shit.
With a sharp twitch of my hand, I knocked my tarot deck across the sofa. A single card tumbled off and landed face up on the floor. Gregory paused in surprise, then retrieved it from between his feet. The dark specter of a grim reaper filled the card. Huh. Creepy.
He gazed at the card for a long moment, then held it out to me.
I took it from him, unsmiling, and said without thinking, “Death is hungry.”
His lined forehead wrinkled. “Sorry?”
Uh, what? Where had that come from? It wasn’t part of my script, that was for sure. I quickly gathered the nearest cards. “Death appears in every spread I deal,” I muttered darkly, doing my best spooky diviner impression. “I don’t understand yet.”
“The wisdom of the cards can take time to process,” he replied encouragingly. “Do you do taro
t readings often?”
“Every day.” I straightened the deck, hoping he assumed my clumsiness stemmed from nerves and not a lack of practice. “My grandmother taught me all the arts.”
“Divination arts?”
I nodded. “The tarot cards … she said they speak to me.”
“Is that so?” He sank onto the sofa again. “Your grandmother sounds like a remarkable woman. Did she practice divination every day as well?”
“She and my mom. But they …” I looked down at the cards, stroking my fingers across the top one. Taken with a sudden urge, I flipped it over to reveal the reaper a second time. Hadn’t I put the Death card at the bottom of the deck? “They’re gone.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” he murmured, eyeing the reaper warily.
I slipped the card into the middle of the deck and gave a distant shrug. “My dad kicked me out. He doesn’t … understand. People think I’m creepy.”
“With a unique gift like yours, you might …” He trailed off as, following another inexplicable urge, I drew the top card off the deck and flipped it over. The reaper, three times in a row.
Gooseflesh rose on my arms and I fanned out the deck, half expecting to find it full of Death cards. But no, just one—one card that had somehow ended up on top again.
Gregory’s throat moved as he swallowed.
I placed the reaper back on the deck and mumbled, “Death is hungry.”
“Victoria, is there anyone else in your life you can turn to? Anyone who can help?”
“No,” I whispered, gripping the tarot cards so tightly my fingers went white. Those questions hit too close to home. Five years ago, my real answer would’ve been the same as my fake one—though no one had ever bothered to ask me.
Gregory thought for a moment. “We offer many generalized services you might find helpful, but we also have unique resources available for … special individuals. For those with extraordinary gifts like yourself. If you’d like, I could arrange for you to meet with someone.”
Unique resources. Did he have mythic counselors on call or was he referring to the Ghost? Either way, he was too smooth. No wonder Nadine had fallen for his act.
I smiled hopefully. “Really?”
He nodded. “For now, can I set you up at the safe house?”
“I have somewhere I can stay for the night, but if I come back tomorrow, would you …?”
“I’ll look into it right away.” His eyebrows drew down. “Will you be safe tonight?”
Again, his concern seemed sincere. Was he worried his payday might not make it back? “Yes.”
“All right, I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Take care of yourself, Victoria.”
Standing, he moved to speak to another teen. I slumped into the sofa and grabbed my phone, texting Aaron that I’d spoken to Gregory and would leave in another half hour. Didn’t want to rush out the door and give myself away.
While I waited, I watched Gregory out of the corner of my eye, my fury building again as he made his way from teen to teen, comforting their fears and winning their trust. He was very good at his job, and if he weren’t secretly a scumbag, he would be exactly what these kids needed. Quiet, soft-spoken, respectful. If I hadn’t known the truth beforehand, I never would have doubted him and I was grudgingly impressed by his ability to come across as legit.
I hoped I’d done as good a job fooling him.
Chapter Five
“No offense, Sabrina,” I said, “but your tarot cards are seriously creepy.”
We were sitting at a table in the guild, and I’d just finished explaining how the Death card had made a real show of itself during my chat with Gregory. The pretty blond diviner studied her spare deck, lying on the worn wooden tabletop between us.
She absently brushed her bottle-blond hair away from her eyes. “Older decks like this one can become so attuned to astral forces that they take on a life of their own. Were you handling the cards a lot before that?”
“Yeah, I was shuffling them for … a couple hours, I guess.”
She nodded slowly. “I think the deck is trying to send you a message.”
A shiver ran down my spine. Ugh. “But why the Death card—again?”
When Sabrina did a reading for me weeks ago, the “outcome” had been, guess who, the skull-head-in-black himself. She’d assured me the card meant transition, not literal death, but it was still unnerving.
Tapping a finger against her glossy pink lips, she eyed the deck, then gestured. “Shuffle them again.”
“Do I have to?” Picking up the deck, I unenthusiastically shuffled it. Despite their behavior yesterday, the cards felt totally mundane. Finished, I set them on the table between us.
I expected her to do another reading, but instead she pointed. “What’s the first card?”
Stomach sinking, I pulled the card and flipped it over. Yep, Death. Again. Cold unease pooled in my gut.
“Now flip the next card,” Sabrina instructed.
I slipped it off the pile and turned it over.
“Seven of Swords,” she murmured. “That’s another card from your reading.”
Right, I remembered it. “It means deception.”
She leaned back in her seat, frowning. “Maybe the path from your original reading hasn’t concluded yet.”
“But … I thought all that stuff where, you know, Aaron and I were betrayed and almost killed was what the reading was all about.”
“That’s what I thought too, but maybe not. Deception … secrets …”
“Dangerous secrets,” I muttered, a memory springing to life. “If I seek the truth, it won’t be my fate alone bared to the reaper’s blade.”
Sabrina’s frown deepened. “I don’t remember saying that.”
“You didn’t. Rose did.” The eldest diviner of the guild had nosed into Sabrina’s reading and given a different interpretation of the cards—one that, until now, I’d completely disregarded.
Sabrina huffed. “She can’t read my cards properly. She shouldn’t have interfered.”
“I get that, and I haven’t thought about her reading since then, but … she talked about secrets and seeking the truth, and isn’t that what I’m doing? Seeking the truth about Nadine? And her fate is tied to mine, since I’m trying to save her.”
“I suppose …” Sabrina bit her lower lip. “Maybe I should do another reading. These cards want to speak of your future.”
Apprehension dove through my center. “I—”
With thudding footsteps, Aaron trotted down the staircase in the corner. “Tori, ready to go?”
Relieved, I jumped up. “Yeah, ready!” To Sabrina, I added, “Next time, maybe?”
“Sure.” She smiled wanly. “Don’t forget the cards.”
Grabbing the deck, I gave her a quick wave as I stuffed them into my backpack. I was already dressed for my second—and hopefully last—visit to the youth shelter.
Aaron waved me toward the bar. “I’m parked in the back.”
Deciding not to comment on his disregard for kitchen rules—why bother when breaking rules was a point of pride for most guild members?—I fell into step beside him as we pushed through the saloon doors. Food and drink service didn’t start until four, so the kitchen was clean and abandoned, and would stay that way for another couple hours.
Aaron assessed my outfit. “You picked good clothes for your disguise. You look about seventeen.”
He didn’t sound pleased about that last part, and I smirked. Since he was a few years older than my fresh-faced twenty-one, my sudden youthfulness probably unnerved him.
“Thanks.” I slapped at my skintight jeans, the tears in the thighs baring strips of my fair skin. “Can’t say these are to my taste now, but sixteen-year-old me would approve.”
He laughed as we rounded the corner. I reached for the back door, but he tugged me to a stop—then pulled me into his chest. My heart gave an extra hard thump.
“When you’re back to looking legal again,” he said, “
we need to reschedule our date.”
I wound my arms around his neck. “Right after we capture the Big Bad and rescue the damsel in distress.”
“Immediately after. And this time, I’m turning my phone off.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Can too.” His hands slid down to the small of my back—pulling my hips into him. “One night won’t hurt.”
Heat fluttered through me, as hot as his flames, and I tipped my head back to give him an arch look. “What makes you think I’d spend the night?”
“You mean you don’t want to play video games into the wee hours of the morning? You had so much fun losing last time.”
Snorting, I opened my mouth to disagree, but he leaned down. Abandoning my comeback, I stretched onto my tiptoes. His soft lips brushed across mine—
Then the door flew open and Ezra walked in.
With his attention on his phone, he almost crashed into us before his head came up. Lurching to a stop, his mismatched eyes widened in surprise. “Oh! Sorry.”
I leaped off Aaron like he’d burned me, my cheeks flushing hot. Before meeting the guys, I’d been all but immune to blushing, and I strongly regretted the loss of that ability as Ezra took two quick steps back, looking as embarrassed as I felt.
“Sorry,” he said again, waving his phone. “You weren’t answering and I didn’t know what was taking you so … long.”
“Impatient much?” Aaron asked amusedly. He didn’t comment on my undoubtedly beet-red face, instead grabbing my hand and pulling me outside with him. “Let’s get going, then.”
Hurrying alongside Aaron, I peeked back at Ezra, but aside from that initial flash of embarrassment, he was back to his usual unflappable self. Shaking off my inexplicable discomfort, I waited while Ezra climbed into the backseat of Aaron’s old two-door sports car, then hopped into the passenger seat and buckled up.
I used the short car ride to pull myself together. Aaron parked in a lot a few blocks from the youth shelter and we unloaded from the car. Tugging my shirt straight, I glanced between the two guys. Kai had joined a C&H team that was one combat expert short, so he was off electrocuting rogues for the next twenty-four hours. I found it weird that he wasn’t with us.
Dark Arts and a Daiquiri (The Guild Codex: Spellbound Book 2) Page 4