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Authors: Creston Mapes
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made for the door.
I turned to face her. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Do you believe me, Everett? Do you trust me on this?” She cradled the box of candy against her chest.
“I don’t know.” I reached for the silver door handle. “I just don’t know anymore, Endora. Liza was the only one. And she’s gone. I guess I’m still struggling with that.”
“Everett,” she said, raising her voice as I swung the door open, “I believe you and this individual have already made contact. Be careful.”
Confusion clouded the drive back to The Towers, even with the top down and the south Florida sun reflecting off of my slate blue Audi TT Roadster. I waved at the security guard, parked in the cool deck below the complex, and took the elevator up to the thirty-second floor.
The reading with Endora was still bothering me as I picked up a long FedEx package, which was leaning against my door, and keyed my way in. Walking over to the coffee table where we had been the night before, I noticed the tarot cards—exactly where they had been when Endora passed out, as were the candles that dotted the room.
Opening the shiny wooden box in which Endora stored the cards, I removed the purple silk cloth, set it on the table, and began picking up the cards. I shook my head as I recalled the reading and collected the cards in the order in which she had read them to me.
There was one more card still facedown on the table. It was the last in the series describing my future. Endora had never reached this one. Instinctively, I turned it over.
The Moon.
Its wicked-looking artwork resembled that on the other cards, but this one pictured a butter-colored moon shining down on an eerie, snakelike dragon which had wings and a hissing tongue.
My knee-jerk reaction was to call Endora and ask her what it meant, but something stopped me. Instead, I took the card, grabbed a Molson out of the miniature stainless steel fridge, and settled into the red leather chair in front of the computer at my mahogany desk.
Propping the card up next to the computer, I pulled the Internet menu down to Favorites, went to Google, and did a word search on moon, tarot cards.
Dozens of websites offered free psychic readings and others sold mystic paraphernalia. Then, bingo, I tracked down several sites that, among other things, defined the meaning of tarot cards.
“The moon card leads us into the mysterious realm of darkness…tends to show gloomy foreboding.” Another described the Moon card this way: “Another of the cards that is most often viewed negatively, the Moon represents confusion and illusion. Beware!”
The ring of the phone startled me.
“Hello,” I answered quickly, not wanting it to ring again.
“Everett, it’s Endora. Listen, dearie, I need to make sure you take good care of my cards. Are they still as we left them?”
Odd timing.
“Yeah…they’re here.” I squinted at the screen.
“Well, do me a favor. Just wrap them as they are in the purple cloth from my box, you know?”
“Uh-huh.” I read another description for the Moon card: “Beware of illusions of the unknown, deception…”
“And place them inside the box,” Endora continued. “Do you understand?”
“Sure. Ah…” I continued reading. “Lies, trickery.”
“Everett!” she yelled, then began coughing. “Have you heard anything I’ve said?”
“Yeah. Yeah, sure, I got it. Do you want me to have them sent to you out west?”
“Oh no, dear. Never. I’ll send someone by to get them.”
Whatever.
I was so tired and confused. I hung up with Endora, shut down the PC, and took the card back out with the others, doing as Endora asked—all inside the purple silk and into the wood box.
Picking up the FedEx package, I wandered into the den. The box’s return label was from Jeff Hall, president of the DeathStroke fan club. Setting the package on the bar, I went behind the counter, threw away the empty Molson, and poured myself a tall scotch with
I turned to face her. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Do you believe me, Everett? Do you trust me on this?” She cradled the box of candy against her chest.
“I don’t know.” I reached for the silver door handle. “I just don’t know anymore, Endora. Liza was the only one. And she’s gone. I guess I’m still struggling with that.”
“Everett,” she said, raising her voice as I swung the door open, “I believe you and this individual have already made contact. Be careful.”
Confusion clouded the drive back to The Towers, even with the top down and the south Florida sun reflecting off of my slate blue Audi TT Roadster. I waved at the security guard, parked in the cool deck below the complex, and took the elevator up to the thirty-second floor.
The reading with Endora was still bothering me as I picked up a long FedEx package, which was leaning against my door, and keyed my way in. Walking over to the coffee table where we had been the night before, I noticed the tarot cards—exactly where they had been when Endora passed out, as were the candles that dotted the room.
Opening the shiny wooden box in which Endora stored the cards, I removed the purple silk cloth, set it on the table, and began picking up the cards. I shook my head as I recalled the reading and collected the cards in the order in which she had read them to me.
There was one more card still facedown on the table. It was the last in the series describing my future. Endora had never reached this one. Instinctively, I turned it over.
The Moon.
Its wicked-looking artwork resembled that on the other cards, but this one pictured a butter-colored moon shining down on an eerie, snakelike dragon which had wings and a hissing tongue.
My knee-jerk reaction was to call Endora and ask her what it meant, but something stopped me. Instead, I took the card, grabbed a Molson out of the miniature stainless steel fridge, and settled into the red leather chair in front of the computer at my mahogany desk.
Propping the card up next to the computer, I pulled the Internet menu down to Favorites, went to Google, and did a word search on moon, tarot cards.
Dozens of websites offered free psychic readings and others sold mystic paraphernalia. Then, bingo, I tracked down several sites that, among other things, defined the meaning of tarot cards.
“The moon card leads us into the mysterious realm of darkness…tends to show gloomy foreboding.” Another described the Moon card this way: “Another of the cards that is most often viewed negatively, the Moon represents confusion and illusion. Beware!”
The ring of the phone startled me.
“Hello,” I answered quickly, not wanting it to ring again.
“Everett, it’s Endora. Listen, dearie, I need to make sure you take good care of my cards. Are they still as we left them?”
Odd timing.
“Yeah…they’re here.” I squinted at the screen.
“Well, do me a favor. Just wrap them as they are in the purple cloth from my box, you know?”
“Uh-huh.” I read another description for the Moon card: “Beware of illusions of the unknown, deception…”
“And place them inside the box,” Endora continued. “Do you understand?”
“Sure. Ah…” I continued reading. “Lies, trickery.”
“Everett!” she yelled, then began coughing. “Have you heard anything I’ve said?”
“Yeah. Yeah, sure, I got it. Do you want me to have them sent to you out west?”
“Oh no, dear. Never. I’ll send someone by to get them.”
Whatever.
I was so tired and confused. I hung up with Endora, shut down the PC, and took the card back out with the others, doing as Endora asked—all inside the purple silk and into the wood box.
Picking up the FedEx package, I wandered into the den. The box’s return label was from Jeff Hall, president of the DeathStroke fan club. Setting the package on the bar, I went behind the counter, threw away the empty Molson, and poured myself a tall scotch with
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