explained, rattling something that sounded like marbles inside the bag. “We ask a single question, and we get a simple answer. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Tara closed her eyes and breathed in and out slowly several times. The silence grew deeper, as if everything was waiting.
She opened her eyes and looked directly at me as she asked, “Does Joe have magic?” She plunged her hand into the bag and pulled out a smooth black pebble painted with a white symbol that resembled an open eye.
“That’s the Sun,” Tara said. “The answer is yes.”
“I knew it,” Andrew murmured.
Tara replaced the Sun and stirred the stones again. “What is Joe’s magic?” She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, turned the bag upside down and emptied the stones onto the felt cloth.
We studied them, each painted with a different symbol in white or red or blue. Andrew and I glanced at each other, and he shook his head slightly, which I took to mean keep quiet.
Tara said, “You are very old.”
“Thank you.”
“You are a lion.”
There was something in this.
“You work in wood.”
Well, duh. I glanced around at my timber and couldn’t help giving a quick eye roll.
Tara tapped the back of my hand to get my full attention. “You work in wood. Your magic is in wood.”
Andrew picked up a cut-off cube from the timber and passed it to me.
Tara touched my hand and the wood I held. “Oak.”
I glanced down. Yes, it was oak.
“You are a protector—a provider and a healer. Not my kind of healing. You heal through action. You bring truth and balance, and sometimes it hurts. Sometimes pain accompanies you. It isn’t clear if you bring the pain or if the pain brings you. Maybe you just arrive at the same time. I don’t know.” Her eyes glazed over. “But out of the pain you bring truth and balance.”
Andrew and I shared a glance.
Tara blinked and snapped out of her brief trance. “You are oak,” she repeated with an air of finality.
I didn’t know what to say.
Andrew grinned as they got to their feet. “There you go. You’re oak. We’ll leave you to play.” He took Tara’s arm, and they left me in silence.
There was no doubting Tara’s honesty and talent, but I didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. I put the block of oak in my pocket and hummed a happy tune as I locked the front door behind me on the way to get my brunch from Cap’n Jaspers. Whatever all this wood magic and everything meant, it felt good.
“Jo-oe,” Cindy and Debs called in sweet, two-part harmony as I hit Southside Street. They were across the road, spinning poi for tourists on the wide cobbled area in front of the old glassworks.
People in their audience noticed me. I grinned back and waved.
I’m an insider!
The grin stayed put while I strolled round behind the Navy Inn, but it dropped at the sight of a long line of motorbikes at the kerb and dozens of leather-clad riders standing around drinking mugs of tea outside Cap’n Jaspers.
My stomach flipped and my pace slowed. Was I really so hungry? Probably not.
But it didn’t look like the gang from the other night. These guys were more the kind of law-abiding enthusiasts I used to meet all the time during my biker days at university, when my friends and I rode out into the countryside most weekends.
I got close enough to see for sure. Yep. They were talking bikes, of course, and there wasn’t a single outlaw type among them. I nodded hello as I passed and felt perfectly safe admiring the nearest highly polished machines while I ate my quarter-pound chicken burger.
I took the other route home and saw Jimmy juggling for a small crowd up ahead on Quay Road, sending a set of heavy silver balls high into the air in a never-ending arc and singing a nonsense song with the cheekiest grin I’d ever seen outside an Artful Dodger film. Fliss moved with a pretty smile among the gathered tourists, collecting coins in a cloth cap and sharing a friendly word here and there. She noticed me
“Okay.”
Tara closed her eyes and breathed in and out slowly several times. The silence grew deeper, as if everything was waiting.
She opened her eyes and looked directly at me as she asked, “Does Joe have magic?” She plunged her hand into the bag and pulled out a smooth black pebble painted with a white symbol that resembled an open eye.
“That’s the Sun,” Tara said. “The answer is yes.”
“I knew it,” Andrew murmured.
Tara replaced the Sun and stirred the stones again. “What is Joe’s magic?” She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, turned the bag upside down and emptied the stones onto the felt cloth.
We studied them, each painted with a different symbol in white or red or blue. Andrew and I glanced at each other, and he shook his head slightly, which I took to mean keep quiet.
Tara said, “You are very old.”
“Thank you.”
“You are a lion.”
There was something in this.
“You work in wood.”
Well, duh. I glanced around at my timber and couldn’t help giving a quick eye roll.
Tara tapped the back of my hand to get my full attention. “You work in wood. Your magic is in wood.”
Andrew picked up a cut-off cube from the timber and passed it to me.
Tara touched my hand and the wood I held. “Oak.”
I glanced down. Yes, it was oak.
“You are a protector—a provider and a healer. Not my kind of healing. You heal through action. You bring truth and balance, and sometimes it hurts. Sometimes pain accompanies you. It isn’t clear if you bring the pain or if the pain brings you. Maybe you just arrive at the same time. I don’t know.” Her eyes glazed over. “But out of the pain you bring truth and balance.”
Andrew and I shared a glance.
Tara blinked and snapped out of her brief trance. “You are oak,” she repeated with an air of finality.
I didn’t know what to say.
Andrew grinned as they got to their feet. “There you go. You’re oak. We’ll leave you to play.” He took Tara’s arm, and they left me in silence.
There was no doubting Tara’s honesty and talent, but I didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. I put the block of oak in my pocket and hummed a happy tune as I locked the front door behind me on the way to get my brunch from Cap’n Jaspers. Whatever all this wood magic and everything meant, it felt good.
“Jo-oe,” Cindy and Debs called in sweet, two-part harmony as I hit Southside Street. They were across the road, spinning poi for tourists on the wide cobbled area in front of the old glassworks.
People in their audience noticed me. I grinned back and waved.
I’m an insider!
The grin stayed put while I strolled round behind the Navy Inn, but it dropped at the sight of a long line of motorbikes at the kerb and dozens of leather-clad riders standing around drinking mugs of tea outside Cap’n Jaspers.
My stomach flipped and my pace slowed. Was I really so hungry? Probably not.
But it didn’t look like the gang from the other night. These guys were more the kind of law-abiding enthusiasts I used to meet all the time during my biker days at university, when my friends and I rode out into the countryside most weekends.
I got close enough to see for sure. Yep. They were talking bikes, of course, and there wasn’t a single outlaw type among them. I nodded hello as I passed and felt perfectly safe admiring the nearest highly polished machines while I ate my quarter-pound chicken burger.
I took the other route home and saw Jimmy juggling for a small crowd up ahead on Quay Road, sending a set of heavy silver balls high into the air in a never-ending arc and singing a nonsense song with the cheekiest grin I’d ever seen outside an Artful Dodger film. Fliss moved with a pretty smile among the gathered tourists, collecting coins in a cloth cap and sharing a friendly word here and there. She noticed me
Similar Books
