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Authors: Alayna Williams
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woman who accomplished what she set out to do. And she had no difficulty enjoying the rewards.
“Tell me about her colleague, Carl,” she asked the cards. She cut the deck three times and drew the King of Pentacles, holding a five-pointed star and the reins of a sorrel horse. These two were meant to be together. The King was the master of practical matters, of status, and negotiations.
“Tell me about their relationship.” To confirm her suspicion, she laid a third card between them. She drew the Six of Cups, showing two children drinking from the same chalice. This card suggested that these two were living too much in the past, attached to a love affair that had long ended.
Tara flipped back through Carl’s file. His photos showed a fit, gray-haired man. He’d been married at the time he’d been working in Russia. Tara flipped through photos of Suzanne and the kids. The wife was a perfectly beautiful woman, and the children took after her. But Carl’s true love had been Lena.
Tara suspended judgment. She was simply a voyeur, looking from the outside in. The less she judged, the more she might be able to understand.
She yawned. She might be able to understand more, but not tonight … at least, not while she was awake. She shuffled her cards and pulled a random one from the deck: the World. Tara tucked the card under the pillow and switched off the light. This was an old technique her mother had taught her. Leaving a card in mind, whether to meditate upon, or dream upon, sometimes gave up some interesting insights.
She pulled up the comforter around her chin. It smelled of Harry, like soap and aftershave that smelled faintly of sandalwood. A lump rose in her throat at being in Harry’s bed without him. As she fell asleep, she blinked back tears.
T ARA DREAMED, BUT SHE DREAMED OF MORE THAN THE W ORLD .
She smelled blood, and opened her eyes. At first, she thought she was reliving the nightmare of the Gardener. But the details were different. She wasn’t in a box, bleeding out in a shallow grave; she was standing upright and feeling sun on her face. She was wearing a blue dress, the bodice smeared in crimson. Her fingers fluttered to her throat. The neckline of the dress was torn, and she could feel seeping wounds on her collar. Her hands were covered in gloves, and the sticky redness stained the leather.
Something bumped her side. She looked down, and gasped.
A lion, tawny and massive, looked up at her with unblinking golden eyes. His tail smacked the back of her legs. The muscles in his back rippled languidly as he circled her, and Tara held her breath. The lion sat down and began to lick blood off his massive paws. Her blood.
“Holy shit,” she breathed. In this world, in the world of Tarot, she was the avatar of Strength. The avatar of Strength could close the jaws of the lion. Could she?
She knelt before the lion and reached out her hand, as if the lion was a dog in a park she was trying to make friends with. He sniffed disinterestedly at her. Tentatively, she reached out for the top of his head. His mane was coarse and thick, but warm. His skull was larger than her chest, and her fingers easily disappeared in the short fur behind his ears. He made no move to harm her, keeping his teeth firmly hidden behind his whiskers. Whatever altercation she’d had with the lion was lost on Tara, but she kept her guard up. As tame as he seemed, he was still a wild animal.
Tara looked over his ears at the landscape. Wind whipped desert sand through the red light of sunset, casting her shadow before her. The wind had carved grooves in the sand, like the tracks of a sidewinder.
But another shadow crossed over the ripples of dunes. She and the lion were not alone.
A woman walked across the sand some yards distant, the hem of her velvet dress dragging in the sand like the wing of a broken bird. Tara recognized the Queen of Pentacles, with a moonlike face, carved with high cheekbones. Dark eyes swept over the
“Tell me about her colleague, Carl,” she asked the cards. She cut the deck three times and drew the King of Pentacles, holding a five-pointed star and the reins of a sorrel horse. These two were meant to be together. The King was the master of practical matters, of status, and negotiations.
“Tell me about their relationship.” To confirm her suspicion, she laid a third card between them. She drew the Six of Cups, showing two children drinking from the same chalice. This card suggested that these two were living too much in the past, attached to a love affair that had long ended.
Tara flipped back through Carl’s file. His photos showed a fit, gray-haired man. He’d been married at the time he’d been working in Russia. Tara flipped through photos of Suzanne and the kids. The wife was a perfectly beautiful woman, and the children took after her. But Carl’s true love had been Lena.
Tara suspended judgment. She was simply a voyeur, looking from the outside in. The less she judged, the more she might be able to understand.
She yawned. She might be able to understand more, but not tonight … at least, not while she was awake. She shuffled her cards and pulled a random one from the deck: the World. Tara tucked the card under the pillow and switched off the light. This was an old technique her mother had taught her. Leaving a card in mind, whether to meditate upon, or dream upon, sometimes gave up some interesting insights.
She pulled up the comforter around her chin. It smelled of Harry, like soap and aftershave that smelled faintly of sandalwood. A lump rose in her throat at being in Harry’s bed without him. As she fell asleep, she blinked back tears.
T ARA DREAMED, BUT SHE DREAMED OF MORE THAN THE W ORLD .
She smelled blood, and opened her eyes. At first, she thought she was reliving the nightmare of the Gardener. But the details were different. She wasn’t in a box, bleeding out in a shallow grave; she was standing upright and feeling sun on her face. She was wearing a blue dress, the bodice smeared in crimson. Her fingers fluttered to her throat. The neckline of the dress was torn, and she could feel seeping wounds on her collar. Her hands were covered in gloves, and the sticky redness stained the leather.
Something bumped her side. She looked down, and gasped.
A lion, tawny and massive, looked up at her with unblinking golden eyes. His tail smacked the back of her legs. The muscles in his back rippled languidly as he circled her, and Tara held her breath. The lion sat down and began to lick blood off his massive paws. Her blood.
“Holy shit,” she breathed. In this world, in the world of Tarot, she was the avatar of Strength. The avatar of Strength could close the jaws of the lion. Could she?
She knelt before the lion and reached out her hand, as if the lion was a dog in a park she was trying to make friends with. He sniffed disinterestedly at her. Tentatively, she reached out for the top of his head. His mane was coarse and thick, but warm. His skull was larger than her chest, and her fingers easily disappeared in the short fur behind his ears. He made no move to harm her, keeping his teeth firmly hidden behind his whiskers. Whatever altercation she’d had with the lion was lost on Tara, but she kept her guard up. As tame as he seemed, he was still a wild animal.
Tara looked over his ears at the landscape. Wind whipped desert sand through the red light of sunset, casting her shadow before her. The wind had carved grooves in the sand, like the tracks of a sidewinder.
But another shadow crossed over the ripples of dunes. She and the lion were not alone.
A woman walked across the sand some yards distant, the hem of her velvet dress dragging in the sand like the wing of a broken bird. Tara recognized the Queen of Pentacles, with a moonlike face, carved with high cheekbones. Dark eyes swept over the
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