The cards never lied, not when my spirit guides were present. I spread them upon the velvet cloth, each one falling with grim certainty beneath the amber light of the reading corner in my shop. My client—Melissa, twenty-seven, mascara smudged from prior tears—stared at them with the desperate hope of a drowning woman.
“I’m very sorry,” I said, my fingertips hovering over the 7 of swords with its thief sneaking away in the night, “but I can’t deliver better news. The man you’re asking about… he’s not coming back.”
“That can’t be right.” Her voice cracked. “We had something special.”
I touched the 3 of cups, then the 3 of swords—the involvement of another woman leading to heartbreak. “The cards are quite clear. And here—” I tapped the Hanged Man, that figure suspended in perfect surrender, “—this shows me you’re not ready to move on.”
The shadows behind Melissa’s chair deepened, coalescing into Mister B.’s familiar form. His handsome face, stern as always, appeared first, followed by the spectral outline of his antiquated suit. He shook his head slowly, his eyes meeting mine with centuries of wisdom and irritation.
“Perhaps,” I suggested, trying to soften the blow, “you might try finding a hobby, something to occupy yourself. Let go of the idea of finding a man this year.”
Melissa’s jaw set stubbornly. “He’s my twin flame. I know it. This is just a test.”
Mister B. rolled his eyes, making a dismissive gesture with his translucent hand. His impatience was palpable, rippling the air around him like heat over asphalt.
I sighed, knowing what came next. The twin flame narrative—every heartbroken client’s favorite refuge.
“If this is a test on your twin flame journey,” I said carefully, watching Mister B.’s approving nod, “then the universe is involving me to make the test harder, because I can’t get any other answer, no matter how often I ask.”
Her eyes widened, tears instantly drying. “That makes so much sense,” she breathed. “Twin flame journeys are never easy. That’s why they’re so special.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Behind her, Mister B. pantomimed gagging.
“Thank you for telling me the truth,” Melissa said, gathering her purse with renewed fervor. “That your cards are part of the universe’s plan for us. I understand now.”
“Of course,” I murmured, rising to show her out. The bells on my door jingled a cheerful farewell that belied my sinking heart.
When she was gone, I collapsed back into my chair. “I like clients better when I’m actually able to help them,” I moaned to the empty room—though it wasn’t truly empty.
Mister B. solidified fully now, his presence causing the candle flames to flicker. He strode across the room with purpose, his footfalls making no sound on the wooden floor. He bent over my appointment book with exaggerated interest, as if he weren’t a spirit who could simply know such things.
“Julia’s coming in two hours,” he announced gruffly, tapping a ghostly finger on the page. “Now there’s a client worth your time. She actually takes your advice.” He turned to me, his eyes softening slightly. “Her life’s become better than she ever imagined since she started seeing you.”
The tension in my shoulders eased somewhat. “I’m looking forward to seeing her,” I smiled, grateful for the reminder that sometimes, my gift truly helped people.
Mister B. nodded, a rare half-smile crossing his stern features. “Just make sure you don’t let these delusional romantics drain your energy.” His voice carried the weight of someone who’d seen too many human follies across too many lifetimes.
I didn’t tell him how each failed reading left me feeling hollow, how each client’s disappointment chipped away at my confidence. He knew anyway. Spirits always know.
I reached for my tarot deck, intending to return it to its silk-wrapped sanctuary before Julia’s appointment. The cards felt unusually warm beneath my fingertips, almost vibrating with energy. As I gathered them into a neat stack, they suddenly slipped from my grasp, scattering across the floor in a chaotic spray of images.
All except one.
The Tower remained on the table, face up, its terrible imagery stark against the dark wood. Lightning striking a fortress. Figures falling through empty space. Destruction. Catastrophe. Revelation through chaos.
“Very funny,” I whispered, though my throat had gone dry. The card seemed to pulse with its own heartbeat.
Mister B. was suddenly beside me, his presence making the air around us cold despite the incense-warmed room.
“You know this isn’t a coincidence,” he said quietly.
I swallowed hard. “I know.”
The air felt suddenly thick, oppressive with sage and myrrh. The smoke from my incense burner no longer drifted in gentle spirals but hung suspended, as if time itself had slowed. I became acutely aware of how the scent had permeated everything—my clothes, my hair, the velvet cushions—cloying and sweet, yet unable to mask the metallic tang of fear now rising in my throat.
“It’s been showing up for weeks now,” I said, unable to take my eyes off the card. “Ever since before New Year’s. I’ve tried to read for myself, to understand when…”
“And?” Mister B. prompted, though his expression told me he already knew.
“Tomorrow.” The word fell from my lips like a stone. “The Tower falls tomorrow.”
My intuition had always been my north star, guiding me through life’s darkest passages. When clients sat across from me, their futures unfolded before my mind’s eye with crystalline clarity. Their paths, their choices, their consequences—all transparent to me.
But when I’d tried to divine the nature of my own Tower moment, all I received was the Seven of Pentacles, reversed. Abandoned work. Delayed rewards. Wasted efforts.
“Everything I’ve built,” I whispered, hugging myself as a chill ran through me that had nothing to do with Mister B.’s spectral presence. “My practice, my reputation, my home… what will I lose?”
“That’s why you started reading cards, isn’t it?” Mister B.’s voice was gentler than usual. “To never be surprised by what comes next?”
I nodded, remembering the frightened child I’d been, plagued by visions I couldn’t control. Learning the cards had given structure to my gift, had transformed terror into talent.
“The not knowing…” I ran my finger along the edge of The Tower, feeling its ominous energy pulse against my skin. “I can’t bear it.”
A violent shiver ran through me as I stared at the painted flames, the crumbling battlements. Whatever was coming would shake the very foundations I’d so carefully constructed. I could almost hear the walls of my carefully ordered life beginning to crack.
“What if—” my voice caught, “what if I lose everything that matters?”
The cards on the floor seemed to watch me, silent witnesses to my fear. I’d spent my life telling others how to navigate their disasters. Now mine approached, and I felt like a fraud, a blind guide leading the blind.
Mister B. moved closer, his presence enveloping me like a cold embrace.
“The cards never tell us everything,” he said. “That’s the point.”
I looked up at him, this spirit who had been with me through so much, and wondered what he wasn’t telling me.
The air in my reading room suddenly thickened, not with incense this time, but with presence. The familiar chill that always announced spiritual visitors descended, prickling along my arms. I didn’t need to turn around to know they had arrived. All of them.
“A family reunion,” I whispered, straightening my spine as the temperature dropped further. “Should I be honored or terrified?”
They materialized gradually, like photographs developing in solution. First came the shimmering outline of Auntie, her posture impeccable as always, dressed in what appeared to be Victorian business attire, her spectral ledger clutched to her chest. She assessed the room with critical eyes, no doubt calculating the monetary value of my modest practice.
“You could charge more,” she said by way of greeting, gesturing to my worn velvet tablecloth. “Quality commands premium prices.”
Before I could respond, Ma appeared beside her, emotional energy radiating in waves that made the tarot cards on the floor flutter. Her expression shifted rapidly between concern and irritation.
“You’re not eating enough,” she declared, moving closer to inspect me. “I can tell. The spirits need a strong vessel.”
“I had lunch,” I protested weakly.
“A cup of tea is not lunch,” Ma retorted, raising her hand as if to deliver one of her famous spiritual slaps, then dropping it with a sigh. “How many times must I tell you?”
Mister B., who had been hovering near my calendar, crossed his arms and fixed me with his characteristic impatient stare. “She doesn’t listen to any of us, you know that.”
And then, last to materialize but most commanding in presence, Grandpa appeared. Unlike the others who retained the appearance they’d had in life, Grandpa was more essence than form. Ten thousand years of existence had distilled him to pure archetypal energy, ancient wisdom wrapped in a vaguely humanoid shape that occasionally resembled an elderly man with eyes that had seen the rise and fall of countless civilizations.
“The gangs all here,” I said, attempting levity despite the knot in my stomach. “What’s the occasion? Did I miss a spiritual holiday?”
Grandpa moved toward me, his presence bringing a peculiar calm that contradicted the anxiety churning inside me. When he spoke, his voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, like wind through ancient stones.
“The Tower has been calling to you, child,” he said, gesturing toward the card that still lay face-up on my table. “And now we come to stand beside you.”
“Because something terrible is going to happen,” I said, hating the tremor in my voice.
Grandpa’s form shifted slightly, becoming more defined, more present. He settled into the chair across from me, the one where my clients usually sat.
“Your path is about to fork, Rahel,” he said, his tone gentle yet heavy with knowledge that weighed on my heart. “The journey you have walked thus far has prepared you, though you may not feel ready.”
“Prepared me for what?” I leaned forward, hungry for specifics, for anything concrete to hold onto.
“For transformation,” he replied, the word hanging in the air between us. “Your life’s route will change, as surely as rivers change course after great floods.”
“That’s not very specific,” I muttered, glancing at the Tower card again.
Grandpa’s expression remained serene. “The storm comes for us all, in different forms, at different times. Yours approaches now.”
“Great,” I said, attempting sarcasm but achieving only vulnerability.
“Listen well,” Grandpa continued, his form now fully solidified, more present than I’d seen him in years. “After every storm, no matter how violent, the sun will shine again. You will emerge stronger, your life fuller than before.”
“That’s what I tell my clients,” I whispered.
“Because it’s true,” Grandpa said simply. “The Tower doesn’t just destroy—it clears away what no longer serves, making room for what must come next.”
“Even if it hurts like hell?” I asked.
Ma interjected, moving to stand behind Grandpa. “Especially then. Pain teaches what comfort cannot.”
“And business opportunities often arise from chaos,” Auntie added pragmatically. “The universe rarely closes a door without—”
“Opening a window, yes, I know the clichés,” I interrupted, immediately regretting my sharpness. “I’m sorry. I just… I’m scared.”
Grandpa nodded, understanding in his ancient eyes. “Fear is wisdom in the face of danger. It is not weakness to tremble before the storm.”
“What storm?” I pressed, gathering my courage and stepping toward Grandpa. “Please, I need to know what’s coming. The Tower and the reversed Seven of Pentacles—they point to something specific, don’t they?”
Grandpa’s eyes, those fathomless pools of accumulated wisdom, seemed to look through me rather than at me. “Some knowledge is best discovered in its proper time.”
“That’s not fair!” My voice cracked with unexpected emotion. “You can’t just appear here with cryptic warnings and expect me to wait helplessly for disaster. I help others see what’s coming—why can’t I have the same courtesy?”
Ma shook her head, the movement causing ripples in her ethereal form. “Child, some futures must unfold at their own pace.”
“Tell me!” I slammed my palm against the table, sending the Tower card fluttering to the floor. “Please,” I added, softer now. “I’ve spent my life preparing others. Let me prepare myself.”
Auntie stepped forward, her businesslike demeanor softening briefly. “The preparation you seek would only cloud your judgment when clarity is most needed.”
“That’s not your decision to make,” I argued, desperation clawing at my throat.
Mister B. remained silent, arms crossed, watching the exchange with uncharacteristic patience.
“We protect you as we always have,” Grandpa said, his form already beginning to fade at the edges. “Trust the journey, Rahel. Trust yourself.”
“Grandpa, wait—” But he was dissolving like smoke in a breeze, his ancient eyes the last to vanish.
Ma followed next, pressing her hands together as if in prayer before she disappeared. Auntie gave me a crisp nod, practical even in her departure, before fading into nothingness.
Only Mister B. remained, his perpetual scowl softened into something that might have been concern.
“You too?” I asked, my voice small.
“Not yet.” He moved toward me, his spectral form somehow more solid than the others had been. “They mean well, you know. Old souls tend to be cryptic; they forget what it’s like to fear the unknown.”
I sank into my chair, suddenly exhausted. “And you don’t?”
“I remember fear,” he said simply. “I remember how it tastes.”
“Then help me,” I whispered.
Mister B. came closer, his presence cooling the air around us. “I can’t tell you what’s coming. But I can tell you this—whatever comes, I’ll be right beside you. Not floating above dispensing wisdom, but in the trenches with you.”
He leaned down, and I felt the whisper of coldness as his lips pressed against my forehead—a ghost’s kiss, barely perceptible yet profoundly real.
“Everything will be okay, Rahel,” he murmured against my skin. “I have your back. Always have, always will.”
Before I could respond, he too began to fade, his fierce eyes lingering like twin stars before winking out completely.
I sat alone in my reading room, the scent of incense now cloying rather than comforting. The Tower card lay face-up on the floor where it had fallen, its burning edifice and falling figures a silent harbinger of what awaited me tomorrow.
Whatever storm approached, I would face it alone—except for the invisible guardians who refused to tell me what I needed to know. I pulled my cardigan tighter around my shoulders, trying to shake the coldness that had settled in my bones. The unknown yawned before me like an abyss, and despite a lifetime of peering into others’ futures, I had never felt more blind about my own.
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrHg3hUb1A5
If you want to continue the story without waiting, you can download the full book on www.patreon.com/RahelVega There are already three more volumes out at the time of posting, and the story is still unfolding!
ns216.73.216.89da2
and then Add to home screen.