A Turn of the Cards

In the chaos that was Bourbon Street during the annual Halloween Bar Crawl, he first noticed her.

As the evening wore on,the blaring jazz and zydeco was beginning annoying him. Her utter stillness in the mist of the drunken revelers, and dancers drew his attention quicker than any chatter of the surrounding bars’ hawkers.

Tucked between two bars, she leaned in the doorway of a small shop on the first-floor of a creole- style building, its shutters open to

the night. The low light from within backlit her figure in a curvy silhouette.

He noticed there was no signage above the doorway, not even a sign on the overhang. This wasn’t his first time in New Orleans’ party district. He understood this type of unadvertised establishment was for the locals. A tourist such as himself might not be tolerated.

When she stretched out an arm and curled her long fingers at him, he seemed to feel her lazy beckon in his chest. He followed the welcoming pull with a grin.

Drawing closer he could make out her features more, and his grin widened. Amble breasts in a deep- cut black grown, with a slim waist flaring into generous hips. Her features were the icing on the cake. Deep blue/black hair fell in glossy curls around her shoulder and framed a broad, heart-shaped face.

Even in the low light of the porch her dark eyes shined. He couldn’t decide if the thick black lashes were fake but they weren’t those strange, thick, spidery things the women were wearing. Nothing seemed fake in the satin mahogany tone of her skin, and a deep wine color, not red, made her lush lips look refined, not gaudy.

The single glint of gold surprised him, right in the corner of her smile.

She held his glaze boldly, before walking past him to lean out from under the balcony’s overhang, and lifted her face to the October night sky, before glancing over her shoulder.

“How you enjoying your time in the City? Mon Ami.” She drew the words out with a soft accent he was learning to pick out as creole. The tour guides laid in on thick. Her words poured like honey.

He plucked at his shirtfront both to relieve the strange sensation in his chest, and to get some air between his heated skin and the cotton fabric. Her eyes followed his hands, and one black brow arched in questions.

“At home, in Oklahoma, the weather is just starting to get chilly.” he offered. “Down here? Got near eighty degrees today, not much cooler tonight.”

“No.” she agreed, and lifted her face to the sky again. The city’s bright lights tried to outshine the moonlight this deep in town, but he moved to her side to stare up at the full moon glowing a dull red in the clear night.

He cleared his throat. “I think I’d better catch up with my group. My wife booked us on the Halloween Bar Crawl. We've been sipping cocktails and listening to spooky tales. I’ve been hearing ghost and some pretty gruesome stories all night. We’re supposed to end up at some brothel for a night cap.” He joined her at the sidewalk's edge.

“A full moon this close to Halloween has to mean something. Right?”

Angling her head to look up at him, a flash of white gave away her smile. “That.” sShe stretched a long arm upward. “It Is the Hunter’s Moon.”

“When I was hunting deer with my father, he used to say it was because it was so bright it was easy to hunt by, Plus, all the animals were fat for winter. “

She nodded. “Qui, The native people had many names for this moon. It brings winter. Also, this moon brings a time for purifying. Some believe the red glow will show us how to change.” She reached up and brushed the damp curls at his temple. “In our minds, in our bodies and in our souls.” Her hand grazed down his side. It was a quick gesture, a caress and he felt it burn through his body.

“You have had too many cocktails.” She gestured towards the shop. “Come in for some water, it will clear your mind.”

He had a feeling, with her close, his mind would be anything but clear. He followed without another word.

The shop was as small on the inside as it appeared on the outside with an unexpected modern design. The overhead lighting was mild, giving the hard wood floor and stained shiplap siding a cozy gleam.

He studied the merchandise as the woman slipped into a back room through a thick velvet curtain.

Candles, tassels, figurines filled the neat displays, books and jars lined the shelves. One glass shelf held a tidy line of small jars. Though beautifully made, they appeared uncomfortably like miniature funereal urns.

Hanging on pegs lining the artfully stained shiplap were cards tied in cellophane, each titled with handwritten titles.

He flicked at one gently, turning the title a little to read. The card showed a man hanging upside down by one foot.

He had never been in a shop such as this one.

“The Hanging Man.”

He jumped and turned to the woman standing at his side, a glass of ice water in her hand. He grinned to cover his uneasiness, gestured toward the card. “I don’t know what or who that is? What did he do?”

She laughed, handling off the glass, and flicked the card off the peg. “It is a tarot card. This one is the Hanging Man. It is a Tarot Card. It’s used to give Tarot readings.”

“Like a crystal ball? Or Quija board?”

She scoffed at his questions and lifted a small box from one of the displays. “Come, I will give you a reading.”

Ah, here is the spiel. He mused.

“I don’t know anything about this. You’re not going to do any Voodoo or anything? Steal my soul? Summon the devil?” He wanted to sound teasing, but the back of his neck was tingling.

She didn’t answer but moved to the front of the shop and closed the shutters. The noise from the street became a muffled hum. She flipped the light switch next to the entrance.

He cried out in surprise at the sudden darkness, ready to call out to the womaen, when he noticed the shop was not completely dark as he had thought.

A small brilliance of light shone at the back of the shop, and he automatically turned towards this light.

A tall candle stuffed into a brass holder burned in the middle of a round table he had not noticed before.

He startled again as something brush against his side, and two shiny lights winked at him in the darkness.

“Have a seat,” a voice purred at him. The woman appeared from the gloom and took a chair at the table. “Oh, first take one of the jars behind you.”

Without blinking an eye, he took a tiny jar from its line and joined the woman at the table.

He watched her across the stretch of blue velvet tablecloth as she set down the packet of cards, then a bundle of sticks held together with twine. The candle light polished her skin, deepening her lips to a blood color.

“The cards are not evil or good,.” she stated, her black eyes pinning him to his chair. He thought he saw anger flare for a second, before she dropped them. She picked up the twig bundle. “They do not tell the future. They are a guide to better understanding ourselves. They give information we must interrupt for ourselves.” She set the end of the bundle in the flames of the candle.

After a few sparks and flares, the end of the bundle began to smoke. it felt as if the smoke confined itself around the table only. She laid the smoking bundle on the candle’s wide brass base.

“There’s nothing weedy in there, right?” He asked.

“The smoke is for purification.” She sighed.

“How much is this little reading?”he ventured. “I am not paying for Dank.” The ice clinked and the glass started to sweat a dark ring into the velvet.

She gave a short laugh and smiled. “It is on the house. Place the jar in front of you. Now, first we set the theme. All reading must have a theme.”

She pulled cards from the packet and stretched to drop them lightly between them.

“What would you ask of the cards?” She leaned forward. “Maybe we will shape a heart? Do you seek love? Mais non, yYou have a wife, love is yours already. Maybe we choose the Line, Oui?. Your past, present, future.”

“I’ll go with the last.”

She handed him the stack of cards. “Shuffle the cards.”

He handled the cards for a moment, trying to decide if they actually felt strange or it was just his imagination. The smoke, the candle light and the woman were creating one hell of a spooky tableau.

On the third shuffle, he lifted a brow. “How long do I do this for?”

“Till you feel like stopping.”

He placed them back on the table. “Third times a charm.”

“Pick one card and place it on your left.” She pointed to the designated area. “Face down. Good., Now place a second one in the middle. Now the third goes to your right.”

When the cards lined in front of him, he leaned forward, a slight excised feeling coming over him.

“This one.” She tapped the card on his left. “This is telling what has already happened to you. It is your past, why you are in this situation.”

A beautiful woman was why he was in this situation, he thought, but said nothing.

“The middle card.” Her long finger moved to the center card. “It will tell us what is now. Your current place.”

“This last one,. mon ami. It is the future.”

He found himself staring at that last card. Suddenly he felt invested in this game and a sense of anticipation rose to chase away the misgivings.

He tensed as her hand slowly moved towards the first card.

With a flip of her wrist the card turned.

His past.

He stared down at the card. depicts a man facing towards a stream seemed to be ignoring everything, his head bowed, a long cloak wrapped about a thin frame. Three goblets lay at his feet, slipping some red liquid on the ground. On the man’s other side, two cups remained upright but empty.

The man’s bowed head gave the whole scene a sense of sadness.

Yeah, he thought, that’s about summed his past up.

“Hmm,”the woman mused.

He could feel her dark eyes watching him, but he could not look at her. The sad man drew him.

“Your past. It was filled with bitterness, regrets, disappointment,” she offered and studied the card more closely. “You had a betrayal.”

A silence stretched. His chest had tightened at the memories. Old wounds, bitter memories threat to break through their cages. Suddenly this did not seem a good idea.

“Forgiveness is vital with this card. The one who disappointed you. You must forgive them.

“Forgive her!” the words sputtered from him.

“It will free you – Release you to go forward. This card asks you to forgive and forget, move on and seek happiness”

“My mother.” He was ashamed to hear the tightness in his voice. He cleared his throat. “She left me. The bitch ran off with some guy. She doesn’t need my forgiveness.”

She studied him awhile, seeming to give him time to compose himself.

She reached for the second card in the center. He held his breath; his head was starting to pound. The glass was slippery., He drank. Damn if there weren’t tears burning in the back of his eyes. The shadows around him wavier.

She flipped the center card.

He leaned warily towards the card.

A man sat under a tree, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. His face was blank, but still he seemed to be looking inward. a disembodied arm offered him a cup, while three cups were upright before him seemingly ignored by the man.

That was all he could make out, because the card faced the woman, not himself.

“I seem to be in my cups.”

“Renversee,” she spoke.

“I think the river was in the first card. I don’t see a river in this one”

“Non, the card is reversed. You are withdrawn. You hold your feelings and affections to yourself. How they say, cClose to your chest.”

Pressure built in his chest, in his head. More memories. A dimness was creeping in at the corner of his vision. He drank more water, wishing for something stronger.

Suddenly, her black eyes stared into his. “You are disinterested in the feelings of others. You have appeared to be something you are not. You have put on a mask to lure love to you. But you can’t feel love.”

The truth of her words made him reel back.

“Wait! What?”

“Your wife, she is pretty, intelligent.” It was a statement not a question. “You feed off her feelings, make her feel as if she has disappointed you, when it is you who are disillusioned.”

He stared at her, his anger starting to rise. “Shut up.” His throat felt bone dry, scratchy as he coughed.

The shadows are her side flinched.

He blinked, not sure what he was looking at.

The shadows seemed to be darkening around her. Hell, they were pulling in about him also.

He started to push up, leave this scene, these cards, this woman.

Suddenly, cold air wrapped around his thighs, and he sat down so hard the chair wavered. He looked down to see ropes of black tar encircling his upper legs and around his seat.

He gasped and struggled as the two black tentacles started to move up his chest. They slithered up, gripping his body, moving towards the plumes of mist coming of his labor breath.

Across the blue velvet tabletop, the woman ignored his frantic thrashing and reached for the last card to his right.

She flipped the card, and even in his panicked state, he looked.

“The Tower.”

He could only make out a tall Tower, two figures appeared to be at the bottom of the tower. The rest was a jumble. His vision was darkening. The card was facing the woman.

She tasked at the card. “It was built on a shaky foundation. It only takes one bolt of lightning to bring it all crashing down. But it shows there is always a chance at divine intervention. “

At her words the tentacles suddenly ceased their crushing embrace, and he was able to catch a mere sip of air, but it made him hopeful.

“Sadly, the card, it is reversed also. You are only shown the worst of this card.” She frowned at him. Even in his panicked state he could sense her insincerity. “It suggests you will undergo a huge personal change. One that will bring sadness to others. You are pushing these changes. Forcing events that should not be.”

The mention of change gave him a sliver of hope.

“You may see the error of your ways. Have a spiritual awakening. Perhaps, you will start to question your life’s decisions? You could take this reading as a warning, you could that you are planning. See the destruction that lays ahead. These changes can take years to come into being.”

She turned a sad expression his way. He lost all hope.

“But I think your change will come tonight.”

Cold blackness engulfed him, sending him into spasms as the last breath was squeezed from his body. He gasped and stiffen. Suddenly the shadows lengthened, lifted his body towards the ceiling where they squeezed and cracked, enlarged and contracted, forming a ball that swirled in the darkness above the woman sitting still and alone at the table.

The ball compacted into itself, reducing and a single sphere flowed down and dropped with a ping into the tiny alabaster jar in front of the three cards.

There was the barest click and clang as the front shutters opened with a squeak, a second before the little shop was awash in the glow of the overhead lights.

A short, round woman bustled into the shop, a bundle of clothes held to her ample chest, her flat feet slapping in plastic flip flops.

She came up with a gasp at the sight of the woman sitting quietly at the table, her black eyes widened.

“Madame Monique! I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.” She reached up to pat her white muslin headwrap. “That old car of mine! It wouldn’t start.”

She stopped the looked around the shop. “What you sitting here in the dark, mon ami? What’s that you got there?”

Monique smiled as she stood and picked up the tiny jar.

The short woman arched a black brow. “Or maybe who you got there?”

“A little gift for Giselle’s god daughter. You remembe

r the girl from Oklahoma?

“The one with man troubles?”

Laughing, Monique shook the jar slightly. “What man troubles?”