“It’s the Hierophant, isn’t it?” he said.
“Yes. He’s the archetype of the spiritual world. The card can refer to a person who holds forbidden or secret knowledge.”
“Which means what, in this case?”
She sighed. “You know how relieved we were when Solomon and Wellington were killed.”
Jake nodded.
“Suppose there’s someone else who knows about the children from the Solomon Clinic?”
“And he’s trying something similar to what Wellington was doing?”
She clenched and unclenched her fists. “Yes.”
“Which means we should stay away from him.”
“Or it means we need to reach out to that other couple. Unless they turn out to be our enemies.”
“Try another card,” Jake suggested.
Rachel fanned out the deck and pulled out the Ace of Cups. When she smiled, Jake stroked his hand over her shoulder. “The start of a great love,” he murmured.
“You’re learning the cards.”
“I like knowing what you know.”
“A great love—ours or theirs.”
“Let’s see one more card,” Jake said.
Rachel pulled out the Five of Swords and caught her breath.
“What?”
“Well, it usually means you are defeated, cheated out of victory by a cunning and underhanded opponent.”
“You think it refers to that other couple?”
“Or to the person who is going against them and us. But sometimes, with the Five of Swords, you are that victor. You’re the one who wins over your opponents by using your mind.”
“That sounds like us.”
“And them.”
“And you still don’t have enough information to trust them?”
She shook her head. “It’s not just us who would be at risk. It’s also Gabriella and Luke,” she said, referring to Gabriella Bordeaux and Luke Buckley, another couple who’d been born because of treatments at the Solomon Clinic. Rachel and Jake had come to their rescue, and they had formed a little community, using the plantation property Gabriella had inherited from her mother. Rachel and Jake lived there part of each week and commuted to New Orleans so that they could each maintain their business interests in the city, Rachel with her shop and Jake with his antique and restaurant businesses.
“Can you at least try to figure out where they are?”
Rachel closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair, sending her mind outward.
“If Mrs. Dubour won’t talk to us, we’re no worse off than we were before,” Craig said.
They drove away from town, turning off onto a secondary road that led to a small community at the edge of the bayou, checking the house numbers on the mailboxes as they drove.
When they came to number 529, they turned into a rutted gravel drive that was about fifty yards long. At the end was a white clapboard house with blue shutters surrounded by a trimmed lawn and neatly tended flower gardens edged with white painted rocks.
