“Even without having experienced your epiphaneia, all Orders have an innate connection to Fate,” she says, walking to the same curio cabinet that caught my eye. She unlocks it and pulls out what looks like an oversized tea box, setting it on the small sitting table next to the cabinet. “Regardless of whether one ends up being truly divine-sensitive as we discussed in class today, divination is a useful tool to ground oneself, to realign with the larger forces at work that govern us mortals.” She opens the wooden box and beckons me closer.
“Tarot cards are perhaps the most straightforward medium to channel divine insight, but it would be a mistake to think ‘straightforward’ equates to ‘simple’. The answers you seek are rarely the answers you get, and the cards you pull can have several meanings at once, sometimes in direct contradiction to one another. Which is why finding a tarot deck that resonates with you on a deeper level can mean all the difference when interpreting what Fate chooses to share with us. Take a look here—and tell me if you feel a pull to any one in particular.” She steps away, and I’m immediately overwhelmed by the dozen tarot decks in front of me.
She must see something on my face when she adds, “Try introducing yourself,” with an encouraging nod.
“You want me to introduce myself… to a deck of cards,” I ask in a deadpan voice, which does nothing to disguise my skepticism.
“Humor me, Ms. Byrke.” She grins, but of all things that have tested my ability to process my new reality, this might just be my limit.
“Hello. I’m Nyx.” We both wait for something to happen—me staring into a box of cardboard, her staring at me.
“Go ahead, see if there’s any that spark your interest.”
Some of the decks are still vacuum sealed, while others are yellowed with age, each with different styles of art. Realism, modern, cartoonish. Some are dark and slightly foreboding while others are dainty and feminine, like the one that’s only female figures. One deck even seems to feature cats dressed in various outfits, but as much as I’d love that one, it doesn’t make me feel all tingly inside, or whatever she expects.
“Nothing, sorry.” I shake my head, and she frowns. She looks at me again, but this time there’s no hint of the eager interest she’s shown before. It feels like time slows down for the blink of an eye—neither of us drawing breath so as to disturb the heavy silence. In that instant, it’s like she’s looking through me to see something I can’t. Her eyes widen, and then the moment is broken when she blinks rapidly.
Without a word, she turns and goes back to her desk, only this time she pulls out a long chain from around her neck with a key at the end, and bends to unlock a lower drawer, pulling out a dusty cardboard box that seems to be falling apart, held together by duct tape and prayer. She brings it over and sets it down carefully before sighing.
“This deck has been in my possession for a very long time, and truth be told, we’ve never gotten along. The first time I tried to perform a reading with it, it simply… refused, and has resented every attempt since.”
“It’s a deck of cards. Paper,” I insist. She gives me an indulgent side glance and opens the lid to reveal a weathered, unmarked tarot deck, handing it to me.
I don’t want to take it.
She shoves it into my hands anyways.
I turn it over, surprised by the weight of it.
“It’s heavy,” I state as the cards pour into my other hand.
“And in excellent condition too, for how old it is.”
The cards are rough as I fan them out, nothing like decks of glossy playing cards I’m used to. Each card features a skeleton posed differently: one draped with black robes pointing towards a sun drawn in red ink, another dancing in a bed of red flowers despite the swords stabbed through its back. A few with ram skulls, but none as unnerving as the Devil card—the only one where the figure is drawn in the naked flesh, bat-like wings at his back, sitting on a throne of bones and blood.
“What the fuck,” I whisper, thumbing the edge of the card, and gasp when the sting of a paper cut makes me jerk back, but not before leaving behind a smear of blood on the thick edge. I quickly put my thumb in my mouth to staunch the cut and notice she’s staring at me.
“Uh, sorry,” I say, handing the cards back to her, but she steps back and puts her hands up.
“Maybe I should be saying that to you, Ms. Byrke,” she says with a sigh. “Might as well keep the deck, I doubt we’d get along any better now that it’s found its new owner.”
“This is creepy. You know this is weird and creepy, right?” I say in a desperate attempt to appeal to reason. She smiles ignores my completely rational statement.
“Give it a chance, Ms. Byrke, it may surprise you.” I open my mouth to once again try and give them back but she interrupts me. “Now, you’ll need a guidebook. This one didn’t have its own, which is a shame, but think of it as a learning opportunity!” she says with nauseating optimism. “You’ll be able to get to know one another at the same time.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I can, actually,” she counters with a beaming smile.
“There’s no such thing as sentient card stock,” I protest one last time, waving the cards at her.
“You’ll have a much easier time here if you keep your mind open to new possibilities,” she says, which I’m nearly positive Iread on a fortune cookie once. She shoves the box at me and turns to rummage through the curio cabinet again, then hands me a well worn pamphlet.
“Read through that and be prepared to discuss any cards that pique your interest and their associated meanings for our next class.” She opens the door to her office before I can protest further, so I stuff the deck and guidebook unceremoniously into my backpack just to be petty, which seems to only amuse her. I barely refrain from stomping out of the classroom like a damn toddler throwing a tantrum.
Stupid paper cut.
Stupid creepy magic tarot cards.
