Page 31 of Marcus-stiltskin

I look down at my hand. “Oh, yeah, sorry.” Quickly, I lay out two cards: Improvisation and Desperation. My brain blanks completely. How do either of those things relate to her question? I tap on the table the way Darla did to give myself more time. Then it occurs to me… just give her advice using the words on the cards.

“Alright, well, it looks like the Choracle is telling us that your options are ruled by improvisation and desperation. Chad’s a really chill pig, so I’m not sure he’d ever recommend giving in to desperation. Desperation leads me to believe that it’s going to be really difficult to keep your boyfriend’s gift, but you should still refrain from anything drastic that could harm your relationship. You may feel incredibly desperate at some point, but I think you’ll manage to come up with a solution. Improvisation leadsme to believe that you need to start thinking outside the box, or inside the box–whatever works best for this situation. There has to be a solution you haven’t thought of that isn’t a normal way of approaching the problem. Again, I’d be cautious of things that could harm your relationship.”

“Interesting,” she says and looks up at me. “That was actually pretty good.”

“Thanks. It was total b.s.”

She actually smiles and shakes her head. “It’s not. You’re guided by the goddess, by the universe, by everything you’ve experienced. You’re giving me your wisdom.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind.”

She shrugs. “It’s very truthful. Alright my turn. What’s your question?”

“What should I do with my life?”

Alyssa takes her deck, shuffles, lays out two cards, and begins to laugh. “What? What’s so funny?” I look down at what she’s drawn for me: Himbo and Curiosity. The Curiosity card is of Chad dancing on a stripper’s pole. I pick up the card and study it. “Where the hell did Darla get the idea for these cards?”

“Okay, first impression would be that you’re supposed to be a stripper and be with hot guys.”

I shake my head. Alyssa is Zane’s girlfriend. She may know exactly how I spend my nights, but there seems to be no malice behind her words. “I think honestly, it’s telling you that you need to be creative. Regular jobs are not for you. You have to do something that challenges you, that is going to be different every day.”

“Those jobs don’t tend to offer insurance.” I say aloud, without meaning to.

She shrugs. “Then we could always go back to the original meaning,” she says with a grin. “Know any hot guys with good insurance?”

I sigh. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

Chapter Thirteen

In Which Freddie K. Is Everybody’s Wingman

Iwake up to the unmistakable tap-tap of Willow at my window followed by a very familiar yip. Instantly, I get an image in my mind of the donkeys–all of them–and Ramona in the front yard followed by a picture of the bag of carrots.

“I don’t have any more carrots,” I say aloud to no one as I throw the covers off and slowly pad over to the window and open it up. Storm clouds are gathering overhead.

“This is not cool.”

Willow simply brays in response. I reach out to scratch her behind the ears, but she keeps going for my hands as if I’m keeping snacks there.

“I don’t have any more carrots. You ate them all.” I shut the window and start stripping out of my pajamas. It occurs to me as I get dressed that I have yet to have an animal present itself to me as my familiar. The apple is no doubt gone by now, and yet the cat distribution system has failed me. I pull on old jeans, a t-shirt, and some boots this time and head outside to see how much of the front yard the donkeys have eaten.

It’s a perfect fall morning, except that I’m up way too damn early. As soon as my feet hit the porch, Freddie K. is there, yipping.

“What’s up old man?” I ask, picking him up and holding him against my side as I head toward the donkeys. Ramona catches sight of me right away and runs off down the lane toward the road, banking left toward the Wild Hare and the Animal Clinic. I sigh. “Where’s she going, Freddie K.?”

A picture of a newborn pops into my head. “You have to be more specific, old man. I don’t know what you mean. Is she going to see a baby? Is she pregnant? Is she going where there are babies? Is the baby a person or a horse?”

All Freddie K. gives me is another image of a baby. Am I seeing a human baby because he means human baby or is that just how it comes through to me? “We’ll figure this out eventually,” I promise him.

I can probably get the donkeys back to the fire station, but Ramona is a different story. That’s going to require a horse trailer, or at the least someone willing to ride her. That person is definitely not me.

I pull out my phone and call Marcus, but he doesn’t pick up. I hang up and let the phone ring twice more before I give up and send him a text. I stare at the phone for a long moment and then call the next person I can think of. The phone picks up on the third ring.

“I’m going to owe you my soul by the time everything’s said and done,” I tell Darla when she picks up.

She just laughs, “What’s going on?”

“So my friend has a really smart horse, and she’s running your way. Her name’s Ramona. Freddie K. keeps sending me pictures of a newborn, but I can’t tell if he means that Ramona is going to go see a baby or if she’s pregnant.”

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