Page 6 of Bewicched

Dealer’s Choice

Iwent back and sat, pushing my wild hair over my shoulder and folding my gloved hands on the table. “So, what are you thinking? I can do palm or Tarot reading. I also have psychometry abilities, if you’d just like me to hold your hand and tell you what I see.” There was more, but I wasn’t looking to scare the poor dude.

He shook his head, the nerves returning.

“Okay, how about this? You tell me the question you want answered and it’ll be dealer’s choice.” I was pretty sure I already knew the question, but for his own peace of mind, he needed to say it.

He scratched the stubble on his cheek. “I’m having a hard time with something.”

“Okay. Why don’t you tell me about that.” He was struggling so hard, my stomach began to knot.

“I guess my question is if I should be a father.” Shame underlaid those words.

Mentally, physically, this was going to take more out of me, but I knew the cards weren’t right for this situation. I pulled off my gloves and rested my hands, palms up, in the center of the table. After a moment of hesitation, he placed his on top of mine.

I felt it almost immediately, the sharp open-handed smack across the face. I flinched, trying to absorb the pain. A shove jolted me in the back. My hair was yanked. In that moment, it was happening to me. I breathed through the hurt. I knew of ways to block my empathic side, but creating that barrier made me far less effective as a psychic. Self-preservation dictated I fuck that noise and create the buffer, but I struggled, knowing the horrible guilt that sometimes accompanied putting my own needs above the person who was hurting.

My family didn’t know the half of what it was like for me. I believed—I really wanted to believe—that if my mom knew, she wouldn’t be hounding me to be on the Corey Council. She had, over the years, given me hell for not blocking more. I said I didn’t because I’d built a reputation and had to deliver in order to make money to fund my art. And while that was true, it wasn’t why.

I’d gone to school with a girl. Quiet. Skittish. She wasn’t in my class. I was two years younger, but I brushed past her in the halls and lunch line. The darkness and pain in her overwhelmed me. I blocked hard—as much as I knew how at that age—and tried to stay away from her. We found out later her uncle had been molesting her. Third grade and she’d tried to kill herself. If I hadn’t blocked, hadn’t avoided, maybe I’d have been able to tell someone, do something. Anything.

This was why the psychics in the Corey family had dark, horrific lives. One of us is born every couple hundred years, and all those before me went insane and died young. So, you know, I had that to look forward to. As I was twenty-eight, already twice as old as most of the others when they shook off this mortal coil, I couldn’t help but feel like I was on borrowed time. As far as magical gifts went, mine blew.

All of which is to explain why I was holding this man’s hands and allowing the punches to land. Guilt crushed the soul. “How long did your father live with you?”

His hands flinched. “He left when I was seven.”

His mom took the kids and ran when he was seven. What kind of evil pushes adults to prey on the helpless? “And how was it with just your mom?”

“Mom’s great. She’s over the moon. Can’t wait to be a grandmother.” His voice had lightened, as had his memories.

The ring on his left hand brought him joy and love. I tried to hold on to that feeling. “And your wife? How is she reacting to the pregnancy?”

“She smiles all the time.” He shook his head in wonder. “I mean, not always, except kind of always. She throws up in the bathroom and then comes out, rubbing her belly, full of plans for the baby’s room.”

“What color are you painting it?” Swatches of color raced through my mind.

“I don’t know. She showed me colors, but I walked away. Whatever she wants, you know?” He shrugged, misery written all over him. “I’m hurting her. I can see her disappointment, but I never wanted kids. I’m just—I don’t think I’d be good with them. Isabella wants me to be a part of the planning and preparation, to take the class and read the book, but I can’t.” He stopped and gave his head a little shake, as though arguing with himself. “I don’t like talking about this. Besides, this isn’t why I’m here. I just want to know”—his hands fisted in my palms—“will I hurt it?”

I gave him time to settle after asking the real question. I could have led him through it, try to get him to see it himself, but I could feel his exhaustion and self-loathing.

“I can’t tell you that you’ll never raise your hand to your child. The future has yet to be written. I can remind you that there have been many people in your life that have pissed you off and you never hit them.

“Your first job—fast food? I smell oil, hear sizzling—there’s an older man who’s being creepy to a teenager you were working with. He scheduled her late or kept her after. Something that got her alone. You stayed, though. Your shift was done, and you came back or stayed late. You knew she was scared and so were you, but you were there when he ran his hand down her back, grabbing her ass.”

“I shoved him against a wall. Hard.” His face fell, as though I was confirming his violent tendencies.

“You protected an innocent from a predator. You, Rob”—he hadn’t given me his name, but I needed him to hear me—“are a protector, not a monster. You’re nothing like your father. You’ve been enraged plenty of times in your life, just like the rest of us, and not once did you take it out on someone smaller and weaker.”

I paused, giving him time to think, to run through those moments in his life that supported what I’d said. His hands in mine were already feeling lighter. “Don’t let him take this away from you. He’s done enough damage. Be a part of the planning. Borrow some of your wife’s joy until you feel it yourself.” I squeezed his hands. “You’re going to be a good dadbecauseyou know exactly what it is to have a bad one.”

I pulled my hands back and put on my gloves.

He stood, rubbing his forehead. “Yeah?”

“Go help your wife paint the nursery.” I nodded, shoving my hands into my paint-spattered overalls.

“Yeah, okay.” He nodded, a tentative smile appearing. “I did like that green she showed me.”

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