Page 2 of The Empress
“I think you’re in the perfect place.” He lifts his chin, motioning toward something behind me, and I spin around, the self-help book clutched to my chest.
The woman on the other side of the table is tall, her thick curves draped in layers of fabric that flutter around her like wings. “Thank you, Maverick.” She nods, her tight curls brushing against her deep-umber skin. “I apologize for the interruption.”
“Me too,” I blurt as red light falls across my back, and I whirl around to face him and offer another bumbling apology. But he’s already gone, disappeared behind the wood paneled door, the sound of a lock clicking into place.
“Sorry for barging in like this,” I say to the woman instead. “And for making a mess.”
“You didn’t barge in. All are welcome here.” Her plump smile is so kind and genuine, my shoulders relax down from my ears, and the hot flush of embarrassment cools from my face.
“What goes on in there?” I whisper, pointing to the wood paneling and the door Maverick and his client are behind.
She smiles, her lips as red as the rose, as red as the room and the energy inside. “Sex magick.”
“Oh.” I nod like I know exactly what she’s talking about.
“But you’re not here for that.”
“No,” I say too quickly. “No, I am here to seize the day. Do something unexpected. Surprise myself.” I hold my book up as evidence. “Are you Luna?”
“I’m Eleanor.” She crooks her finger and motions for me to come closer. I round the table, closing the distance between us, and we both lean in. “Luna doesn’t exist.” She laughs, and I join her, although mine is more of a nervous chuckle than anything resembling joy. “But ‘Eleanor’ sounds like someone’s grandma, so I went with ‘Luna’ instead.”
I join in on the laughter now. Hers is so full and rich and real that it’s impossible not to.
“So,” she says, wiping the corners of her eyes with one of her billowing layers, “Hannah, how exactly can I help you?”
I take a step backward, catching my purse as it slides off my shoulder. “Oh my god, you know my name. You’re an actual psychic.”
Her full cheeks lift with an amused grin. “Your badge.” She points to the Posh Pulse Brand Management employee-access ID clipped to the outside of my down-filled coat. “I’m not psychic. I can’t look at you and simply know things, no matter how much I might want to. I’m not that type of seer, but I do connect with the universe. It relays messages through my cards about whatever answers you seek.”
“So, you can tell me my future?”
Her grin returns, sparkling in the depths of her earthy-brown eyes. “Your future is always changing, growing, evolving. Nothing is written in stone.” Eleanor, her feet hidden beneath strips of fabric, seems to float to the beaded curtain. She pulls it aside and gestures to the soft cushions scattered around the low table. “If you want answers about your future as it is now, I can offer them to you.”
I take off my coat and stuff the self-help book intomy purse, the top half sticking out like a hot-pink portal to Barbie Land amid the navy and black of the small room. I drape my coat over my bag and sit on a coal-black cushion at the far end of the table while I wait for Eleanor to gather items from the alcove.
Her smile is warm and honest as she drifts back in through the beaded curtain, which washes over her like rain. She places a crystal bowl at the center of the table. In it, two card decks rest on a mound of pink salt. A lighter flicks, and Eleanor sets the end of a stick of palo santo ablaze. The smoke curls around the room, bathing us in its sweet woodsy scent.
“Hannah, what part of your future do you want demystified?” Eleanor asks as she lowers herself onto the cushions across the table from me.
“I’m giving this pitch at work tomorrow. It’s really important.”
She sets the burning wood next to the salt and lifts a deck of silver-rimmed cards from the bowl.
I rub my temples. “Practically everything in my life rests on how I do tomorrow, and I don’t want to mess it up. Ican’tmess it up.”
If I do, the last three years of my life will have all been for nothing.
“We’ll start with this deck. One card. A message from the universe specifically for you.”
Salt falls like snow against the deep-blue cloth as she shuffles the cards and spreads them in a smooth arc between us, the metallic pentagram decorating the back of each card glittering in the low light.
She looks up from the cards. “Which one speaks to you?”
My hand hovers over them, drifting back and forth like a metal detector. I don’t know what magick is supposed to feel like, but I know this isn’t it. “I’m sorry. I don’t think this is working—” I start to pull my hand back when Eleanor grabs it.
Her eyes widen, and if she didn’t suck in a breath, I would have missed the flash of fear momentarily knotting her brow. Her grip tightens on me as she pulls my palm closer to the cards.
“What are you doing? You’re hurting me.” Her nails dig into my arm, and I try to shake free, but her hand is a vise. “Let me go!”
