Glenna snatched her hand away. “A gift from Mickey.” She put the tarot cards in the box, the sharp snap of the closing lid showed her annoyance. That ping of wood-on-wood reverberated through the fog in Skye’s brain. Most days, she took a secret amusement in Glenna’s self-pity but today she couldn’t stand it.
“Look, you’ve got a boyfriend, you’ve got a job and you’re in college. Is your life so horrible you have to go reading the cards everyday looking for trouble?” Skye walked over and snatched the box away.
Glenna glared with the one eye not covered with hanging hair. “What are you doing?”
“Checking this deck. I think you took out all the good ones.” Skye rifled through the seventy-eight cards.
“I can’t help the cards I draw,” Glenna huffed, getting up from her chair and heading to the coffeehouse area.
A card slipped through Skye’s fingers and fell. She picked it up and an unexpected warmth from its thin, flat surface seeped into her fingertips. The warmth grew to heat and it slipped from her grasp and landed face up on the floor.
The Knight of Pentacles. A man with dark brown hair and brown eyes, usually unmarried. Skye recalled its symbolism: a strategizer seeking solutions through action for practical results. He looks for things that can be used in the material realm.
Kheelan. He matched the physical description and appeared the kind of person to take bold, decisive action. She shuddered. He probably had no compunction about using things, or people, to get what he wanted. Was the card a warning? Hesitantly, she again touched it. It didn’t burn this time. She put it in the box with the rest of the cards, determined to count them all later, and rummaged in the shelves behind the counter for a bandage.
She didn’t have much choice except to see Kheelan again, to find out how he was connected to the fairies. Skye’s face softened, remembering the winged pixies playing in last night’s storm. They were the one bright spot in this whole mess. She couldn’t wait for nighttime to see them again.
“Skye, did you cut yourself?” Claribel’s voice from behind made Skye jump.
“No, it’s a small blister.”
The older woman nodded absently and patted Skye’s shoulder. She inhaled Claribel’s scent of violets, so sweet and subtle. It suited her. “Where’s Glenna?”
Sudden inspiration struck. Why not tell Claribel about the hagstone? If there were anybody in the world who wouldn’t think she was insane if she described the fairies, it would be Claribel. Her boss believed in the Fae all along, even when she couldn’t physically see them. She ought to be thrilled at the opportunity.
“Miss Claribel, do you have any special plans for tonight?”
“Why . . . no.” Her silver-gray eyes widened. She lifted a bejeweled hand to a gray curl falling across her forehead, setting off a melodic tinkling from dozens of charm bracelets sliding on her plumb arm.
Skye was unexpectedly seized with doubt. Claribel might think she was nuts after all. She forced herself to speak. “I thought maybe you could come by my place and I could fix dinner. Spaghetti or something.” And a glass or two of wine for courage.
Claribel blinked and the gray eyes filled with moisture. “That is so sweet of you. Let me check my schedule.” She wobbled a few steps to her appointment calendar.
“Is your arthritis kicking in with all the bad weather?” Skye asked sympathetically.
“The rain is no friend to the old. Are you sure about cooking dinner? We could just get some take-out.”
“No, I like to cook.” Not to mention I have no money for meals out. “I get off early tonight so come by when you close and I’ll have it ready.”
“You’re a dear.” Claribel patted her cheek and shuffled to the office, her purple broomstick skirt, an 80s fashion relic, swished from the generous padding of her hips and fanny.
There’s eccentric and then there’s just plain weird.
Skye loaded salad on the paper plate. The aroma from the impromptu dinner of spaghetti and garlic rolls spiced the tiny kitchen. Claribel perched her short, round body on the folding chair, legs not quite reaching the floor. At her insistence, they were using paper plates, cups and plastic utensils she’d purchased on her way over. Probably thought college students were slobs, not to be trusted in matters of cleanliness. Or perhaps she was germ phobic. Claribel wore cotton gloves a lot at work, claiming her hands were cold all the time.
“This is delicious, Skye. So kind of you to invite me over.”
“Beats eating alone.”
“A pretty, sweet girl like you, I would think you’d have a boyfriend, or maybe several boyfriends.”
“Yeah, sure. I have to beat ‘em off me. Never a moment to myself.” Skye bit into a hot, buttered roll. She’d settle for just one guy, name of Tanner.
Claribel laughed. “You need to put off more encouraging vibes, dear. Let them know you’re available.”