“I think I’m okay,” I said. “I’m kind of talked out about the whole thing.”
“I don’t blame you,” he said. “It’s been . . . a very rough few weeks.”
We sat there in silence for a few moments, and I couldn’t tell if it was comfortable or uncomfortable. When he spoke again, it felt like a small release of pressure.
“So tell me about your project,” he said. “I read your thesis statement but I want it from your own lips. Why the Tarot?”
I shrugged.
“My mom gave me a deck my freshman year and I’ve been pretty into it ever since. It helps put my life into a bigger pattern, you know?”
He nodded. It wasn’t one of those dismissive nods, either; he looked like he understood. More importantly, he looked like he was interested in learning more.
“Is that why you took my class?”
“I guess, yeah. I’ve always liked fairytales and folklore.”
“But to you it’s not just fairytales and folklore,” he said with a grin. “I mean, the Tarot draws upon all these old myths. In order to truly believe in the cards, you have to believe there’s something manipulating them.”
I shrugged. I didn’t like talking faith to anyone, not even my mom. I definitely wasn’t about to discuss it with a teacher. “I guess,” I admitted.
There was no way I was going to tell him about the dreams or events that actually inspired the paintings. No way in hell.
“I don’t know if you remember my mentioning the tutorial group,” he said. “Especially with everything else, I can’t imagine it would be foremost on your mind. But they meet every other week. I’d love for you to join—I think you’d find it highly educational.”
Right. The stupid study group. And I didn’t have the excuse of being busy with my thesis anymore, either.
“What’s it for?”
“Independent study, mostly. It’s not a lot of extra work, but we explore many of the topics we only brush over in class. The relationships between cross-cultural deities, the origin of rituals, that sort of thing. I wanted to give students a safe place to explore the more esoteric aspects of what I can cover in the curriculum. Even Islington has its limits to what I can teach.” He grinned, as if confiding a secret. “I figured you might be interested, what with your own ties to the occult.
“You don’t have to say yes right now. Just know the offer’s on the table. I think you’d find it very helpful for your future work, especially if you continue that Tarot project.”
“Thanks,” I said. “But I don’t know if I’ll have the time.”
“No pressure. We’re meeting again tomorrow afternoon. I was thinking of canceling, in light of things, but then figured that work is a decent enough distraction in and of itself. Might help get your mind off things and—how did you phrase it?—put your life into a bigger picture.”
“Thanks,” I said. He had a point. The only way I was going to get through this was by distracting myself, and a new workload would do just that. Especially one that didn’t involve art. I had a feeling I wouldn’t be able to spend any more time in the painting studio than absolutely necessary. “I’ll see if I can make it. Was there anything else?”
He shook his head. “Nope, just wanted to check in.”
“Okay. See you later then.”
He nodded. “Have a good night.”
I left and closed the door behind me, hurrying out into the cold. A raven sat on the fence outside, head cocked and waiting.
“What are you staring at?” I whispered. The bird shuffled its wings and took off. “Fat lot of help you are,” I muttered, and made my way back to the Writers’ House to work until pizza came.
? ? ?
The five of us lounged in the main foyer of the building. The gas fireplace was lit and fending off the snow buzzing about outside, and the House was pretty much empty. No one wanted to brave the weather to be out here, and I didn’t blame them. If I hadn’t gotten here before true dark hit, even pizza would have been a tough draw.
Oliver and Ethan sat on one of the faux leather sofas, Elisa and me on the opposite. Chris was on the floor, cross-legged, right by the pizza box. There was a warmth here that I hadn’t expected to feel, not after all the shit of the last few days. But maybe that was what cemented this together—all that loss made us grip what we did have even tighter. Especially since it wasn’t going to last.
Still, I couldn’t help but feel like there was an empty space, a seat at the dinner table left empty. Jane wasn’t here. And neither was her ghost.
“Have any of you guys gone to the painting studio?” Elisa asked. It felt like the first time she’d spoken all night.
If not for the pizza already stuffed in my mouth, I might have lost my appetite. I glanced to the boys. Their faces all showed the exact same blank stare.
“Nope,” Ethan said first. The rest of us shook our heads.