The music called to me as the night deepened, its pull magnetic and impossible to ignore. We followed the sound of trumpets and tambourines to a small, dimly lit club where the air was thick with rhythm and the scent of spilled whiskey mingled with traces of clove cigarettes. Inside, the world seemed to shrink, the walls reverberating with the raw energy of a jazz quartet that played as if their hearts would burst with every note.
A drummer tapped out a beat that felt like the pulse of the city itself, steady and unyielding, while the saxophonist poured out melodies that alternated between playful and mournful, as complex and layered as the streets we had walked that day. Strangers swayed in unison under the spell of the music, faces alight with a joyous abandon that spoke of freedom—a fleeting, precious kind of freedom that could only be found in a place like this.
I caught the eye of a woman seated in the corner; her smile was as enigmatic as the crescent moon peeking through the window. She raised her glass to me in an unspoken toast, as if welcoming me to the secret heartbeat of New Orleans. For amoment, I felt like I belonged, like the city had opened its arms and embraced me as one of its own.
As the band took a brief pause, the city outside seemed to exhale, its hum softening to a gentle murmur under the twinkle of stars and the glow of lamplight. But even in that quiet, New Orleans thrived—a place where every second held the promise of discovery, every shadow hid a story waiting to be told.
We stepped back out into the balmy night, my senses alive, my heart full. And as we wandered once more, arm in arm through the labyrinth of streets, I knew that this city, with its vibrant soul and unyielding spirit, had left an indelible mark on me.
I was finally home.
“Look, Devlyn!” Henley gasped, pointing to an old woman near a café. “Let’s get our palms read.”
Groaning, I shook my head. “We don’t believe in that crap, Hen. Besides, if we want our palms read, all we gotta do is call Athena.”
“We are in the French Quarter, Dev. I want the full New Orleans experience, and that means getting my fortune read. Come on!” My sister huffed, dragging me over to the woman.
The woman looked up as we approached, her eyes sharp and enigmatic beneath a shawl of swirling purples and golds. A small table in front of her held an assortment of candles, crystals, and a tattered deck of tarot cards. Henley, ever the charmer, grinned as she plopped herself down on the creaky wooden stool across from the woman.
The old woman gave me a knowing look before focusing on Henley. “You seek answers?” she asked, her voice as thick and rich as molasses, carrying a cadence that spoke of mysteries and ancient wisdom.
Henley nodded enthusiastically. “I want to know what my future holds.”
I crossed my arms, standing just behind my sister, my skepticism evident. “Do you take credit cards?” I asked dryly, earning me a sharp elbow from Henley.
“Shush,” she whispered. “This is serious.”
The woman shuffled the tarot cards methodically, the sound of the well-worn cards brushing together filling the stillness of the night. When she finally laid down the first card, her expression shifted ever so slightly—just enough to make my curiosity stir despite myself.
“What do you see?” Henley asked breathlessly, her eyes darting between the woman’s face and the card lying on the table.
The old woman tapped the card lightly with a weathered finger. It depicted a tower struck by lightning, flames erupting from its windows as small figures tumbled from its heights. “The Tower,” she murmured, her voice laced with gravity. “A symbol of upheaval, of unforeseen change. But also a chance to rebuild, stronger than before.”
Henley’s excitement dimmed slightly, her brows knitting together as she pondered the meaning of the card. “Does that mean something bad will happen?”
The woman’s enigmatic smile returned, her eyes glinting like the reflection of moonlight on dark water. “It means transformation, child. What may seem like destruction is often the beginning of something new.”
As Henley absorbed the words, the woman turned her gaze to me, her stare piercing and unrelenting. “And you,” she said, her voice softer but no less intense. “You carry a shadow with you—a question that you do not wish to ask.”
I stiffened, caught off guard by her sudden attention. “I’m just here for moral support,” I muttered, avoiding her eyes.
She chuckled, a low, knowing sound, before drawing another card and placing it before me. This one showed a figure standingat a crossroads, two paths stretching into the distance. “The Two of Swords,” she intoned. “A choice awaits you, one with no easy answers.”
Henley gave me a sidelong glance, her curiosity now fixed on me instead of her own fortune. “A choice? What kind of choice?”
I shrugged, feigning indifference. “Probably whether to leave now or stay and let the psychic drain my wallet.”
But deep down, the woman’s words struck a chord, a quiet unease settling in my chest. The night air seemed to grow heavier, wrapping around me like a tangible presence. For a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of something in her eyes—pity, or perhaps warning.
Then, just as quickly, it was gone.
“Well,” Henley said, breaking the tension with her usual exuberance. “I think this is amazing. Thank you so much!” She reached for her purse, while the old woman began gathering her cards, her expression now serene.
We walked away, Henley clutching her newfound sense of mystery and me still trying to shake the woman’s stare from my thoughts. The French Quarter buzzed around us, alive with music and chatter. But despite the liveliness, I couldn’t help but feel like something had shifted, as if the cards had pulled back a veil I wasn’t ready to see beyond.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Wade, do you believe in psychic readings, like palm or tarot cards?” my woman asked as she laid curled lazily around me.
