Still, part of me, the part that never really does shut up, is busy. I was off all weekend, so—I count off days on my fingers—it’s been almost two weeks since I did my thing. Used my gift. Exercised my family inheritance, or whatever.Two weeks. That’s what’s been weighing me down. Can’t ignore it, no matter how hard I try. Gulping down a useless protest, I start to plan. Today’s going to be longer than usual, and I’ll be feeling it for the next three days.
Fuck.Doesn’t take me long to go from almost relaxed to tied up in knots. When it’s my turn, I lean against to the counter, making a conscious effort to unstick my jaw so I can order.
“You need to choose a card,” Jett says with a sly smile, offering a deck of Tarot cards. It’s a game they play; if the customer seems stressed or upset, they’ll offer a one-card reading. I don’t put much stock in their predictions, but I take a card anyway.
“Hanged Man.” I hold it so Jett can see. “I swear you must have stacked the deck.” This is the third time this month I’ve picked the same one.
“Hmm.” Jett taps their lips with a finger. “The cards definitely have a message for you. Be patient, and the meaning will become clear.”
What I know about Tarot could fill a thimble. “Whatever, Obi-Wan. Keep your woowoo and give me a quad latte with vanilla syrup. Oh, and Geneva wants her usual mocha. I’ll take a scone, too.”
I’ll save the scone for later. For the ritual, I mean. Once Dr. Chen is done and Geneva and I have checked everything off our to-do list, I’ll slip the scone on the corpse’s chest and say the prayers Dad taught me.
Because going too long without using my gift makes Ezra a very unhappy young lad.
Decision made, at least one of the bands of tension wrapped around my chest loosens.
“As you wish.” Jett’s gaze flicks from me to somewhere over my shoulder. “Morning, Damon. You want the usual?”
And…that tension tightens right back up.I shrug deeper into my jacket, wondering how to sneak out without being seen. Damon Clemens is a hospital security guard who is both way too hot and way too straight for someone like me.Andhe’s just friendly enough to make me uncomfortable. Our schedules don’t always line up; I work four ten-hour shifts a week and he works three twelves, which is a-okay. The last thing I want is to get to know Damon Clemens, only to have him turn away in disgust.
“Morning, Jett. Hi, Ezra.” Damon stands close enough for me feel his warmth. “How’s business?”
“Doing well.” Jett grins from behind their espresso maker. “If my hands weren’t full, I’d have you pick a card.”
“They’ve got it rigged anyway.” I try to laugh like I’m joking. I’m not.
“Don’t pout, Z. The cards can’t help that you aren’t getting their message.”
Damon’s laugh washes over me. He laughs a lot, which makes us opposites in just about every way. He laughs. I snarl. He’s tall and buffed. I’m little and runty. He works to keep people safe, while I pick over their remains like some kind of carrion bird.
“Which card did you get?” Damon nudges me with his elbow.
“Tell him.” Jett’s laughing voice floats over the squeal of the milk steamer.
I can’t stop my lips from pursing like I’d tasted something sour. “The Hanged Man. Same card the last three times.”
“That sounds kinda messed up.” The laughter fades from Damon’s voice.
“It’s not that bad,” Jett says, coming back with my drinks. “It just means he’s stuck, and he needs to be patient while his spirit figures out his next move.”
Jett picks up the card to show us the image of the man hanging upside down from a tree, one knee bent and his expression serene.
“Could be worse, I guess.” Damon’s gaze flicks from me to the card and back again.
Jett puts my drinks in a little cardboard tray, with the scone in a bag in between them. “Tell Geneva I said hello, and give some thought to that card. Three times definitely means something.”
“Yeah.” I snort-laugh, risking a glance at Damon. “It means I need to stop trying to guess the future and just let it be.”
Jett’s smile stretches the scar that runs through the corner of their lip. “Either that or you need to let go of the past.”
I try not to grimace. I fail. “And on that note, I’ll be going. Thanks, dude.” I make my escape, and either I’m blushing real hard or the air has suddenly warmed up about forty degrees. Yeah, I’m going to need at least a cigarette to calm down before I see Geneva.
Sometimes Jett talks like they know more about me than they should, and I’m not sure if that makes me happy or mad.
There are some things I don’t want anybody to know.
I literallycan’tlet anybody know.
