Not in the Cards Read online

  Not in the Cards

  An Oracle Bay Novel

  Amy Cissell

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  First Hand Knowledge

  About the Author

  Also by Amy Cissell

  NOT IN THE CARDS

  Amy Cissell

  A Broken World Publication

  PO Box 11643

  Portland, OR 97211

  Not in the Cards

  Copyright © 2018 by Amy Cissell

  ISBN 978-1-949410-00-6 (ebook);

  ISBN 978-1-949410-01-3 (paperback)

  * * *

  Cover Design: Covers by Combs

  Edited by: Colleen Vanderlinden

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author at [email protected].

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  For Liana

  You are the most amazing child a mama could ask for.

  I love you to the moon and the stars and back.

  Acknowledgments

  I want to thank my early readers Mel, Margaret, Brandie, Nichole, Kari, Christina, and Marci. Your feedback was invaluable.

  Cat, as always, is my sounding board for both my writing and my whole life, and I’d be lost without her. I’d be much less published without my platonic soul mate urging me on.

  Thank you Jessy, Peter, and Carrie for contributing character names. Joseph McEwen, Bill Walters, and Darwin Sibel exist because of you.

  Jane contributed dessert ideas that start here but get served in book 2 (First Hand Knowledge). Prosecco mousse is something that needs to constantly exist at my house.

  Special thanks to my editor, Colleen Vanderlinden and my cover artist Daqri Combs for helping put together such a polished book. No woman is an island, and a writer is nothing without a great editor and fantastic cover artist.

  A shout out to my Facebook divorce support group, particularly Karyn, Jean, Mindy, and Erin. These women helped me through my own divorce and were willing to lend their expertise in crafting a douchetastic narcissistic jerk for this story.

  Last, but not least, thank you to my partner in all things, Chris. He’s my first reader and my final proofreader, not to mention my wine and water fetcher, ledge talker downer, main encourager, and number one pun bouncer-offer. I am so lucky to have someone so supportive of and enthusiastic about my work. Thank you.

  Chapter One

  Sandy unlocked the front door to the little shop she’d just rented and pulled the string on the sign that hung in the window, the sign that had brought her here—to this shop, to this business, and to Oracle Bay. The buzz of the neon broke the near silence. She walked outside to look in at her shop. From the outside, the windows appeared to have been cleaned with shortening. A large triangle of yellow neon framed the words “Alexandra’s Tarot Readings.” A red Eye of Horus and the outline of three cards took turns blinking on and off at the top of the triangle.

  She’d come across a “psychic shop for rent” ad on Craigslist a couple weeks ago. There was a storefront with a second-floor apartment in the quaint, coastal town of Oracle Bay for rent at an almost impossibly cheap amount. When she arrived to check it out, expecting it to be too good to be true but not willing to take the chance that it wasn’t, the sign was in the window. The building manager, Misty Greene, said it’d belonged to the previous tenant and could go or stay, as Sandy wished. Sandy’d made a half-hearted joke about digging out her old college tarot cards, and Misty had acted enthusiastic, even though it was a ridiculous idea.

  She hadn’t figured out a way to use the storefront for income yet—running away from home at the age of twenty-seven wasn’t the smartest financial decision she’d ever made—but had enough socked away in a secret account to live at the coast for a year if she was frugal and longer if she could supplement her savings with a part-time job. The rent was cheap even for a one-bedroom apartment; it was a steal for the combo.

  She turned the sign back off, opened a bottle of wine, and grabbed the cheese and cracker plate she’d picked up at the local supermarket. She made herself a floor picnic, complete with a couple candles to help add light to the dim room, and toasted herself and her newfound freedom. About three-quarters of the way through the bottle, the neon sign blinked on. Sandy jumped, sloshing wine out of the glass and onto the blanket she’d spread on the floor. When her heart slowed to a reasonable pace and the gasping breaths she’d been taking through her mouth slowed, the kernel of the idea already planted earlier took root. She ran up to her apartment and rummaged through the few bags she’d brought with her until she found the tarot cards she’d purchased in college to make a few extra bucks by bilking gullible college students out of money.

  Since the sign was already here, and she had the only tool she needed, it certainly wouldn’t hurt to ply her trade on the tourists escaping Seattle or Portland for the weekend. Who knows? Maybe she’d make a little extra money and be able to stretch out her time longer before she had to grow up and face the music of her impulsive decision. The sign was close enough to her own name—Cassandra—that it wouldn’t even take much of a mental shift to embrace the new persona. All she needed was a few more furnishings, a costume, and to buck up and do it. The worst that could happen is nothing, and since that’s where she was already, it wouldn’t matter at all.

  Sandy looked around the room and shuddered. Cobwebs hung from every corner, and a light coating of dust stubbornly clung to every surface. The windows she’d cleaned a half hour ago already looked as though a thin layer of shortening had been smeared over them. She’d spent the last week repeatedly scrubbing everything, but regardless of how much elbow grease she applied, a pervading sense of dingy neglect remained. A couple of mostly empty bookshelves—she hadn’t been able to find the psychic books and knickknacks she’d planned to display—framed the back door that led to a small bathroom and the staircase and hallway that separated the shop from the attached apartment. Four chairs were placed with precision around a small, round table covered with a tasseled, purple cloth.

  A single flickering light bulb encased in a red goblet fixture hung from the ceiling directly above the table. Sandy had replaced the bulb three times and had even had an electrician out to look at the wiring. It didn’t help. The light bulb flickered, the windows were barely translucent, and the interior of the shop looked like a room in a kid-friendly haunted house.

  She couldn’t delay any longer. If she was going to make an honest go at being a tourist-hustling charlatan, it was now or never. She smoothed her hands over her flowing skirt, tweaked her peasant blouse into place, and checked the cracked mirror to ensure the kohl lining her eyes hadn’t budge
d during her last-minute cleaning frenzy.

  After a last quick perusal of her “How to Read Tarot Cards” book, she shoved it deep into her purse, took a deep breath, and pulled the string to turn on her sign.

  She walked outside and watched it cycle through its neon advertisement a couple times before shrugging. It was what it was, and there was no going back now.

  Sandy went back inside, pulled a book out of her expansive beaded hemp purse, and sat down to wait for her first customer.

  A couple hours later, Sandy was in the middle of a panty-melting sex scene of her current romance novel when the low groan of the perfectly oiled hinges caught her attention. Her breath caught in her throat as the woman paused in the doorway with the halo of light from outside surrounding her. The woman paused and squinted as her eyes adjusted to the near-dark of the small shop, giving Sandy ample time to size her up. She was tall and slim with just the hint of a curve in her hips and bust. A short, dark bob set off delicate, elfin features, and her skin was the rich shade of brown. She was biting her lower lip and looked nervous as she peered into the shop.

  “Hello?” the woman took a tentative step into the shop. “Alexandra?”

  Sandy stood, tucking her book back in her bag under the table. “If you close the door behind you, it’ll be easier to see.”

  Despite having obviously been expecting someone to be in the shop, the woman jumped when Sandy spoke. “Alexandra?” she asked again.

  “Resident psychic at your service!” Sandy said. She walked forward with her hand outstretched. When the woman instinctively grabbed it for a handshake, Sandy drew her further into the shop and gently pushed the door closed. The woman blinked a few times and then smiled. Sandy dropped her hand and gestured towards the chairs. “Why don’t you sit down and we can get started.”

  Sandy walked around the table and sat opposite her customer. “My name is Sandy—Alexandra—and presumably you’re here for a tarot card reading. I charge twenty dollars for a three-card spread that’ll give you a general sense of what’s influencing you right now, or I can do something more elaborate for thirty dollars. I recommend we start with a three-card spread and then add six more cards to delve into what we discover.”

  The woman hesitated for only a moment before pulling a wallet out of her purse and handing over a credit card. “I’ll take the full reading,” she said.

  Sandy grabbed her phone, made sure the card reader was firmly attached, and ran the card, making a mental note of the woman’s name. Once she completed the transaction, she asked, “Is there something specific you are concerned about, Ann, or are you just looking for a general life temperature reading, so to speak?”

  “What?”

  “I don’t need to know your exact question, but I want you to think about what you want out of this. Hold the cards and concentrate on what it is you want to know.”

  The woman did as requested, then handed the cards back. Sandy shuffled the cards but never took her eyes off the woman sitting in front of her. She’d closed her eyes and pressed her lips tightly together. Sandy took in the tense set of her shoulders, the gnawing worry obvious as she chewed on the inside of her lips, and the half-moon marks left by her own fingernails on the backs of her hands.

  The clients who’d come in earlier that day had all been vacationers looking for some happy news. This woman was desperate. Sandy found herself seized with a sudden urge to dig deeper and find something that could help. She concentrated on the woman as she drew the first three cards. Only when she’d put down the last card did she look at the spread: the five of pentacles, the five of cups reversed, and the three of rods. Her jaw dropped open as the cards ceased to be individual cards but instead became a storyboard laid out in front of her.

  She’d studied the guides and knew what each card meant. She was able to put together a decent and generic story for just about anyone that would stand up to scrutiny. But now, she saw the cards in an entirely new way. Sandy blinked a couple times, trying to return the cards to their mundane setting. Her pulse sped up, and she had to concentrate on keeping her breath even. She didn’t want to alarm Ann any more than she already had.

  “Is something wrong?” the woman asked. “Oh my god, is it bad?”

  Sandy looked up at her client and took in the strain and fear evident on her face. “No, not bad,” Sandy answered. “Just surprising.”

  “What does it say?”

  Sandy looked down at the cards and went into an autopilot she appreciated, even if she didn’t understand. “These cards represent your past, present, and future. I’ll start with the past and move forward, then we’ll add some more cards to further clarify the situation.”

  Ann nodded.

  “The five of pentacles represents a change in financial and/or social status. In your recent past, there was an upheaval that drastically changed your fortunes, perhaps a divorce.”

  “Yes,” she said. “My divorce was final about two months ago, and I’ve gone from being a trophy wife to being nearly destitute. My lawyer wasn’t nearly as good as his.” Bitterness seeped through her tone and Sandy’s gut clenched with empathy and no small amount of anxiety. She shoved her own issues back into their issue box and moved on to the next card.

  “The next card, your present, is the five of cups, reversed. You are struggling with your new status as a single person, filled with regret, and greatly longing to go back to your old relationship, no matter how much you know that isn’t possible. You feel insecure and unprepared to go it alone.”

  Tears streaked down Ann’s face, and she merely nodded. Sandy swallowed hard—these cards might be for Ann, but they were speaking to her, too. Goosebumps ran up and down her arms, and she willed herself to continue.

  “The third card—your future—is the three of rods. This card means you will soon find that balance and confidence you need. Your initiative and ambition will make themselves known to you, and you will find your passion and your optimism, if only you are patient and trusting. You no longer need to fear failure or depend on anyone else for security and stability. You have everything you need within yourself.”

  Sandy paused for Ann to comment, but she just offered a watery smile, so she continued. “I’m going to draw six more cards that will lend a bit more clarity to the past, present, and future and should help you find the answers you’re seeking.”

  Sandy cut the deck, concentrating on Ann and not herself, then placed two cards each on either side of the original three. “The distant past shows a happy home; a celebration, love, and generally speaks to marriage and family. More recently, is the six of cups reversed.” Sandy reached out and took Ann’s hand. “I am so sorry for your loss. It couldn’t have been easy losing the pregnancy you hoped would save your marriage.”

  Ann’s hand shook in Sandy’s, but she barely noticed. The cards and their meanings filled her head, as did the pain Ann was radiating.

  “Your present influences that make it difficult to move on are the seven of swords and the seven of cups. You feel guilty for some kind of dishonesty. You found out about your husband’s infidelities by reading text messages on his phone, and feel that your violation of his privacy was more egregious than his violation of your marriage vows. It wasn’t, you know. Perhaps you should’ve respected his privacy, but he was doing something for which he deserved to get caught. He didn’t ask for a divorce because you didn’t trust him. He asked for a divorce because he got caught. The seven of cups is where you’re stuck. You can visualize two futures you want, but can’t figure out how to make either of them a reality. You simultaneously want to return to your marriage, to the illusion of the picture-perfect family, and to try to conceive again. At the same time, your trust was shattered, and you want nothing more than to prove you’re independent and can go it alone.”

  Sandy took her focus off the cards for a moment and looked at Ann to gauge how well she was doing. Based on the tears, silent sobs, and shaking hands, she was doing a fantastic job of bringing up th
is poor woman’s past trauma.

  “Finally, we will look at the future—and this is where you’ll be able to get to where you need to be. The knight of wands represents the decision you will need to make and the major arcana card, The World, is the result should you make the decision indicated. The knight of wands is a card of creativity and passion. It represents someone who is resourceful, self-reliant, and ready to take risks. Perhaps you’ve been considering entering a field that will draw on your creativity—one that you’d been prepared to enter before finding marriage.”

  “I have a degree in graphic design and had several job offers, but my ex-husband didn’t want me to work outside the home. Said it would make him look bad.”

  “It’s not my place,” Sandy said, “but I advise you to let go of the regret, and guilt, and desire to reunite with him, because he sounds almost as douchetastic as my soon-to-be-ex.”

  For the first time since entering the shop, Ann smiled.

  “The final card is The World. Look at how happy that woman is! She is in control of her own life and is bursting with power and creativity. You will reach the goals you put on hold for someone else as you follow the destiny laid out for you. Hold on to this image, and it will help you manifest what you need.”

  The energy that had filled Sandy throughout the reading left her in a whoosh, and she felt momentarily empty. She shook her head to clear it, smiled at Ann, and said, “Do you have any additional questions for me?”