Dimitri. Just the thought of him made my stomach curdle.
My hands worked on autopilot, shuffling and reshuffling my cards, the thrum of connection strumming through me. I needed to know what we were dealing with, and the best way to handle it.
After a moment, I slid the first card that called to me out, flipping it up so that I could see the imagery clearly.
The High Priestess reversed. My breath caught, anxiety rising up at the message to follow.
As a Priestess, she is higher up the ranks in her organisation than initially shown. Hidden Agendas - she is using Sergei as much as he is using her. Idiot. Secrets. Veiled secrets.
I drew the second card without having fully processed the message from the first.
Five of Swords. Not reversed.
Feeding Sergei false victories until it suits her otherwise. Sergei wants to humiliate Arlo.
My hands went cold as I drew the third card.
The Empress.
Her red gown rippled over her throne. Wings crested her back. She was magnificent. Filled with feminie power. Cold shivers ran down my spine as I was unable to tear my eyes from the card before me. My card. This was me. It didn’t represent anything or anyone else in this situation. The Priestess and I were on opposing teams, pitted against each other.
Swallowing down my fear, I reached for the fourth card.
The Tower taunted me, ominous in its very existence.
Chaos. Destruction. Unexpected Changes. War is coming. War bigger than we’ve seen in our lifetime.
We needed things to truly fall apart - tumble even, for any semblance of rebuilding to take place.
I arranged the cards in a layout that allowed me to read the full picture, weaving the message from one card to another, painting a larger vision in the thread of possibility.
The High Priestess. The Five of Swords. The Empress. The Tower.
It wasn’t looking good.
My obsidian anklet began burning, countering whatever danger it had picked up before me. The sensation of singed flesh made my eyes water and I was left to grit my teeth, waiting for the sensation to pass.
It didn’t dissipate.
And then I felt it.
It was like a knock on my spine, and I knew that I wasn’t alone, that my bracelet and protection methods hadn’t kept the being at bay. The hairs on my body rose, standing on end, a warning signal.
Even though I knew that they still held firm, I double checked my own protection - my anklet was still in place, albeit, burning against the threat, but holding firm. My mental shields were firmly pulled up.
The dread in my stomach hardened as I scanned the room, seeing nothing. This entity wasn’t fully present in a visible form, rather, it seemed content to taunt and terrorize with an invisible stroke to my cheek, a soft chuckle in my ear.
Whatever this thing was, it had slid through my defenses, my burning anklet the only physical indication that something was wrong.
Calming my breathing, I held firm, mentally telling it - whatever it was - to leave. It wasn’t invited and therefore wasn’t welcome.
Its laughter left me shivering.
I commanded the thing to leave and it laughed at me. I was in trouble with no one to call on for help.
“Relax,” he spoke, and I couldn’t tell if I heard his voice within the crevice of my mind or if he was actually whispering in my ear.
His voice dripped with honey, coating my skin with images of rolling fields of wheat and warm sunshine beating relentlessly on my face.