The High Priestess (The Tarot Club 3)

CHAPTER THREE: THE WAILING

MARIE

Julian glared at me, and I didn’t miss the wisp of a girl who stepped beside him, all tumbling dark hair and dark eyes narrowed upon me as she threaded her hands through his.

Not even a flicker of hurt fired through my system, telling me everything I needed to know. Julian and I ran away together because that was the path we had been pushed towards, not because either of us genuinely wanted one another. It had taken a lot of distance and time to see that, and as I stood there, I wondered if Julian saw the truth for what it was.

Did I think he was sexually attracted to me? Sure. I mean, he was a sixteen-year-old, hot-blooded teenage boy at the time who wanted to get his dick wet - I could appreciate that. But outside of the lackluster sex, he didn’t want me.

I was too much for him - my lineage both a prize and a threat to the idea of what he needed to be as my husband. And as I took him in, his fingers squeezing into the girl who stood by his side, I understood that while I had traveled, I had changed, he had remained the same Julian I had left - the same boy I had fled from.

Welcome fucking home.

He didn’t flinch from my scrutiny, didn’t pull his hand away from her, and of course why would he? I would have lived a life expecting to look the other way at his transgressions, solely focussing my efforts on the Magick, the community, and babies. And all the while, nothing in his life would change.

Such was the way of my people, and I called bullshit, and when that hadn’t worked, I fled.

I fled to America, embracing all the artificial goodness that it had to offer, and in the midst of all the monotonous bullshit, I found some truths, some kindness. My Summer Camp friends suddenly became my family as I forged a new kind of path that allowed me to harness my Magickal skills whilst still remaining true to myself.

Because of Charlain’s fanatical obsession with learning all forms of Magick, I was certain that my education had somehow become more thorough than that of the village Witches - that I had grown in power, rivaling the Witch I would have become had I remained.

“You still beating the same drum?” Julian threw the words out in English as if he meant to insult me, but I refused to cower - refused to relinquish my argument - my truth simply because he was bored of hearing it.

“You still going to pretend that one runaway night where you took me - badly, might I add - against a tree makes us wed?” I answered rapidly in English, my anger fueling every word, and I watched his blush spread from his neck to his ears as he understood my accusation - my truth.

Since leaving Julian and this village, I had long since discovered the art of pleasure - reveled in it even, but that didn’t take away from the mortifying truth that my first time with Julian had been awkward and painful. Thinking back, I wasn’t even sure I had been aroused. Did I hold it against him that he didn’t know what he was doing, making for a shitty experience? No, I mean, I had been sixteen myself, but I refused to abide by the village traditions that one passionless night made us automatically wed.

“Is that how you justify abandoning your people?” I flinched, unable to hide the way his words had found their mark. Hadn't my grandmother accused me of the same thing?

“Well I have news for you, Marie, we don’t want you either. You are not welcome here.”

He couldn’t shut me out of my grandmother’s funeral, could he? I glanced towards Marta, suddenly seeking an ally in the old woman I had once viewed as family. She simply crossed her arms over her big bosomed chest, huffing in annoyance.

Merde.

“You cannot deny me the opportunity to attend the funeral - to see her off.” I only just managed to stop my voice from cracking - from giving away how much such an action would have affected me.

“You can attend the funeral,” Julian nodded, as if he were the gracious one in all of this, “but you are not permitted to attend the wailing.”

I shut my eyes at the news, knowing full well what he was denying me. The first twenty-four hours after someone's death were the most crucial for goodbyes and communication - it would have been the one opportunity I had to talk to her - make it right - make her understand. And Julian knew that, which was exactly why he was denying me the thing I had sought most - my very reason for coming here.

“You would see me as a threat? To her? To herbody?” It took far more effort to keep my voice even - unwavering as I spoke those words. The very fact that he was implying that I would be the one to desecrate her body was enough to make me want to burn the entire village to the ground.

And why the hell were the elders deferring to him? Why wasn’t Marta making the decisions? Where was the council?

There were too many unknowns, and I no longer had the right to demand answers. Still, I braced myself for his harsh words - for his response where he would undoubtedly verbally gut me in front of everyone, and I knew that I needed to react - respond carefully. Because all eyes were upon me.

“No one here knows you, Marie, you are no longer part of us, and as such, we’ll offer you the same hospitality we’d offer a visitor.”

I curled my lips in satisfaction. “It’s a good thing I’ve already booked a room at the Inn.”

Did I think I would stay in the village with the people who had raised me? No. Had I assumed that Marta or one of the elders would have insisted I stay with them? I mean, I was still Jeanne’s granddaughter - had still grown up here, had been raised by them, so it would have been a lie to say that Julian’s declaration hadn’t stung - that I hadn’t expected at least one other person here to fight for me, but if nothing else their display towards me only strengthened my resolve. I had made the right decision in leaving all those years ago.

Julian held his smirk, but I saw past the brittleness of it all - he was equally as rattled that I had returned.

I took a parting step backward, and then another, giving them a wave that was more a flick of my wrist.

“A tout de suite.” I smiled at them, pushing every ounce of regality I owned into the gesture despite my bedraggled appearance, bidding them farewell in French, until I sped behind a large boulder, disappearing entirely from their sight.