The High Priestess (The Tarot Club 3)

I exhaled nervously. It wasn’t that I was nervous to go on a date - nervous to explore Nicu sexually - I was nervous because of who he was and what such a date could entail. The freedom I so desperately craved seemed to be slipping through my fingers, and with each passing day I felt more and more stifled, slipping back into a role that suddenly seemed too small for me, suffocating in its embrace. The Marie of the tarot Club seemed a far grander person than the one that stood in the tent now. The High Priestess was not here today, and in her place stood a frightened gypsy girl who no longer belonged.

I stepped out from the tent, peeling back the canvas flaps until I was drenched in the night air, the kiss of the moon fresh on my skin. Nicu’s golden face greeted me, delighted to see my appearance. Did he think that I would cancel? Should I have?

I hated this feeling of uncertainty, this constant thread of self-doubt that seemed to thrum behind the back of my eyes, forcing me to question every minute action I did.

“Come.” Nicu beckoned me forth, sliding his hand against mine, threading our fingers together. The weight felt uncomfortable, the movement restrictive, but pulling away would be rude.

He marched us through a throng of people, and I didn’t miss the way that they glanced at our intertwined fingers - at the closeness of our bodies, didn’t miss the way they grinned, as if they were giving us their stamp of approval. But, more than that, I was aware that Nicu had walked us through the crowd deliberately, as if I were some show pony that he had purchased, marching me around to the cooing crowd.

It made me dislike Nicu that much more.

I followed him in silence, allowing him to tug us along for all to see, and it was only once we had stepped foot into the forest that I understood where he was taking us.

There, on the riverbank sat a small table and two chairs, white linen draped over the surface in a way that spoke of rustic luxury. But it wasn’t the table and chairs that snagged my attention, it was the snapped root of a tree that seemed torn, no doubt destroyed by the setup for this date. It was the way in which an ice bucket, complete with stand, had been dug into the soil, destroying an anthill in the process. It was the fairy lights draped in the tree above that looked pretty at first glance, but upon closer inspection only highlighted the snapped branches and bent leaves beneath its unnatural glow.

“Resourceful, right?”

My gaze swung back towards Nicu and his gleeful expression as he spoke the words as a question, when in fact they were nothing more than self-praise.

“Resourceful.” I repeated the word in agreement - the first word I had spoken to him that evening, and it tasted sour against my lips. My gaze darted towards the river, and suddenly I wanted nothing more for the sky to thunder, bringing forth the rains, washing away this date entirely.

Nicu, ever the gentleman, pulled out my chair for me, wholly unaware of the internal battle I faced. Did his family not perform rituals within their forests? Did they not bond with the land itself, labeling them as the non-travelling kinds of gypsies? Did he have no roots and that was why he had complete disregard for the elements? Or perhaps his roots were too deeply entrenched that he had forgotten the power of such elements entirely?

I didn’t have any of the answers, and so instead I sat there numbly as he poured me a glass of red wine.

Finally, Nicu seated himself next to me, pouring himself his own glass as he held my gaze, before finally speaking.

“How you haven’t been snatched up yet is still a mystery.” He flashed his politician’s smile at me, sliding his hand over mine, the movement making me squirm, my stomach dipping in a curdling, unpleasant motion.

No matter how hard I tried - no matter how nice Nicu was to look at, his skin against mine caused an adverse reaction within my body. I wanted to feel something for him, if only to highlight that I wasn’t broken - that Cortland had not destroyed my desire for anyone other than him. I swallowed down my trepidation and forced interest into my gaze as I took him in. He smelt of soap with a hint of peppermint and pine. Clean, giving off that wholesome appearance, but I had seen him with the dark haired woman, and I knew that Nicu was anything but wholesome. Still, I wasn’t sure we dealt in the same level of darkness.

Nicu uncovered a tray filled with cold meats. Unusual as a starter, but I was trying to be open to his courting nature. I dished a plateful up for myself, bringing a piece to my lips, the salt burning my palette in a way that I was unaccustomed to. He watched me take each bite, tracking each lick of my lips, until he pushed his thigh against mine, forcing an intimacy I still had yet to feel.

I offered him a small smile, pulling my leg back slightly, unsure if I was truly willing to play this game - willing to even try.

The feel of a featherlight touch on the back of my calf had me stilling my body once more, for that was not the touch of Nicu. No repulsion rsoe up within me at this touch, instead I was only flooded with desire, the smell of cinnamon peppered the air, and when I glanced down at the floor, I watched the shadows dip and weave into themselves.

He was here. Cort was here.

The thought shouldn’t have excited me so much, especially whilst I was on a date with another man. But, something about the memory of his shadows - of how they had slid in and out of me, pinched my nipples, pushed against the nub at the apex of my thighs - had me parting my legs slightly in anticipation.

Cortland didn’t disappoint, and I could have sworn I felt the tips of his fingers press against my inner thigh, as if the shadows themselves were his hands. His breath brushed against my core through the lace of my panties and I jolted on the spot, immediately causing Nicu to brush his thumb across the back of my hand in a soothing motion, but the last thing I wanted was to be soothed.

I scanned the treeline, certain that my Demon must be lingering somewhere nearby. I imagined he got a kick out of watching me jolt beneath his touch whilst dining with Nicu.

“Tell me what you enjoy about your job?” I asked the question simply to make conversation, but it seemed to encourage him, causing him to widen his stance beneath the table, pressing his thigh against mine once more. Only this time I couldn’t pull away, couldn’t slam my thighs shut for I did not wish to shut the shadow off - could not fathom what would happen to the breath that seemed to heat my core. And so I remained suspended listening to Nicu list all the reasons he enjoyed his profession, adding even more self importance to the mix. It was a strange feeling, having Nicu pressed against one side of me, my body repelled by him, whilst Cort remained near my inner thigh the duality of the sensations had me clutching the stem of my wine glass a little tighter, dizzy with desire, the table before me turning into the occasional blur.

Nicu suddenly halted the conversation, seeming to have noticed that he didn’t have my full attention. I turned my gaze towards him, hoping that my eyes were not filled with that lust induced fog, and worse, if they were he did not assume that it was because of him.

“You are an incredibly powerful Witch Marie.”

I took a deep gulp of my wine, before licking my lips, taking a moment to formulate my response. Whilst Magick wasn’t an adverse topic amongst my people, the measure of one’s power against another’s was deemed impolite conversation. But before I could steer the conversation in another direction, he spoke once more, halting my thoughts. The shadow on my thigh and breath near my core did not relent their admionistartions, forcing me to suck on my teeth as those phantom fingers edged closer and closer to my core. I couldn’t be certain, but I was sure that I widened my thighs even more, effectively pushing into Nicu even deeper.

‘Some believe that you are the next Demon Summoner, arguing that you are in contact with Solomon himself.” This time when I stilled,so did the shadow beneath, and I almost moaned in protest, for he had been so close. Instead I remained silent, unwilling to give myself away. The only way that Nicu could know such a thing was if he was in contact with the old King himself. Undoubtedly, Solomon was playing us, but did Nicu understand that?

“Sounds like the old King likes to talk.” I purred the words, throwing seduction into my voice to cover the panic. In the madness of the day I hadn’t phoned Charl - hadn’t truly spoken to anyone from the Club, leaving me entirely at the gypsy clan’s mercy. Was Corland listening in on this conversation? Did he care?

Nicu chuckled once more, going along with my attempt at a joke, only this time he did not sound jovial or pleasant. This was not the face of a simple politician, this was the face of a man who sought more power than he was able to manage.

“And,” he allowed the word to dangle between us, dragging out his findings in a way that was meant to keep me on edge - meant to make me nervous, “you dance with demons.”

I laughed a haughty kind of laugh, willing the hysteria that seemed to rise quickly back into the pits of my stomach. “It goes with the territory of being a Witch.” I raised my glass in the semblance of a toast, as if I found this entire conversation something to laugh at. The press of those phantom fingers on my thigh served as warning - all was not well with Nicu, and apart from a fickle Demon, I sat on the edge of the riverbank all alone, fighting a foe disguised as a friend.

The table faded in and out, my vision blurring once more, and I suddenly understood with rising horror that the dizziness hadn't been from desire at all.

“Well that may be so dear Marie, not all Witches summon Demons with the sole purpose of fucking them. What Witch summons an incubus simply so she can have her way with him?” This time, Nicu truly did sound delighted, and I realized that anything else I had heard from his lips had been a pale comparison to his true delight.

“You are exactly what we have been looking for. You are more powerful than anyone expected.” His gaze never left mine as I sluggishly fought to work out the puzzle before me. “Tell me Marie, does the Devil dance on your grave or do you dance on his?”

It was the last thing I heard before darkness consumed me, my forehead slamming against the table in a dull thud that seemed to echo through my ears.