The Empress (The Tarot Club 1)

I closed my door quietly, the veins in my hands throbbing with rage. But I would not take my frustrations out on the door - I would not allow my control to slip. I may have fallen prey to that all consuming anger when I was a teenager, but I had come a long way since then. With Arlo’s help and guidance, and the family organisation, I had learnt to control the beast inside of me. Despite the nagging vision of my fist punching a hole in the door, the jagged remains of the wood serving as evidence of the violence that swirled beneath my skin.

That little Witch had dug her claws under my skin. She was infuriating in her naivety. Her soft nature, perfect etiquette, and finely tailored fucking clothing all screamed money.

I doubted she had worked a day in her life.

Was this Magick gig to get back at her parents? Did she have Daddy issues and this was how she was choosing to rebel?

I didn’t fucking care, but I would not allow her little act of rebellion to be at the expense of Arlo and my family. Because make no mistake, this organisation was my family.

I sank into the brown leather armchair seated next to a table that was actually a chessboard. What had Arlo been thinking, bringing her here? Or even contacting their ‘Club’. Worse still, he had arranged this entire thing without my knowledge, only recently cluing me into his plans. And when I pressed him, questioned him on why he thought bringing in a fucking Vedman was necessary, he smiled at me and told me to humour him in his old age, and then went on to regale me with tales of his youth and how the Witch in his village had saved him.

And all I knew was that he didn’t tell me because he did not think I was ready to step up - to lead. This mess with Sergei was a disaster, and I knew that this was a point against me. We couldn’t be seen as weak. We couldn’t be seen as the blind, ignorant fools that Jeanette and Olek had made us appear - all under the instruction of fucking Sergei.

I deftly poured myself some whiskey, content to mull over my thoughts. Breaking me out of my reverie, I heard the muffled sound of someone speaking - shouting really - across the hallway. Was that blonde Witch completely mad? She was probably walking around yelling into the ether in her room.

Ignoring the lunacy, I sat in the quiet of my room, allowing the events of the day to settle upon me. Normally, I would be checking in with the club, making sure that Ravi was managing things properly - ensuring that there wasn’t any product being distributed that did not come from us - even if the patrons didn’t know it.

My thoughts lingered on Arlo once more. He was excited - giddy even - when I told him about how the girl had butchered her first reading. That information could have been easily made-up. She could have done a quick Google search, meshed a bunch of mafia-esque stories together, and offered us some juicy tidbits to keep us going.

I had expected that to be the end of her - I had expected Arlo to chalk the entire thing up to a bad idea and send her packing. Instead, he invited her to the burlesque club. And even then, I had expected her to decline - to argue that such an unsavory establishment wasn’t fit for her. And yet she surprised me by diving straight in. At one point, she actually looked like she had been enjoying herself, her eyes never straying from the show. The burlesque club was surprisingly one of our least unsavory ventures.

Everything about her screamed to me that she didn’t belong in our world. Her clothing tended to highlight the subtlety of her curves and her edges, leaving you wondering what lay beneath, and the beast in me wanted to discover if she tasted as expensive as she looked. Even her name wasn’t the run-of-the-mill bullshit I was used to. I was so accustomed to the Candy’s of this fucking world, willing to strip at the drop of a dollar, and when I deigned to take someone to an event or even out in public with me - they knew the drill - they needed to look the part, talk intelligence and keep their pretty little lips sealed when it came to me and mine. Corinne was a brat, and I wouldn’t tolerate her and her bullshit - I did not know where to place her, I just knew that she needed to leave. That she did not belong in my world, despite Arlo’s insistence.

My gut was telling me that she was the real deal, but I couldn’t trust it. I couldn’t trust in some mumbo jumbo Magick to protect us when protection for me meant using my gun. And perhaps there was a key difference between safety and protection. And then, of course, added to the mix was the fact that Sergei hired his own little Witch, the fucker. The non-skeptical part of me wondered if that was why everything had gone to shit so quickly.

Could that petite little thing across the hall help us? Did we want her to?

I stood up to pace, my loafers walking me straight towards my door and I lingered there for a moment before making the snap decision to step into the hallway. If she was going to be protecting us, I needed to see how. I needed to understand that on some base level that this could work, and that we weren’t fucking crazy. Had I been disillusioned this entire time? Did all organisations have a Witch on standby?

Without thinking about it too much, I rapped my knuckles against her door.

“Come in,” her voice carried towards me, she sounded distracted - distant somehow. Not that I knew her well enough to determine such things. Perhaps she was in shock from today? That was the last thing we needed - our Witch to be in shock about our dealings. Exhaling loudly, I cracked my neck and opened her door.

The warm, inviting smell of vanilla curled around me, beckoning me forth. I would be a liar if I said that I hadn't come to associate that smell with her. In the day - one fucking day - that I had known her, the alluring smell of vanilla seemed to coat my tongue and accost my nostrils, only when she was around, of course. Initially, I thought that it was her Magick - or the hat-trick readings that she was pushing as Magick - perhaps some herbs and spices she carried around with her, but when we were in the stairwell, and then the elevator, I realised that that smell was all her. That vanilla scent that went straight to my cock was all Corinne. And that was a fucking problem. Because she had no business being here.

I entered, finding Corinne cross legged, seated in the middle of the bed staring at the cards spread before her.

She was wearing grey fluffy winter pyjamas, a series of moons in various phases and an array of stars were printed across the material - in the middle of a New Orleans summer. I blinked, certain that when I opened my eyes again I would be able to chalk her winter attire up to an illusion, maybe something that I had envisioned on account of how utterly fucking ridiculous I found Corinne and her Club. Instead, I was confronted with the same image - Corinne wrapped up warmly and shivering.

New Orleans offered the type of heat that settled upon you relentlessly, ensuring that sweat collected at the small of your back as soon as you stepped out of the shower. That was why our house was fully fitted with temperature control, each room having their own keypad which allowed anyone to change their temperature to their preferred setting. I glared at the central vent in the ceiling that remained unmoving - she had turned the damn thing off so that no cooling whatsoever would occur within her room.

Was that why she wore that monstrous sleep wear? How the fuck did one get cold during a New Orleans summer?

At a loss of how to approach the subject, I scratched the back of my head and offered, "If you're cold, we can simply turn the heating up in your room?"

I didn't want it to sound like a question. I wasn't usually this fuckimg uncertain - about anything, but seeing her shivering, despite her winter wear in this unbearable heat, left me wondering what the hell I had missed.

A frown crested her brow as she remained still, staring down at the cards as if they somehow offered her solutions to all life's problems, and I suppose to her, they did.

I cleared my throat, a civil attempt to gain her attention. The last time I was left feeling this uncertain was when I was a schoolboy hovering in the doorway of Mr. Mendleson's office as I was called in on account of my suspension. Even then, I knew what was coming and I was nervous.

Is that what this was? Was I nervous around Corinne? The idea seemed preposterous, and yet, here I was, sweating like a schoolboy.

I don't think I'd ever really had to work for someone's attention before.

Finally, she looked up at me, her grey eyes wide and almost shocked to see me there, standing in her room. She looked so young this way, skittish even. Not at all like the stuck up societal princess I had been engaging with up to date.

"What?" she said uneloquently, and I had to suppress my smile. I liked seeing her like this, she was slightly incoherent and utterly dishevelled. Perhaps a change of attire, but I liked her like this more than I should.