Arlo was the first one to speak, to break the silence. “May I ask you what you pick up on when looking at me?”
His question was so unexpected that it took me a moment to collect myself - to ensure that my face wasn’t plastered with surprise before I responded.
I furrowed my brow. “Sure, I don’t have my cards, but I can try.”
He gave me a small, tight lipped smile and dread pooled in my stomach. Nervous anticipation and dread.
“Give me your palm,” I shook it off and waited for some sort of connection with him. This type of reading was difficult because I was opening up myself to Arlo’s energy - his thoughts and memories. Sometimes such channeling came through as fragmented pieces, whilst other times the image was whole, filled out neatly. In both instances, those memories, images, and thoughts were always skewered by the client's perspective - you couldn’t experience such things without their personal bias coming through.
My hand felt clammy as my thumb grazed Arlo’s palm. His weathered hands were still so much larger than mine - so much more capable.
The connection was instantaneous, my Magick sparking to life from just beneath the surface. His life line had a distinct break in it and as I raised my gaze to his, I understood, I understood everything he wanted me to know so much that I struggled not to yank my hand away and wipe my palm against my shorts. Palm reading wasn’t my forte - some other girls in the Club, yes - but I was always more comfortable with my cards. And yet, the message was so glaringly obvious. A Kaleidoscope of images of his life flowed through my mind’s eye
Arlo looking at someone so like Dimitri that I heard the sound of the small intake of breath as it left my lips.
A fireplace crackled, heat radiating off of the logs, the flames dancing in delight at the news. Arlo handed his son a glass of vodka, nodding his head with a smile.
“We will put extra protection in place for Alina, don’t let that worry take away from this joyous news.”
The man who looked so much like Dimitri smiled in acknowledgement, the tension never leaving his shoulders.
“This is a joyous celebration - it’s not everyday that a man discovers he will become a father - that he has the opportunity to expand his business, leave a legacy for his children,” Arlo pressed on.
Dimitri’s father’s smile wavered slightly before he found his voice,
“Alina is worried about this child living under constant threat,” he confessed, “she’s worried that he won’t have a normal upbringing - that he’ll be deprived true childhood experiences.”
“Of course he won’t have a normal upbringing,” Arlo scoffed, “he will be born into the organisation, he will be groomed to take over one day - the same as you were, and really, what’s better than that?”
The two men drank their whiskey watching the crackling of the flames, neither one speaking, having no words to offer one another.
The image changed, and suddenly Arlo was sitting in an aircraft, bouncing around in turbulence.
His fingers curled around the glass as he threw back yet another shot of whiskey. How could this have happened? How could they have ambushed them in their own home - while Dimitri was there?
Arlo motioned the air-hostess towards him, indicating another round - even if it was just for him. He sat there, mentally planning everything he needed to do. He needed to plan a funeral - a fucking funeral - for his only son and his wife.
And Dimitri? He couldn’t very well stay with Arlo permanently, not when revenge needed to be exacted, not when he would make sure that the streets of New Orleans would bleed. No, Dimitri could go to boarding school - this distance may even be good for him.
The next image was of Arlo standing in a principal's office, his hands tucked deeply into the pockets of his grey suit pants, his demeanor at ease and relaxed as he lectured the principle.
“I don’t care, Mr. Hammond,” Arlo’s voice was firm and brusque.
“And let me tell you why I don’t care,” he continued.
“I don’t care because our family donates a large sum to your school annually, that kind of money should more than suffice for you to turn a blind eye. And,” he paused for dramatic effect, “if you still deem that an unfulfilling reason, then perhaps I should remind you who we are.”
The principal swallowed audibly, “I’m not trying to be unreasonable,” he countered, “but Dimitri blew up the entire science laboratory - surely you can see that there needs to be repercussions for those actions.”
“From my understanding,” Arlo volleyed back, “Dimitri was attempting to make a bomb.”
The principal began interrupting Arlo, but Arlo simply raised his hand, silencing him as he continued, “Now I don’t pretend to know why Dimitri attempted such a creaton, but I do know that in our line of business, such a skill isn’t entirely unuseful.”
The two men glared at one another, the principal being the first to look away.
“I suggest, Mr. Hammond, that you use some of that donation money we so kindly give to your school, to build a new lab. In fact, you can build five different labs for all I care, but understand this, Dimitri will not be suspended, he will remain in your care for the duration of his schooling.”
The silence stretched, taut and uncomfortable.