The High Priestess (The Tarot Club 3)

All concepts that I understood, but had yet to experience.

With the last card remaining - the three of swords - the card of heartbreak. Three swords jarred out at me, each one stuck into a heart indicating the depth of betrayal experienced. Was the Demon about to betray me?

No. He couldn't betray me, not when I intended to kill him first.

By the time the white canvas of my tent seemed to turn luminescent with the sun’s glow, I was dressed and ready to face the day - to face my grandmother’s people. The heat made wearing the customary color - black - for mourning almost unbearable, and for a moment I wanted to break tradition and stride out in a dress made of white cotton material, the fabric light and cool against my skin, but that would not only be seen as an insult towards my grandmother, but also to her people.

Instead, I donned a black button-down shirt dress, complete with color and belt. I rolled up the sleeves, hoping that that small action would bring about some reprieve. I paired the ensemble off with boots out of pure practicality because I needed my feet protected as I stomped across the fields, uncertain of what my hosting duties would have entailed.

Few were awake and moving across the field, but I noted that one of Marta’s girls had already re-started a large fire, where coffee was brewing for all as she worked a series of outdoor camping items that made these tasks that much simpler.

Marta was nowhere to be seen, and as for Julian, I had no doubt that he was still curled up in bed, having passed out from the festivities. Some habits didn’t break.

And with my own people still asleep, I was surprised to find Nicu seated next to the fire, coffee cup already in hand.

“The heir has awakened.” His grin was all charm, but his words set me on edge because I was not the heir of this clan. I was nothing to them - the fact that I had been excluded from my grandmother’s wailing only solidified that notion. Instead, I offered him a tight smile - a greeting of my own as I sat down across from him, Marta’s girl scurrying forward to hand me my own cup of caffeine.

“Are you always an early riser?” Nicu didn’t seem content to remain silent, pushing my thoughts in a direction I hadn’t paid much heed to.

I raised a brow in response. “Is that you’re opening line? Aren’t you supposed to be a politician? I thought politician’s were sauve.”

The spluttered laughter he offered me was a welcome sound, and suddenly I felt as if we were on even footing once more. Because I didn’t want to be seen as the heir to this clan - didn’t want to be seen as anything more than Jeanne des Montagnes’ granddaughter - didn’t want to be seen as someone who belonged here. Because I had decided long ago that I didn’t, and so this could only ever be passing through.

But Nicu didn’t need to know that.

“I should never have expected things to be easy with you.”

That statement struck me cold. Was that why he was here? To gain a wife? It wasn’t unheard of amongst our people, but such pairings were usually negotiated between the elders, and never this late in life.

At the age of twenty-four, I was considered ancient amongst our people - past marriageable material, and yet here Nicu sat, a shark circling the waters. Perhaps he was simply looking for weakness, looking at how he may move into what was Jeanne des Montagnes’ territory.

“Presumptuous of you to expect anything from me considering the last time I met you we were but babes.”

“Did I say expect?” He flashed his politician grin at me and I was disappointed to note that I felt nothing beneath his gaze. “I hoped because what does a man have if not for hope?” The sight of his lips did not warm my blood, the widening of his thighs as he repositioned himself in his seat did nothing to pique my interest.

Had the Demon somehow broken me? Did my body only respond to him? Or was it simply because I was back home and I still viewed Nicu as one of them?

Still, I did not drop the smile from my lips as I rolled my eyes, pushing down the nothingness I felt for him.

“I’m sure all your girlfriends eat up the lines you peddle, but you can keep the politician's charm to yourself. Here we have no use for such fanciful titles and affairs.”

“You say that, and yet whispers on the wind tell me that you don’t plan on staying here - you don’t even live here, and you are as much a stranger to these people as I am.”

“I am a des Montagnes.” I gave him a nonsensical answer as I shrugged, swallowing down my panic. Merde. Julian and I had not prepared for this - we hadn’t spoken strategy or planned a damn thing except for the fact that I would be here.

“As I am a Baciu, but that doesn’t mean my people understand my decisions - my motivations, any more than your people understand yours.”

"They don't need to understand your motivations in order to respect the Magick." A figure cut across the distance and I stood up without meaning to, straining to see if the dark-haired male was who I thought he was. As the man turned his head, I realized his profile was all wrong, and that it might be too early for the Demon to come out and play.

But that sudden jolt to attention made it difficult to sit back down and resume my conversation, and in truth, I wasn't certain I wanted to. Instead, I saluted him with my mug, offering a lame "duty calls", before trudging away from him towards the now rousing crowd.

It was no secret that the Baciu's were Magickally blessed, just as it was no secret that the des Montagnes' were powerful. I knew that Nicu practiced the craft, I just didn't know how powerful he was.

***

CORTLAND

I had spent the day watching the Witch from afar, gauging her interest in the Romanian man, but the two kept a wide berth from one another, almost as if they were avoiding each other.