The Necromancer ✓

Chapter Thirteen

The thing about Death, the tarot card, is that it doesn't always mean death, exactly. But then, around here, death rarely meant death, anyway. There are lots of different kinds of death, from the great ender, to the small, internal death. I remember reading something about that. I think it went, 'I die a little inside, every time we say goodbye.'

So Death, as a card, means something more like, 'something ends,' than 'someone dies.' The knight of swords came up in the cross position.

"Who could that be?" Catriona said.

"Kieran," I whispered, "or Zephan."

Catriona didn't say anything, but continued turning the cards. The five of pentacles appeared above, the devil below. The queen of swords appeared in the recent past.

"That's you," I said to Catriona.

"Flattering," she said, "but not necessarily true."

"It's always you," I said. The queen of swords was an intelligent woman that you could turn to with your problems. There wasn't anyone else in my life who fit that role, so it had to be Cat.

She turned the next card, the near future. It was the five of wands. I frowned, trying to remember what that one meant.

"Problems," Cat said, supplying me with the answer. "But you don't know where they've come from." The next card was the questioner. It was the knight of wands. "Influenced by a young man," she said, glancing from the knight of wands to the knight of swords, "another one."

I felt warmth rise into my cheeks and knew that I was blushing.

"You can tell that by these cards?" my mother asked, leaning over to look at them.

"This one," Catriona pointed at the knights, "and this one. See? They're both young men, but very different. Swords represent air, the mind. The confident, social aspects of humanity. Wands are fire. Passion." She turned the next card, somewhat absently. "The moon. You cannot see things clearly." The next card was the king of cups. "Another man, Laurel?"

I shrugged. Cups were water, emotion. They could represent someone, or something who was somewhat unorthodox, different. I wondered who I knew like that. The king was an older man.

"Jack," I said eventually.

"The giant man?" my mother said, disapprovingly.

"Just because they're in the cards, doesn't mean they're romantically involved," Catriona pointed out.

"No," I tossed my hair out of my face, "we're politically involved." An awkward silence filled the room.

"Last card?" Cat asked. It was the card that signified the next half year. I nodded. She turned the card over. "Judgement."

The thing about Judgement, the tarot card, is that it only tells you that it's happening. It doesn't tell you who will be judged, or who will do the judging. The most notable absence, though, of all the things the card doesn't tell you, is that it doesn't say if, when the judgement comes, you'll be enough.

"Catriona," Karlotta said, once Cat had left, "seems to have been really good for you." She said the words slowly, as though they felt strange, in her mouth. But she said them.

"She has," I said. "She's taught me a lot."

"She clearly cares a lot about you."

"I know." In many ways, Catriona was the only mother I'd had. She loved me, and took care of me, and taught me how to take care of myself. She sympathized with me, and was always ready to give me advice. She was the mother of my heart, and of my mind, but the mother of my flesh had still rejected me, and no amount of caring could make up for that.