1 Chapter 1

1: The Tarot Reading

“And this was paid for?” I asked the woman as I seated myself opposite her. She nodded, and began to shuffle a pack of Tarot cards. I was intrigued, I had to admit it—had been since I’d gotten the phone message telling me that a Tarot card reading had been gifted me by a friend, and could I phone to book an appointment?

The Hazelton Avenue address was no surprise. Hazelton is located in Yorkville, which, fifty years ago, had been the center of hippie-dom in Toronto. My supervisor at the university—an old hippie if ever there was one—had told me he had “many warm memories” of that community. So, I decided what the hell, and booked the appointment. It was free, after all!

I located the place: Tarot Readings with Danielle, a free-standing sign at the front, pointing to the back, basement entrance to the old Victorian house. I also noted that other, more disturbing services were offered too: Most accurate fortune teller, horoscope, Tarot reading expert, astrology readings, reunite lovers, black magic removal, curses, cleans spirit.

I hesitated then. The terms “black magic” and “curses” made me uncomfortable to begin with. And then there was the wording of the list: curseswere mentioned, but was that removal of, or casting of?

But, like I said, I was intrigued. So, shrugging off my nagging doubts—and telling myself I didn’t believe in this sort of thing anyway—went between the houses to the back door.

Danielle looked normal enough, though she did have long black hair in a kerchief, and very dark, serious eyes. Her dress, sandy-colored, might have come out of the 1960s, but she certainly hadn’t; she might have been forty, but not much beyond that. She led me into what she called her reading room, which, yes, had silky draperies over the three adjacent doorways. She told me to sit down at a small, round table, and seating herself opposite, picked up the deck of cards.

Then, somewhat to my surprise, she began to lay cards on the table, six cards in a cross: four positioned around two that were placed, one on top of the other, the top card placed sideways to the first.

“Huh,” I murmured, watching this. “A cross within a cross.”

The woman paused in her laying of cards at this, and looked up at me. “I beg your pardon?” she said. I started at this, and, feeling embarrassed at her serious expression, shrugged.

“Oh.” I pointed to the two overlaid cards. “It’s just, those two form a cross, don’t they? And, well, they’re at the center of the bigger cross formed by the four cards around them.”

The woman seemed to be searching my face, as if looking for something. But finally, she gave a low grunt and returned to laying down the cards. To the right of the cross she laid four cards in a column.

“This is called the Celtic cross spread,” she explained. “It’s a favorite of mine, actually.” She glanced up and gave me a professional smile. Then, without commenting on the cards, she gathered them in and began shuffling again. I was a bit taken aback by this, but relieved too. It had bothered me that she had begun to lay out the cards just as I had sat down—it seemed a cheat somehow. I mean, what was there that could make such a reading personal to mein those circumstances?

I wanted to ask how the reading worked, but the woman’s reaction to my observation about the cross-within-a-cross decided me to say nothing further, to ask no questions that might be deemed disrespectful of the Tarot reading process. I would just sit back and let the woman do her stuff—enjoy the show, as it were, especially since it was on someone else’s dime.

Now she finished shuffling the cards and handed me the pack. I looked at her, and she nodded. “Just shuffle them, as much as you want. And, as you do that, think of your current situation, your desires, and your life in general.”

I felt a slight thrill of excitement. Thiswas better! At least now the reading, whatever it said, had the appearanceof being related to me personally. As I shuffled the cards, I became aware, to my surprise, of feeling both silly and also a bit nervous. Like a magician’s assistant, I didn’t want to screw up, certainly. But there was something else, here, something beneath that. Could it be an actual nervousness at dealing with the supernatural?

I struggled with this thought as I shuffled, and it was with a certain amount of relief that I handed the pack back to the woman. She immediately began to lay out cards in the same pattern and order as the previous time. Her manner, however, was considerably different. In the previous layout, she had dealt the cards in a rapid, confident manner.