Three of Pentacles

 

XVIII

Dabber

Ink bled from her eyes, spilling onto the pages—poetry, consultations, the intricate spreads of her card decks. The ink carried her words, her craft, her livelihood. And now, it stained this single page of her client logs, one she planned to reduce to ash.

Could one exist in the present while actively reaching for the past? She had spent years guided by unseen forces, extending her hand to seekers who came searching, lost souls who became her people. Yet, none unsettled her quite like the woman with disheveled red locks and piercing gray eyes. Even now, the memory sent a shiver through her. That day, the facade she had worn so well did not merely slip—it abandoned her entirely. The moment the woman entered, the air in the studio shifted, the very essence of the space bending to her presence. She had opened a door to something deeper, a past neither truth nor lie, a realm of possibility alone. A place of Israeliyat—believed by none, denied by none.

The woman who waited now had no knowledge of the one who came before her. At 2:30, the temple—her studio—stood ready for the next arrival. A notification from her receptionist confirmed the 3 PM appointment. The preparations were almost complete. She switched off the stark white overhead lights, letting the warm golden glow take their place. The sound of flowing water mingled with the melancholic hum of an oriental flute and guitar, weaving an atmosphere meant to disarm. The air, thick with the scents of herbal tea, cinnamon, and burnt sage, carried the weight of secrets. Smoke curled lazily from the yellow bowl where the sage still smoldered, and the flickering candlelight cast shifting shadows across the walls. This was a space where guards were lowered, where the unseen whispered, where fate turned its gaze.

And soon, the next seeker would step inside...

.

.

.

Jessica Silvano- May 3rd, 2003 (The day of the visit from the mysterious client) 

Jessica was in her late thirties, though life had worn her down far beyond her years. Her spirit, heavy and weathered, betrayed the toll of secrets kept and burdens carried.

The air in the room thickened with the aroma of my special tea, a brew designed not just to soothe, but to loosen the veils between reality and the otherworldly. The tea wasn't for relaxation alone; it allowed me to watch them, to catch the subtleties they would otherwise hide. It was her second visit this month. The first had been shrouded in hesitation, her answers guarded, her intentions unclear. But now, the reason for her uncertainty was unfurling, bit by bit.

As she fidgeted with her wedding band, her fingers twisting and turning the metal, I caught the subtle signs she couldn't—or wouldn't—suppress. The flicker of unease in her eyes as she introduced herself as Jessica Silvano, only to backtrack, offering her maiden name instead. The subtle reveal: uncertainty, conflict, and unspoken questions that hung between us like a heavy fog. Is he cheating? Is she?

The cards had not yet been drawn, but I already knew the answers. I spoke with a voice that had long been honed, soft as honey yet laced with a certainty that only the mystic could possess. "Don't worry, darling. He will come around."

Her breath caught in her throat, doubt clouding her expression as it had when she first entered. But now, it shifted—skepticism melting into a mixture of fear and something else: hope, fragile and trembling.

"Really?" she whispered, barely daring to believe.

"Of course," I reassured her, my voice flowing like silk, smooth and unwavering. "But you must take a deep breath, and trust me to guide both your souls through the ether and back. It is time to make amends."

I let the words linger in the air, heavy with their weight, before adding with an air of inevitability, "Let's draw some cards first."

The process unfolded as it always did—strange, unexplainable, yet undeniably accurate. She sat across from me, her fingers still absently twisting that ring, her mind caught between tension and hope, her nails picking at their cuticles like a dance of nerves.

I extended my hand towards hers. A gesture of connection, of trust.

She hesitated, then placed her palm in mine.

I squeezed her hand gently, a silent reassurance.

"Relax," I murmured sotto voce, more to myself than to her, as the energies swirled and the cards began to speak.

...

Jessica left quietly, her footsteps barely audible on the creaky wooden floor. The door closed behind her with a soft click, but the weight of her presence lingered, like the faintest echo. She had stayed longer than expected, the hours stretching from 3 to 5 PM, but in the end, I had said what she needed to hear. She left behind only the usual traces of doubt—no deeper transformation, just reassurance for the path ahead.

I took a slow, cleansing breath, letting the air fill my lungs. The room felt empty now, the warmth of the tea she'd sipped lingering in the air, the scents of sage and cinnamon still swirling around me. The music faded into the background, becoming part of the atmosphere. The hour was late. I glanced at the clock: 5:15 PM. It was time to close up for the evening.

I turned toward the desk where my receptionist was typing away, her fingers moving quickly over the keys. "Everything good?" I asked, my voice cutting through the stillness of the room.

She glanced up, her brow furrowing. "All clear. No one else scheduled," she answered, her eyes momentarily distant, as though she hadn't quite shaken off the quiet stillness of the room.

I nodded, preparing to close shop and turn in for the night, but something—something—was gnawing at me, pulling my attention toward the door. It was a faint sensation, a flicker at the edge of my mind, like the whisper of something forgotten. It was almost imperceptible, but it was there.

And then, just as I was about to step away from the desk, I heard it: the faintest chime of the doorbell. Soft, almost too quiet to notice. But it was there.

I froze, every muscle in my body tensing. My eyes snapped to the door. It had to be someone else, some latecomer. The lingering feeling of an unanswered question clung to me, pulling me toward the door.

The receptionist looked up, her expression confused. "Is someone coming in?" she asked, her voice unsure.

I walked toward the door slowly, cautiously, the sensation still swirling in the air, thickening as if something—or someone—was just beyond the threshold.

I reached for the handle, and when I opened the door, the hallway outside was empty. No footsteps. No figures lurking in the shadows. Yet...

The air felt different. Lighter. Almost as if the weight of the space had shifted, as though something unseen had pressed against it. It was the same feeling I'd had in my dreams—the visions of red hair, sharp gray eyes—except now, it was real. The woman I had glimpsed in my visions was somehow here.

I stood frozen in the doorway, my breath shallow, the presence overwhelming. But there was no one. No one physically standing there. Just an empty hallway that stretched in both directions. My mind reeled. How was this possible?

I turned back to the receptionist, who was still looking at me with a mix of curiosity and concern. "Did anyone come in after Jessica left?" I asked, my voice quiet but edged with a tension I couldn't shake.

She blinked up at me, looking momentarily perplexed. "No one else has entered, just you and Jessica."

I felt the weight of her words but couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, something beyond the ordinary, something I couldn't explain. My fingers trembled slightly as I closed the door, but the presence lingered—deep, powerful, and unknowable.

I turned back to my receptionist. "You didn't feel anything unusual, did you?"

She shook her head, still puzzled. "No... nothing."

I wasn't sure what I felt, but I knew it wasn't over. Not by a long shot.