Allegories of the Tarot (30 page)

“What’s wrong with me?” Waves of heat crested within her
chest, crashing against her lungs and robbing them of air. She struggled to
breathe, the fire in her throat charring each effort.

“It’s a glorious day. Come.” He offered his hand to her.
“I’ll show you how to thrive.”

I fed off the
energy of others to survive but never to the point of killing them.
Never to the point of turning them, either.
I like to think
I have some semblance of humanity left within me. If that ever fails, all hope
will be lost.

And so began my
descent into hell, accompanied by an unholy angel.

***

Her thoughts reaching outward again, Renae picked
another card from the deck and turned it over, her eyes squeezing shut at the
sight.
True enough. He wove his decadent
magic around my throat like a collar made of velvet but as unbreakable as an
iron clamp.

Renae felt Fen’s presence now as he walked through the
penthouse.
Smelled the scent of another woman’s perfume
lingering about him like a wisp of fog trying to hide from the rays of the sun.
Conjured a mental image of his red hair awash with golden
light as he strode down the hallway toward his private rooms in the penthouse,
the floor-to-ceiling windows casting a blazing trail in his honor.

Everything seemed to be in his honor. The viper charmed
the masses. They gave themselves over to Fen without question. He might soon
hold the fate of the world in his hands.

Adulation fed him well enough but a small number of
spent bodies weren’t uncommon, either. No one noticed the missing. Magic took
care of the evidence, turned away the questions.

A few, like her, he kept in servitude, turning them for
his private entertainment.
His private soldiers.
His private worshippers.

She’d even married him, a disgrace Renae would never be
able to overcome, much less explain. He needed an image. She gave him her soul.

Twisting and tumbling along the road of this insane
odyssey with a man poised to inherit the political world, Renae happened upon a
splinter of hope from an unlikely source, in a place where no hope had any
right to exist. A turn of fortune materialized during a chance encounter in New
Orleans five months ago.

The mirror mocked her now, daring her to draw the next
card. Renae held her breath, her fingers tingling as they hovered over the
backs of the Tarot cards. How many times had she gotten the wrong answer in the
months since? She touched the deck and pleaded with any spirit listening.
Let it be today.

A whoosh of breath escaped her lips as she pulled the
card. Yes. Renae felt the wheel spin as she dropped the card down on the altar
in front of her.

***

The tiny shop sat back from the alley in a rundown
section of town, a place where you know the voodoo is authentic and sane people
don’t venture into the shadows.

No one’s accused
me of being sane lately.
The very idea tickled Renae’s long-forgotten sense
of humor.
A joke at her expense.
The thought appealed
to her.

The shop door stood open, inviting Renae in along with
the humidity of the summer day. An old woman appraised her from behind the back
counter, a smile touching the corners of her mouth enough to give her a benign
countenance. Renae didn’t believe it for one moment. She felt the power rolling
off this dangerous woman. The prospect excited her.

“You be far from home, needing more help than you’ve a
right to ask for.” The Cajun queen laughed, her voice sounding like textured
silk rasping against sand. Eyes snapping with black fire burned their way into
Renae’s mind, leaving her feeling as if she had a gaping hole in her forehead. “You
know who you be tied to? He
rise
from the ashes.
Fortune don’t play
no
role for him.”

“Please. There must be some way. I know you can help me.
I can feel it.” Renae knew she’d give this woman anything she had,
plead
for as long as it took.

“Maybe.
No telling how fate
might twist the intent. Just so you know. I may have something to ease the
pain.”

A raucous sound rolled from the woman, more like
gathering spirits to do her bidding than anything resembling a laugh. The air
around the Cajun spun, her black hair whipping upwards in a funnel, snakelike,
twisting into an emotion fraught with seduction and easy magic lying there for
the taking.

Renae blinked and the room around her settled into a
shop once more, the seething energies held back in an uneasy truce. Her spine
crawled with unaccustomed trepidation but she stood her ground, refusing to
look away from the obsidian eyes staring her down, the mouth curved as if ready
for trouble.

The woman sauntered over to a shelf at the back of the
shop, plucking an hourglass from it and spinning back to Renae in one quick
movement. She tapped the hourglass three times in rapid succession. Something
inside the sand repeated the beat like an echo, the color of the granules
turning from a vibrant blue to that which was found on a stroll along the
beach.

Renae kept her unease to herself. After all, she had
asked for help and only the strongest magic had any hope of succeeding. Still,
the wrongness pounded a drumbeat of doom within her, the message intoxicating
at the same time.
The lure of the darkness ready to savage
the unwary.

The Cajun queen held the relic aloft, away from her
body, and studied Renae for a few moments before speaking. “When the time
arrives for you, the cycle will end. Your journey comes to a close, and a new
beginning spreads before you. Rebirth is possible if you do not waiver. There’s
only one escape, one chance. You await the world. To move before the moment of
clarity brings you nothing.”

Renae nodded her understanding.

My
chance at redemption.

***

One card to go.
Then she’d know
for sure. Trembling fingers slid along one card to the next before coming to
rest on what Renae hoped was her redemption. A tear formed in her eye as she
laid it above the others. This was her card, the answer to her question.

The World.

Renae picked up the hourglass, careful to keep it away
from her body as the energy vibrated down her arm, restlessly seeking what the
voodoo woman called “an awakening.” She walked past the windows in the hallway,
the sunlight dimming now as storm clouds gathered outside. The soft carpet
beneath her bare feet beckoned to Renae to lay down her burden and rest. Forget
her plans. It would all work out if she kept quiet.

Only the pull of the hourglass held in front of her kept
Renae going, the energy contained within jumping with a frenzy of kinetic
activity. The sand still didn’t move between the two chambers but rather surged
in place, as if experiencing a tidal pull inside the glass. The motion drew her
eye and she quickened her steps. The sooner she got rid of this dark magic, the
better.

Fen lay on the wide bed asleep, his chest bare, his hair
a tousle of flaming color against the pillow. Renae almost wept at the thought
of destroying such beauty. Only the knowledge of his blackened depths drove her
on.

She placed the hourglass on Fen’s chest, directly over
his heart, hoping the Cajun queen’s knowledge held true. The voodoo woman had
said the object would hold him in stasis. If not, Renae had no doubt these
would be the last moments of her life.

Better to die
trying than not to try at all.

His body trembled but he didn’t wake. Renae let go of the
breath she held and watched in terror as fangs appeared in the sand for a brief
moment before sinking back down again.

Inside the hourglass, the sand turned red in a blaze of
glowing fire, as if kissed by the sunset. Fen’s body jerked several times in spasms,
then stilled, his breath fading as his lungs ceased to function.

There would be recriminations. Wars could start over his
death as factions accused each other of conspiracy. Renae might be blamed as
well—only fitting as it would be the truth—but standing aside and doing nothing
to stop his intentions would have been a far greater evil.
Even
if she were the only one who could see it.
The only one who knew him for
what he truly was.
The only one capable of stopping him
before he destroyed free will.

Her pulse gave a savage kick as Fen’s body crumbled to
dust, a desiccated wasteland lying on the mattress, the room eerily silent but
for a gentle hissing sound emanating from the sand in the hourglass. Renae
wondered for a moment what those fangs belonged to before deciding she didn’t
want to know. The sand itself started moving again, its new color causing each
grain to seem like a tiny drop of blood dripping into a pool of the stuff. She
tore her gaze away from the sight as her stomach did a slow flip, holding the
offensive timepiece away from her body with a straight arm as she made her way
back to the altar.

Whatever happened, it was the end of the threat. The
world could re-group, start anew. So could she, even if it was from inside a
jail cell. At least she’d know she made the right decision.

The candlelight sputtered and flared as she knelt in
front of the altar and stared into the mirror once more. The flames briefly
consumed her image before settling back down, as if something in the aether
called out to the fire, giving it renewed life. The smell of cinnamon filled
the room, turning sweet, cloying, combining with a burnt stench, which
assaulted Renae’s nose.

Something in her peripheral vision moved, a shadow
sending chills to roll along her spine. She turned her head with reluctance,
afraid of what she’d find.

Nothing but empty space.
I’m alone in the room
. The realization
surprised her.

When she turned back, the mirror had iced over, its
surface showing jagged cracks within the white. It caught Renae in a trance,
the cold numbing all movement.
Casting out all reason.
Tightening the grip of fear.

The moisture heated again to room temperature, melting
in rivulets along the length of the mirror. It seemed to be crying fat tears,
showing the tracks on Renae’s reflected cheeks.
Cheeks no
longer under her control.

The face in the
mirror is still mine but belongs to Fen now. I’m floating somewhere behind him,
off to his left, insubstantial and helpless.
A wraith,
nothing more.

The reflected image dissolved, re-emerged as Fen once
more. Like the Phoenix, he had emerged from the ashes to start anew.
The perfect ruler.
Feared as the
antichrist by some, adored by many more.
Free to steal their will, their
power,
their
lives.

And I helped him
do it.

He smiles as if he
can sense me drifting over his shoulder. Perhaps he can.

The sound of a
Cajun queen’s laughter fills my mind as fear of this new existence extinguishes
all hope.

Welcome to
eternity.

***

Laura Eno
.
Speculative Fiction
wordsmith.
Author of fifteen novels and novellas ranging from fantasy to
romance to horror, she also has stories included in nineteen published
anthologies.

The secret to her stories?
Spread lies, blend in truths,
add
a pinch of snark and
a dash of tears. Escape into her world. She left the porch light on so you can
find your way down the rabbit hole.

Find her here:
Amazon

###

AFTERWORDS FROM THE EDITOR

“Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up.”
(To quote one of my favorite movies.)

Putting together this anthology has been one of the most
amazing experiences of my life. Right from the very beginning, this whole crazy
idea clicked so hard I’d swear it registered 10.0 on the Richter scale.

I had the idea for an anthology based on the Major
Arcana of the Tarot for months. I wasn’t quite sure how to pull it off, but
after much thinking and losing sleep, the idea just wouldn’t go away. I figured
it this way—it was never going to happen if I didn’t make it happen.

I know and work with some of the most amazing writers on
the planet. I can never express my gratitude for the way this group pulled
together and supported the concept. From donations to working the social media
platforms to help with funding; from services to ideas and getting their
stories in on time…it’s just been a dream come true.

And the STORIES! The talent of these writers just blew
my socks clean off. I can’t say I was surprised, because I know them and their
work, but as one fiction freak to another, let me just say I am so proud of
each and every writer in this anthology I can hardly contain myself.

If you like what you read, please consider reviewing and
spreading the word. Support your favorite authors by visiting their websites,
and don’t be shy! We all love hearing from our readers, because YOU are the
reason we do this.

In other words, THIS FICTION IS FOR YOU. I hope you love
it.

~Netta the Editah

THANKS AND GRATITUDE

Thanks to Mr. X for his donation of time and our
beautiful website at
allegoriesofthetarot.com

Thank you to Eden Baylee for her unflagging efforts as
the Twitter Queen and the force behind
@AllegoriesTarot
.

Much appreciation to Badass Marketing
for the push for launch and the blog tour.

Thanks to Clive Aryn Arnold for the use of his lovely
artwork and to Valerie Bellamy for her mad formatting skills and who took this
book to a higher level. Not to mention her unflagging patience.