Minor Arcana, Major Faux Paus
“Which makes a better Solstice Gift? The Hundred Gods Tarot or the Jangalian Eidolon Deck? I want one that’s good for beginners, but, you know, gets the backstories correct.” A pale human woman with freckles and long red dreadlocks jutted her chin towards a row of plastic wrapped tarot decks on the counter behind Nat. The shop smelled like patchouli constantly, but somehow this woman seemed to radiate that heavy musk from every pore. Nat blinked, trying not to breathe too deeply, and glanced at the stack of tarot cards on display. The tarot cards that Inanni had definitely told her to familiarize herself with. Which she definitely had not done.
“Uh…” How hard can this be? Sell a deck of cards. Should be easy. She passed over a couple neatly wrapped cellophane blocks and began to shuffle through the demo deck. The woman’s eyes widened in shock and Nat’s hands faltered temporarily. “What?”
“You just…shuffled them. Without…?” The woman - Redlocks, Nat thought automatically, then kicked herself - seemed to reel at this. A bead of sweat tickled uncomfortably under the collar of Nat’s work shirt. Shuffling a tarot deck was apparently not what one did? Fumbling, Nat held up a card for the customer. A snake headed god with a pair of cutting shears bent over three silver cords, nearly about to slice. The wide, shaky lines and saturated colors reminded Nat of a child’s drawing, but not half bad besides that. “This one was the one on the box cover. Pretty neat.”
“Therantus as a portent of change? The god of knowledge? With shears?” Redlocks wrinkled her nose at the Aasimar. “You’re joking right?
I don’t know lady, I just work here. Out loud, she said, “O-of course. Therantus? Big T? Shears? There’s no way.” A sneer curled the woman’s lip, and heat colored Nat’s cheeks a deep fuschia.
“And the Jangalian Eidolon Oracle?” She gestured to the other wrapped pack Nat had given her. “How does it behave for you? Is it friendly?”
What the hell…? “Uh, sure.”
“Sure what?” Redlocks challenged. “How does it react when you do a reading?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say friendly as such. I haven’t worked with this deck much. But the art is classy.”
“Classy.” The word dripped with disdain. “Have you ever read with any of these decks? No wait, don’t answer that. I know. You haven’t.” She clutched her hemp shoulder bag even closer. “I thought they hired real witches here.”
Nat’s eyes narrowed to slits. “How d–”
“She’s my apprentice.” Innani’s sweet customer service voice betrayed only a hint of irritation as she swept past Nat. “And new to the trade. I can help you. Now, are you looking for a tarot deck or oracle?” She smiled knowingly. “If I may be honest, I find oracles provide you the combination of accuracy with myth and a more personal energy in your divining tool.”
Instantly the tight disdain melted into slack reverence on Redlocks’ waxy features. Turning her attention towards the Witch of the Silks and ignoring Nat completely, she inclined her head towards the display. “Oh, I agree. This isn’t for me actually, it’s for my doula, she needs a new deck for her births, something friendly with a good energy…”
Nat had heard enough. She balled her slender hands into fists and slid them deep into her apron, face burning. Without a word, she stalked back into the workshop, leaving Inanni to her customer. She resumed grating ginger root into a bowl with a ferocity the ginger root surely didn’t deserve. Over the aggressive slicing, Inanni’s polite laugh tinkled. A pinch of pulverized ash was dumped on top of the ginger root, followed by a careless tablespoon of water and salt. The mix was pounded into submission with her mortar and pestle, likely regretting the circumstances that had brought it here. She would not cry for Redlocks. She would not.
“Natalyiah?”
Innani had appeared like a ghost beside her. Her boss and mentor’s sharp green eyes took in her stance, the mess on the counter, and the shade of Nat’s cheeks. Sighing, she crossed her arms and stared down at Nat as she leaned against the counter. “Would you like to tell me what happened with Starlight?”
“Not particularly,” she muttered. Inanni arched an eyebrow and Nat sulkily continued mashing.
“Nataliyah.”
“Starlight is what you name your horse when you’re a ten-year-old girl,” she stated, not looking up.
“I’ll be sure to pass that along,” Inanni remarked dryly, the barest hint of amusement curling her lip. Nat’s hands slowed, shoulders slumping in defeat.
“She was asking a ton of questions and I wasn’t sure what she wanted, and I dunno, I got flustered. So I tried to just do my best, but then she got super condescending, and then…well, then you came in.”
“Yes, I stepped in when it seemed like the conversation was going in an…unproductive direction.” Innani massaged her temples. “There is never any shame in simply telling someone ‘I don’t know’, Nataliyah. Most customers - and myself, for that matter - would prefer straightforward honesty.” Inanni tilted her sharp chin and examined her pupil with a look that Nat’s old proctor would have died to achieve. “You do not have to know everything there is to know about witchcraft. But, as a witch working in my shop, you do need to know the products we sell. That is an expectation I would have of anyone working here.”
“I’m sorry–”
“I’m not finished,” Inanni interrupted. “You may not agree with customers’ priorities or beliefs either, but you are not allowed to treat them with open disdain. Especially when it comes to my stock. Was she right to treat you the way she did? No. Should you have been so careless with the tools she clearly holds in high esteem? Also no. Do you understand?”
Nat swallowed, eyes on the ground. “Yes. I understand. I, um.” She coughed. “I understand if you want to let me go.”
“What? No. Nataliyah–” Inanni fell silent, and the seconds ticked slowly by. When she finally spoke again, it was in a softer tone. “Tell me about your previous experience with tarot cards. What were you taught about them?”
A hot feeling had entered Nat’s chest, one she couldn’t wrap her arms around but that felt as heavy and oppressive as a blanket. “Well…the church said that tarot was….” Sinful. An abomination. A delusion. “Fake.” She looked down at her boots, unable to meet the old witch’s gaze. “They said a bunch of things. I’m trying to unlearn them all. Sometimes I don’t always catch it. I find myself questioning a lot of what I thought was true. But I don’t always know what the right answer is…just what it isn’t. If that makes sense.”
Innani’s expression had softened. “More than you know. You were taught a set of beliefs, and now you have to unlearn before you can learn. I had to do something very similar.”
“Really? You were part of a church too?” This was the most Inanni had ever spoken about her past. “I had no idea. But you’re not Aasimar? A different church then?”
“A story for another time, perhaps. Not today. At any rate, the advice I give you now is the same advice someone very wise gave to me. You could not control the beliefs you were given. But you do have a choice with what you do with them now. Which means…” A cellophane-wrapped Hundred Gods Tarot deck was gently placed on the counter next to her. “It’s time to experience it for yourself. Consider this part of your training. You are to take this deck home and research it. Read through the booklet, and figure out just what the creator of this deck is trying to do. Was his use of Therantus in the Death card clever, or a poor attempt to sell his art in a new way?”
Nat stared at the deck of cards as if it might bite her. “You want me to…do a tarot reading. On myself. Is that even allowed?”
“That is the best way to begin, by doing. I know your other duties with Melody and Leilani at the Wellness Center have just started, but if you want me to keep you on through the winter months, I expect you to continue growing in your craft.” Inanni’s mouth downturned at the mention of the Loxodon, but she pressed on. “Witchcraft does not start and stop with a mortar and pestle. There is much to learn, and this is the first step towards making your beliefs your own - or changing them in light of new information. See where the road takes you. I expect a full report next week.”
“Homework? During Solstice week?” Nat protested.
“This is the best time for taking a reading,” her mentor replied breezily. The front doorbell rang with a cheerful jangle. “It’s all in the booklet. Besides, this will help with the boredom over the holidays.”
“Great,” Nat muttered to Inanni’s back as she disappeared through the curtained doorway.
====================================================
Vola’s relationship with her immune system had always been…complicated.
“You better not get me sick,” a voice warned from far away. “I have a stack of midterms to grade before the break, you know. Hey, you listening?”
She stuffed a cough into the nearest paper towel, eyes watering. “I could take your midterm, sick as a dog, and still pass with time to spare,” she croaked at Mike. The human man snorted from his perch inside the coat check. His long, silky black hair was tied in a ponytail and he wore the same uniform as her - black shirt, pants, and boots. Her relationship with the hot postdoc-cum-bouncer was still contentious, to say the least. Ever since she’d solved his Runic Sudoku puzzle - and pointed out the small but critical mistake in his casting - he’d developed a grudging respect for her intellect. But there were still a lot of days when the verbal tit-for-tat felt more exhausting than fun. Today was one of those days.
“You saying my tests are easy?”
“Nah, just that your undergrads have maybe two brain cells between ‘em.”
“That’s true,” he huffed in agreement. “By the way, I’m thinking about doing runic trivia for this Tuesday. South Sehoran pre-Industrial. Should be tough, ya think?”
“You can’t workshop your test questions on the cust–” Another hacking cough caught Vola up short, followed by a thundering sneeze into the elbow of her jacket.
“Go home, Falone,” Wali called from the bar. “I mean it. You’re gonna get the whole club sick, and I can’t have that.”
“I’m fine,” she barked back.
“Not a request.” She recognized the sharpness that had entered his tone this time. “Take a sick day.”
“A what?” she called back, bewildered.
“A sick day?” Mike echoed, glancing at her strangely. “We get a week of sick days. You didn’t know that?”
She sent him a withering look, hoping it successfully covered the anxious fluttering in her chest and the embarrassed heat in her cheeks. Sick day. Sure. No pay, but the boss gave you an order. Walk it off. “A whole day, huh? “Must be my lucky day. Finally some peace and quiet.”
“You can spend that time thinking of trivia questions,” he replied pleasantly, flipping her off as he did so. “South Sehoran pre-Industrial, remember.”
“How could I forget?” Wearily, she slid off the stool and shivered into her coat.
“Chicken red pepper soup. That’s what my grandmother always fed me when I was sick.” A trace of nostalgia had entered his tone, and she stopped short at it. His mouth was pressed into a that sucks, buddy line, surprisingly compassionate. “Gods…I ate that by the bowlful as a kid.” His red eyes were slightly unfocused, caught up in a memory. “I was sick a lot.”
“Thanks, Mike,” she replied after a pause. “I’ll give it a try.”
“Thank you for going home, Falone!” Wali called from the bar. “Get better soon!”
Not knowing how to answer that, she waved awkwardly at her boss before ducking out into the cool evening air. He was technically the one making her take an unpaid sick day, which she supposed was karma of some kind for not hiding it better, but whatever. As bosses went, he was better than Ahroun at least. The dragonborn never got sick, and therefore never seemed to understand when one of them was feeling under the weather. Walk it off had been the refrain more often than not.
That helped relieve some of the sting as she huddled in her seat against the deluge of evening commuters. At least her commute was much shorter now that they lived in the Silks. Nat wouldn’t be home for a couple hours. Maybe that chicken red pepper soup would be a nice surprise for her. And then Vola could spend the evening working on trivia questions. Tomorrow she’d shake off whatever this is and be back at work tomorrow, providing Wali didn’t get suspicious and send her home again. You’re outta practice.
The thought set her teeth on edge as the city rolled by in a dark smear.
=======================================================================
The fire escape groaned with her weight as Nat mounted the ladder. The wind had picked up again, turning frigid somewhere between the Market Street bus stop and their apartment. It seemed to whistle straight through the holes in her kutte.
Maybe you shouldn’t have made so many of them then. Great, now even her inner dialogue sounded like Starlight’s nasally, condescending tone. What a bitch. As if to punctuate the fact, she slammed her messenger bag down on the landing beside her. Wind whipped her hair as she examined the window sash. Open. Vola was home. They’d agreed to crack the window whenever one of them was in the house, so the other would never get locked out. Elbowing the creaking wooden frame open, she tossed her bag inside and slid into the room.
With the window open, her room was barely warmer than the outside. Firmly, she closed the window behind her and crawled over the mounting pile of laundry to the space heater. It rattled to life with a whine. Frowning, she surveyed her messy room. Laundry on the floor and bed. Her papers scattered everywhere. Books stacked in a pile on her nightstand. Vibrator conspicuously charging next to it. She should really keep this place cleaner, now that this was the main way they both got in and out of the apartment. It bugged her a bit that her room had basically turned into a glorified hallway - a cold hallway - but what else could they do? The main way was…
Nat pushed the thought aside as the sound of soft folk rock and the clatter of a pot filtered in from the kitchen. “Vee?”
Vola snapped up from behind the kitchen island, as a small pink pig scurried to Nat’s feet, snuffling and grunting his hellos. “You’re home!”
“So are you,” she replied, scooping Waffles up. “Slow night at the club?”
“Uh…” Vola’s ears were red. As a matter of fact, so were her nose, and her eyes were rimmed and puffy. “Sorta. Wali sent me home. So I figured I’d cook you dinner.”
“Are you sick, or have you been crying?” Nat asked, alarmed. “Hang on, let me get my kit..”
“I’m fine, Nat.” The tips of her best friend’s ears were definitely redder now. “I’m cooking. Making soup. Mike said chicken red pepper soup. Said it would help with…” She cut herself off, shame burning in her cheeks.
Nat pressed a hand to Vola’s forehead. “Nothing? Your skin is on fire. And I should know something about that. When did the symptoms start?”
Vola blinked at her for a moment, then seemed to surrender. With a sigh, she said, “I dunno. Couple days ago, maybe.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Eh, I figured I could walk it off.”
“And Wali disagreed?”
“Yeah, he sent me home. Dunno why.” The stubborn set of the half-orc’s shoulders, the sullen growl at the last two words, sent Nat’s anxiety on alert. Walk it off. She’d heard that phrase before from Vola. But when? And what was with the sudden resistance to getting sent home? Was it a pride thing?
“Why didn’t you text me?”
“Cause it’s nothing big. Just a cold.”
A soft thump on her ankle drew her attention to a very annoyed piglet who managed to stare at her with the same amount of skepticism. “It could become more than ‘just a cold’ if you don’t rest. Why were you trying to even cook right now? You should be resting!”
“Nah, I gotta get these questions researched and make up the time at work. Plus Mike said the chicken red pepper soup was good for a cold, and besides, I knew you would be hungry.”
There it is. Nat sighed. “Wali said you had to make the time up?”
“I mean…basically.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What exactly did he say?”
“He said to take a sick day. Mike said we get a week of ‘em, whatever that means–”
“If Wali said you have sick leave, it’s a paid sick day. You don’t gotta stress. It’s the law. They have to give you benefits.”
“But I’m getting paid under the table–”
“Yeah but Wali’s a good boss. If he told you to take a day off, and Mike says you have a week of sick days, it means they’re paid.”
“Never had a job like this before,” Vola muttered, shaking her head. Some of the tension had visibly gone from her shoulders, but not all of it. “I can’t rest though. This is normally when we’re getting the first wave at work.” She gestured at the kitchen. “So I made soup.”
Her stubborn, beautiful, anxious as hell best friend. Nat found herself wrapping her arms around Vola before she could stop herself. Waffles cooed happily at the sight, nudging Nat’s calf with a soft snout. “Rest. I’ll finish the soup. Please?”
A soft huff. “Fine. Thank you. Aren’t you going to get sick if you’re near me like this?”
“If I do, then at least we’ll have some soup,” she replied cheerfully. Releasing Vola, she tugged the half-orc over to the couch. Surprisingly, her friend let herself be led, settling into place and accepting the green microfiber blanket as it settled over her lap. Waffles took that as his cue and hopped up into Vola’s lap.
“You sure you want to make soup while I give you directions from here? This feels so lazy.”
“I’m used to it. Innani hovers over my shoulder for every day telling me how to mix my own concoctions. It’ll help me stay focused on homework later.
“Aw, shit. I forgot you had to study tonight. I didn’t even ask how work was. You should…”
“I should start by defrosting the chicken. You can pay me back later by helping with my practice.”
“Practice?”
“Yeah. Ever had your Tarot read?”