Page 122 of 'Til All the Seas Run Dry

Callum admired Hank immensely. He had from the very moment he’d met him. Hank’s steadiness almost calmed the relentless panic spreading through Callum’s body like a poison.

Almost.

But not quite.

Hank’s voice drew his thoughts back as he said, “Don’t you sometimes pull another card? What do you call it? A?—”

“Clarifier,” Esther finished.

“Yeah. That,” Hank said. “Maybe draw one of those?”

Callum heard the cards shuffling again through the phone’s speaker. Seven shuffles. Seven taps.

And then a long beat of silence.

“Esther?” Jory asked. “What does it say?”

“I pulled The Moon.”

“What does that mean?” Callum asked, nearly beside himself, and Jory squeezed his hand.

The other end of the line was very quiet for a long moment.

“It can represent illusions. Or things not being what they seem,” Esther said quietly. “Sometimes I see it representing anxiety.”

“So, what?” Callum choked. “We’re meant to feel anxious that he may be dead?”

Esther sighed. “I don’t see them that literally. Usually. Callum, has Robbie been acting… different lately?”

Callum’s mind raced as he thought of all the things that had been different, things that had worried him. Things that Robbie had shrugged off.

Just then, there was a loud knock on the trap door, and Magda’s muffled voice sounded through the wood. “Are you horndogs decent?”

Callum’s eyes were wide as he looked at Jory.

“Is that Magda?” Esther asked through the phone.

“Aye,” Callum said. “With uncanny timing. As usual.”

“Come down, Magda,” Jory called up, and the trap door opened.

Callum set his phone down on the bed. Magda climbed carefully down the steps, followed by her ancient basset hound, Mr. Dick Van Dyke, who more hurled himself down the stairs than climbed.

“Esther and Hank are on speaker,” Jory said as Magda cleared the last step.

“Oh, good. The gang’s all here.”

“To what do we owe the pleasure?” Callum muttered. He was tired. He was sick with worry. And entertaining Magda Nutter was quite literally the last thing he wanted to do at the moment.

Magda looked at them appraisingly. “News.”

“You know where Robbie is.”

“No,” Magda said. “Well, not technically. But I do know what happened to him.”

She pulled out her own phone and pressed pay on a voicemail.

“Hey, Mags, it’s Nadja. Listen. I need you to do me a favor. Robbie Cain came to my office this morning for an appointment, and shit went sideways.”