Page 58 of Death Card

I lean forward, blow out the candles, and let anger consume me. I’m filled with a sorrow and rage that I’m unable to put into words. I’m upset that she’s only appeared to me now, when I’ve been reaching out for years. But more than that, I’m devastated that this is the most time I’ll ever have with her.

I chuck the melted candles into the trash and throw myself back onto my bed, burying my body beneath the covers as the full significance of this moment sinks in—I can commune with the dead. Gran didn’t answer, but my mother did. Mom was here, in this very room. She spoke to me, like Grandma Rose did when I was studying the coven history books at the shop. I didn’t want to admit it then, but it’s too obvious to ignore now. I’ve gone my entire life believing that I am unworthy, but you are what you believe. If there’s anything I’ve learned over these past couple weeks, it’s that I can do hard things.

My entire life, I’ve believed that divination is the only magicalskill I’m good at. But this experience has shown me that I can also cast powerful glamours and heal injuries. I couldn’t save Chris, but there were too many other factors.

I’m growing as a witch, but not fast enough. People are still dying, and the wild card of the full moon is still in play. It’s all too much.

The sobs begin before I can suppress them. Pressure builds at my temples as snot drips from my nose. There’s no one around to see how ugly I look. No one to comfort me or yell at me to pull myself together. I give into the fear, sadness, and grief swirling within me.

I let my emotions wash over me until exhaustion wears me down and compels me into dreamless slumber.

26

I wake uparound midday and immediately pull a card from Gran’s deck to get a feel for how the rest of my day is going to go. It’s a High Priestess, reversed. The last thing I need is for the universe to remind me to trust my gut. Everyone keeps telling me to listen to my intuition, but I don’t even know what that means in this case.

The priestess’s stoic expression stares back at me and I remember another interpretation of the card. A reversed High Priestess can be a reminder that one is hiding their true self from their lover. I shake my head. That’s over and done with now. Joelle will never be my lover; she’ll only ever be the catalyst to my destruction.

Four days until my eighteenth birthday, and less than two weeks until the full moon. My life is slipping from my grasp like grains of sand.

I removeTheCompendium of Demonologyfrom its hiding place and sit cross-legged on the floor to flip through it. I’ve been too busy to dig further into it, but there’s no better time than the present. The book is old but well maintained. Its pages are still crisp white and covered in handwritten cursive script. Past the first chapter, almost all of it is written in Latin.

I may have attended private school, but even they didn’t have Latin classes in the budget. I’ve got a working knowledge of French, but that won’t help me now. I hover my phone over the page and open a translator app, but an error message appears almost immediately. The writing isn’t legible enough for translation.

There goes my hope of finding out more information. I flip through the pages aimlessly, letting my eyes skim over endless paragraphs of text. When I come to a list of symbols, I inhale sharply. Each symbol has a short description listed beneath—in English!

I drag my finger down the page until it stops right over the mysterious symbol I’ve been searching for. The description that goes along with it sends ice running through my veins.

Bringer of darkness, destroyer of worlds, the ultimate trickster. Beware the demon Gazannol, for no good can come of its presence on Earth.

This must be the demon the Hightowers have summoned. Why couldn’t they have invoked a demon that doesn’t sound so downright apocalyptic? I’m not sure how I’m supposed to take on something that wants to destroy all life on Earth, or if a demon’s power can even be contained once it’s been unleashed.

Going to Gramps about anything demon-related is the worst thing I could do. Any information he’d give would come with a lecture that I don’t need. But there is one other person who may be able to help me. I remember what my mother said about Aunt Roberta:Listen to her. She’s a wise woman.

Without giving it a second thought, I pack up the book, getdressed, and head for the streetcar. On the way, I get a text from Orion.

Orion:

Hey, sis, Joelle came by the shop. She quit.

My heart drops. Even though that was my intention, knowing that I’ve pushed her away still stings. As I take my seat on the trolley, my phone buzzes with another text, this time from Joelle herself.

Joelle:

I’m still very hurt by what you said.

I thought I’d found a real friend, or maybe something more. But I guess not.

I won’t bother you again. Thank you for the reading.

I’m still going to do something extraordinary.

I stuff my phone deep inside my bag and stare out the window until I reach my stop. What Joelle doesn’t know—can never know—is that I thought I’d found the same. But fate doesn’t always give us what we desire.

Aunt Roberta and Uncle Larry live in a bright red Creole cottage–style home, with a gable roof over a modest front porch. Aunt Roberta sits there now, knitting in her white wicker chair. She and Gran used to knit together, making baby blankets and hats to donate to the local NICU. When she sees me, the corners of her lips lift in a gentle smile.

“There’s my favorite niece,” she says. “What a great surprise.”

She sets down her project and leads me inside for a glass of lemonade and a plate of shortbread cookies. We sit down together at her dining room table. Along the wall hang pictures ofour family. There’s a photo of Aunt Roberta and Uncle Larry on their wedding day and a black-and-white portrait of Grandma Rose sitting in a chair with both her daughters at her side.