Ancient Forces Collection (26 page)

“Mom, I’m telling you,” Becka said that evening at the supper table, “I’ve just never seen Philip with such a short fuse.”

Mrs. Williams dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “In what way?”

“Well, he’s always been a really nice guy. And just about everyone at school likes him,” Becka said. She was momentarily distracted as her dog Muttly started to beg for a treat. “No, Muttly, you’ve already had enough for one day.” She scratched him behind the ears instead. “Anyway, he was really kind of abrupt with all of us at lunch. Not his usual self and all that.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” her mom said. “What does Krissi think?”

Becka sighed. “She says Philip’s dad is bearing down on him about college. Plus, there’s a bunch of stuff going on between his parents. You remember they’re divorced, right?”

Mrs. Williams nodded.

“Well, it has something to do with where Philip will live next month,” Becka said. “Krissi thinks the pressure has been really getting him down.”

“That’s got to be tough,” her mom said, reaching for her cup of coffee.

“News flash!” Scott said, barging into the kitchen.

Becka and her mom turned toward him.

“You’ve got to come and see this,” Scott said, beckoning with a wave of his hand.

“See what?” Becka asked.

“I just got an email from Z,” Scott said, his face glowing with excitement. “Something’s up, big time.”

Z was a buddy they had met in a chat room on the Internet. Z always seemed to have a mission for Scott and Becka to undertake, usually involving some level of spiritual warfare. But it had been several months since Z sent them on a new adventure.

“So tell me,” Becka said, starting to get out of her chair. “What was his message?”

“You’ll never believe it,” Scott said. “Z sent a link to a psychic website and told me to download a video clip of that lady called Madame Theo.”

“Really? Why?” Mrs. Williams asked.

“Z said we need to help a friend trust God for the future or something like that,” Scott reported. “Who knows, maybe this person is mixed up with a fortune-teller. Does anybody come to mind?”

Becka walked over to Scott. “Well, Mom and I were just talking about Krissi and Philip’s situation.”

Scott looked puzzled. “You think the friend Z is talking about is Krissi?”

“Could be,” Becka said. “Or Philip.”

3

M
adame Theo sat alone in the near darkness at a small desk. The desk, cluttered with assorted papers, books on astrology, notes, and a receipt book, was tucked away in the cramped back room of Madame Theo’s Palace, a ground-floor, two-room storefront at the edge of downtown Crescent Bay.

She folded her thin, bony fingers together and rested them in her lap. Although it was three o’clock Monday afternoon, the drapes were drawn tight. She preferred candlelight to sunlight.

Her forehead was a wrinkled knot — not from age, but from the concern that had troubled her ever since Fred Stoner mentioned syndication into the Los Angeles market. While his excitement was unmistakable, he didn’t know about her past. How could he? She had never told him about her years in Los Angeles.

It wasn’t really any of his business, right?

Besides, that was decades ago.

When she agreed to work with Fred, she never guessed the past would come back to haunt her. Now, like a frightened cat, she found herself backed into a corner. Fred was a natural promoter. One of the best she’d ever seen. He wouldn’t stop until Madame Theo was on national television.

How, then, could she insist she didn’t want to be seen in Los Angeles? Fred was sharp. If she made up some phony reason, he’d press her until he knew the truth. That was the kind of guy he was. And, since the local television station was interested in syndication, she knew she’d have to confront the demons of her past sooner or later.

Unless she decided to drop the whole thing and not agree to the syndication. Of course, Fred would be furious. He’d say she could forget about her TV show. He’d say the station wanted ratings — especially with the revenue that ratings and syndication would bring.

Either she went all the way or not at all. She closed her eyes and whispered, “Spirits, speak to me as you did before. I’m listening. Is this the direction I should take?” She opened her eyes and followed the flame of a candle as it danced to the cadence of an unseen current of air. Watching the movement produced a trancelike state. In the tranquility of the moment, a name from the past came to her mind. He was the one person who might know what to do — if she could reach him.

“Yes, thank you,” she said, excited at the inspiration from the other side.

She reached down and opened the bottom desk drawer. Under a stack of papers, she found what she was looking for: a well-worn sheet of paper. Although it had yellowed around the edges with time, the list of phone numbers was still discernible. She laid the page on the desk and smoothed it out with the palms of her hands.

At the bottom of the page she spotted a handwritten name and number scribbled in pencil. At the sight of his name, a fount of memories gushed to mind. Had it really been thirty years since she had first jotted down his name? She picked up her phone and then dialed. What choice did she have?

She brought the receiver to her ear.

“Law offices of Jacobs, Barnes, and Zimmerman,” the voice of a young woman announced after the second ring.

“Yes, I’m calling to speak with Zack Zimmerman.”

“Who may I say is calling?”

Madame Theo hesitated. “Just tell him . . . an old friend.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the receptionist said, her voice professional but clipped. “Mr. Zimmerman is very busy. Can I take a message?” As she spoke, Madame Theo heard the ring of other phones in the background.

“I . . . well, listen, can’t you tell him it’s urgent?”

“I’m
sure it is,” the receptionist said with a touch of contempt. “All of his calls are urgent. But if you won’t give me a name, I can take a message — or put you through to his voice mail if you’d like.”

Madame Theo considered that. She knew Zack’s style. If she left him a message — voice or otherwise — he might not get it for days. High-profile defense attorneys were usually juggling more cases than they could handle. Zack was no different. He’d be swamped. But she needed him now, not in a week. She just had to speak with him directly.

Madame Theo took a long, slow, cleansing breath. “Okay, then, please tell him . . . Rita Thomas is calling.”

“I’ll see if he’s available. Please hold.”

Afraid she might drop the handset, Madame Theo squeezed the phone against the side of her head as tightly as her crooked fingers could handle. She was so focused on what she was about to say, she paid little attention to the nondescript sound of Muzak playing in the background.

Thirty seconds later, the familiar, thick voice of Zack Zimmerman filled the earpiece. “Rita? Is that
really
you? I thought you were dead.”

Philip pulled his car to the curb, turned off the engine, and then sat for a long minute. Although he was as motionless as a mannequin, his heart raced to keep up with the questions flooding his mind. Was he really going to do this? What were the odds that a little stack of cards could give him the answers and the hope he craved?

What would his dad think?

Philip had parked under a tall oak tree several doors down and across the street from Madame Theo’s Palace. From where he was positioned, he had a clear view of the front door and was surprised not to see anybody going in or coming out.

Maybe he needed an appointment.

Maybe she was closed on Mondays.

Maybe she was at a late lunch.

Maybe I should just leave and get my head examined,
he thought. One thing was certain. No way did he want to be seen going inside by a friend, especially not Krissi. As much as he liked her, he knew Krissi sometimes had a tough time keeping her mouth shut. If word got around school that he went to have his cards read, his friends would dog him for days, maybe the rest of the year — if not his entire life.

After all, Philip was the brain of the bunch. Under most circumstances he relied on logic, on reason, and on his intellect to sort things out. How could he explain that he went to some palm-reading, fortune-telling, card-dealing woman for answers? Even
he
found that notion hard to believe. Then again, last night, this woman seemed so caring, so in touch with something she had called “the cosmic reality.”

He had come this far, why not go for it?

He slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses.

With a squint, he read the sign on the door: Open. Walk-Ins Welcome. He checked his rearview mirror before cracking open the door. The coast was clear. It was now or never. With his heart in overdrive, he gulped a quick breath, jumped out, and then darted across the street.

His steps slowed as he approached the doorway. With a glance over his shoulder, he reached out, turned the knob, and slipped inside. As the door opened, a little cowbell sounded, announcing his arrival. He removed his sunglasses. It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

As the room came into focus, he noticed it wasn’t much bigger than his bedroom and was lit by candles mounted on metal stands. A card table and two chairs were in the middle. Thick, red curtains hung from the walls, and a velvet black cloth, like dark clouds, hovered overhead covering the ceiling. He felt as if he had stepped into another world.

He had hardly taken a step forward when the odor of strong, cinnamon incense filled his lungs. To his left, he observed the source: an incense pot puffing away. Directly across the room, he noticed an open doorway covered with strings of beads. He couldn’t see beyond that to the next room.

Puzzled, he waited a moment. Now what?

As if in answer to his unspoken question, Madame Theo parted the beads and glided into the room. “Welcome,” she said. With a wave of her hand, she motioned toward the chair closest to him. “Please have a seat. I can sense you are troubled in spirit.”

Philip’s heart jumped into his throat. How did she know that?

Catching himself from leaping to conclusions, he figured she probably said the same thing to everyone who came in. Why else would they be here if they weren’t troubled? Most folks wouldn’t come to her for a tea party, right?

“I . . . I saw you last night,” Philip said, his voice almost break ing. “On TV, that is. I thought you might be able to help me with . . . um . . . the future and stuff.” He pulled the chair out and sat down. His eyes darted around studying her every move.

Madame Theo smiled as she eased into the other chair. Her turban, like a massive bandage, was wrapped tightly around her head. She wore a floral-printed muumuu. The one-piece gown floated around her as she moved as if caught in a gentle breeze. She placed her hands on the edge of the table like a dealer at a casino waiting for the players to place a bet.

When she didn’t immediately start to speak, Philip said, “This is the first time I — ”

She brought a finger to her lips. “Please, not a word. Before we begin, I must focus on the energy you brought into the room.”

Philip swallowed. Was she serious? What energy? He wasn’t aware that he had brought anything with him besides his pounding heart. He crossed his arms and waited. The silence that followed was almost as thick as the incense.

After what felt like an eternity, she spoke. “Tell me your first name.” She closed her eyes in anticipation.

“It’s Philip.”

She nodded as if he had uttered something profound. She opened her eyes and gave him a penetrating look. “I sense that you are impatient, Philip. Do you know anything about the gift of the tarot cards?”

He shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

“But you believe in their power?”

“I . . . well, let’s just say I’m open to learning more.” No way would he let on about his skeptical nature. She had a lot to prove if she was going to sway his thinking.

Another nod. “It’s a start,” she said softly. “The tarot cards allow us to tap into the well of our inner wisdom.”

“Cool.” Philip forced a smile.

She raised an eyebrow. “It would be best if you didn’t interrupt the process.”

“Sorry.” He dropped his hands into his lap.

“You must understand, Philip, that this is a sacred moment,” she said, lowering her voice. “Tarot cards are not a game. They are connected to, and take us to, the cosmic treasury of knowledge passed down from before time itself.”

Whatever that means,
he thought, but didn’t say it.

“Each of us is on a journey,” she said, placing the deck of cards in front of her. “Tarot cards reveal the energies and life forces which are in motion at the time we conduct a reading.”

Philip nodded, as if this made sense to him.

Madame Theo laid a hand on top of the deck as if touching a holy relic. “There are seventy-eight tarot cards divided into three groups: the major arcana, of which there are twenty-two. You might look at them as trump cards.”

Trump card.
At last, something he understood.

“The minor arcana, with sixteen cards, appear much like the king, queen, knight, and page cards in a regular deck. The third grouping is the forty pip cards.”