Ancient Forces Collection (33 page)

Scott, keep in mind, not all tarot readers know what they’re doing. It’s a highly subjective field. Many are simply guessing about possible outcomes based on what they perceive the client wants to hear.

But I thought you said tarot cards were lethal.

Yes, they can be. Turning to tarot opens a person up to very real dangers.

See. So I was right to have warned Philip.

This time, Z answered Scott with a question of his own. The words crawled across the screen:

Scott, the Bible says unbelievers will know we are Christians by our what?

By our love. But that’s so unfair, Z. Philip’s fooling around with
tarot cards. They’re dangerous. You said so yourself.

When we are wronged, what does Jesus want us to do?

I guess turn the other cheek.

Scott shook his head, upset by the direction of the conversation. After all, Philip was the one who kicked him out of the car. Philip was the one who yelled at him in front of everybody in the cafeteria. Philip was the one who was being a jerk. Still feeling defensive, he fired off another response:

Yeah, but, Z, Philip is the one who’s gone off the deep end.
Not me.

Scott waited. After a long pause, Z typed back:

You can be theologically correct about tarot cards, Scott, and still have no heart in it. Maybe what Philip sees in you is judgment and condemnation.

What am I supposed to do?

Just love him.

How?

Scott waited for a response, but none came. That was like Z too. Half the time it seemed Z wanted Scott and Becka to figure things out on their own. Scott yawned, stretched his arms, then signed off and folded his arms. This wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Secretly, he had hoped Z would have at least applauded him for trying his best and then told him to drop the whole thing. The clock next to his bed indicated it was 8:44. With another yawn, he shut down the computer.

Scott scratched the back of Cornelius’s head for several seconds. It had been one of the longest days of his life, at least emotionally. First, the study hall fiasco. Then the confrontation in the cafeteria, not to mention all the little jabs he had overheard in the hallway throughout the rest of the day.

He covered his mouth as another yawn emerged. He still had a pile of homework to do, but that would have to wait until he grabbed a few minutes of rest. He turned out the lights and then crashed against his pillow. He closed his eyes as the dull patter of rain against the roof serenaded him to sleep.

Within seconds, he heard a window on the other side of the bedroom blow open. He propped himself up on one arm. He quickly scanned the darkness. Against the flash of thunder, he saw a faceless intruder sneaking across the room. It was just steps away, moving in his direction. Scott’s heart spiked.

The figure, hunched over and cloaked, made no noise as it drifted like a phantom to the edge of the bed.

“Who’s there?” Scott asked, suddenly feeling fully awake.

No answer.

A crack of lightning lit up the intruder’s features. For a split second, Scott caught a glimpse of her face. He knew this woman, but he had no idea why she had trailed him home.

Scott found his voice. With a croak, he said, “What . . . what do you want with me?”

11

H
er long, bony forefinger was as thin as a twig. With a jab, she punctured the night air in Scott’s direction. A harsh crackle roared in the distance followed by several flashes of light. The drapes by the open window flailed about like two sails in the wind, beating against the mad rush of angry air.

The ghostlike figure leaned over his bed. Her eyes glowed like two hot charcoals. Her skin, a washed-out mixture of ashen and gray, seemed to hang from her bones. Her breath smelled of rotting garbage, and the wraps of her turban appeared mummy-like.

Scott’s heart zoomed as his mind raced to find answers. All he managed to say was, “Madame Theo?”

“Silence!” She poked his side with her bony finger.

Scott jumped backward, rubbing the spot she had pierced. It burned as if her finger had been dipped in acid. “What in the world — ”

“He’s mine . . . all mine.”

“Who . . . who is?” Scott asked, still dazed by the encounter.

“Philip.” Madame Theo circled the bed, running, floating, flying. With each revolution, she poked Scott again and again, shouting, “Philip . . . Philip . . . Philip . . .”

Try as he did, he was unable to avoid the piercing sting of her fingertip. He felt as punctured as a pincushion. His lungs began to constrict as he tried to catch his breath. Somewhere in the distance, a bell started ringing. The hollow clanging echoed in his head until it throbbed.

Scott tried to sit upright — had to sit up — but Madame Theo knocked him down with a blow to the chest. The force of her hand compressed the remaining air from his burning lungs. He felt a prolonged pressure crushing against his rib cage as if caught in the jaws of a giant invisible vise.

“Stay away from Philip,” she bellowed. She reached out and grabbed the corner of the bed. With a jerk, she sent the bed spinning in a circle. Scott held on for dear life.

Like a wounded animal, Madame Theo howled, “He’s mine . . . all mine.”

Just as quickly as the ordeal had started, it stopped.

The bed came to a rest. Madame Theo was gone.

With the exception of the thunder and the rain pelting the roof, the room was deadly silent. In the thick silence that followed her stormy appearance, the ringing inside of Scott’s head grew louder and louder, more intense with each second until he could no longer bear it. Covering his ears with the palms of his hands, Scott yelled, “Stop it!”

With a blink, Scott woke from the nightmare. Drenched in sweat, his heart hammering against his chest, he sat up and tossed his legs over the edge of the bed. The windows were closed. The drapes hung in place.

The phone was ringing.

Scott fumbled in the dark for the portable handset. “Hello?”

“Scott?”

The voice was familiar, but the connection was so bad he didn’t recognize it at first. “Yeah?”

“It’s Philip.”

Scott sat upright, alert. Was this part of the nightmare too? After all, Philip was the last person he expected to hear from. Scott switched on a lamp. He was awake. This was no dream. “What time is it?”

“Like, 9:45,” Philip said. “Sorry. Did I wake you up?”

“I . . . I must have dozed for a minute,” Scott said.

As he regained consciousness, Scott was about to give Philip a piece of his mind for yelling at him at school when Z’s words —
just love him
— came to mind. Scott blew a short breath. He really wasn’t in a mood to be loving. Then again, maybe this was one of those divine appointments Z always talked about.

“Scott?”

“I’m here,” Scott said, rubbing the spots where Madame Theo had poked him in his dream.

“I’ve been trying to get through, but your line was busy.”

See,
Scott thought,
he’s already trying to pick a fight.
Instead of jumping to conclusions, Scott said, “I was online. Um, that is, before I fell asleep. So what’s up, man?”

“I . . . I could really use your help.”

“Mom, can I borrow the car?” Scott asked. Although he had turned sixteen a month ago and had been taking drivers ed, he knew it was a long shot if she agreed. He stood in the doorway to her bedroom where she was reading a book in bed.

“Isn’t it kind of late?”

Scott resisted a yawn. “Yeah, but Philip’s car broke down. He needs a lift. I figure it’s the least I can do for him.”

She placed a finger in the page where she had been reading and then partially closed the book. “I don’t know. It’s raining pretty hard out there — ”

“I’ll be careful.”

She studied his face. “I know you want to help, but can’t Philip just call a tow truck?”

“Yeah, he might have been able to, but I think his battery went dead or something,” Scott said, leaning against the doorjamb.

“I don’t know,” she said, placing the book in her lap. “Maybe I should get up and take you.”

“I really don’t think that’d be too cool,” Scott said. “I mean, thanks for the offer and all that, but I think we’ve got some stuff we need to hash out.”

Mrs. Williams nodded. “Okay, son. Just be home by eleven. Remember, better safe than sorry.”

Scott kissed her on the forehead, grabbed the keys, and headed for the car.

Scott followed Philip’s directions until he spied Philip’s car by the side of the road. He pulled alongside of the convertible and, reaching across the seat, Scott unlocked the passenger door.

“Thanks, dude,” Philip said, once inside.

“Hey, what are friends for.” Scott handed Philip a towel to dry his face and said, “Here, my mom suggested I bring this for you.”

“Your mom’s cool. Thanks.” He started to towel down his hair. “You know, I should have asked you to just bring a gas can. Guess I wasn’t thinking.”

“Even if you had,” Scott said with a smile, “I passed the gas station and it was already closed.” He carefully made a U-turn and headed back to town. He considered telling Philip about his bizarre dream with Madame Theo but figured he might just get defensive. “So what happened to the big date? I thought you were going out with Krissi, Ryan, and Becka tonight.”

Philip dried the back of his neck. “Honestly?”

Scott tossed him a look. “Sure.”

“I’m pretty confused these days, you know?”

Scott thought of a wisecrack but decided against saying it.

“Anyway,” Philip said, toweling down his arms, “I just didn’t see the point, at least, not after what Madame Theo said today.”

At the mention of her name, Scott’s heart flinched. “You saw her again?”

Philip cautiously eyed Scott.

“Look, about today . . . I am so sorry, man,” Scott said. “I shouldn’t have talked about you behind your back. I mean, it’s not like I was gossiping. It’s just that some of us think you’re changing. We care, that’s all.”

Philip wrapped the towel around his neck. He leaned an elbow against the passenger door. “Can I trust you not to blab?”

Scott nodded. “I promise.”

For the next several minutes, Philip told Scott about the five-card spread, Madame Theo’s interpretation, and the changes he thought he needed to make — including putting some distance between himself and Krissi. After he was finished, Philip fell silent.

For his part, Scott wanted to warn him about the dangers of getting involved with tarot cards. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Philip was walking on very dangerous ground. Instead of giving him a lecture, he tried a different approach.

“You’re taking this tarot stuff pretty seriously, huh?” Scott said, stealing a quick look at his passenger.

“I don’t know what to think,” Philip said. “But — ”

“But what?”

“Something happened today that was kind of weird.”

Scott raised an eyebrow. “Like, how?”

“She got a package. One of those overnight deals,” Philip said, looking out his window. “It came during my session.”

“What’s so weird about that?”

“I could be wrong, but she started acting really different afterward,” Philip said. “It was like she had lost interest in the cards and wanted me to leave.”

Scott wrinkled his nose. “I don’t get it. What’s wrong with that? She probably had stuff to do.”

Philip shook his head. “Actually, the weird part had to do with the name on the package.”

“How’s that?”

“Just that it was addressed to somebody called Rita Thomas.”

“So?”

“Well, she’s the only one there,” Philip said with a shrug. “Maybe it’s nothing. But Rita’s name was crossed out and it said a.k.a. Madame Theo or something like that.”

Scott looked at Philip and waited for an explanation. “What’s a.k.a. mean?” he finally asked.

“That means ‘also known as,’ ” Philip said.

Scott allowed the information to sink in. Then it hit him. “So Madame Theo is
also known as
Rita Thomas.”

“I knew there was something going on with her,” Philip said.

They rode in silence for half a mile, when Scott asked, “Why the different names?”

“That’s what I don’t get,” Philip said, wiping his face with the towel again. “Why doesn’t she just call herself Madame Rita? Unless — ”

Scott finished his sentence. “Unless she’s hiding something.”

“But what’s she hiding?”

12

P
hilip ducked inside the kitchen door, hoping to dash up the back staircase to his room without being detected by his dad. He could tell his dad was still awake by the bluish flicker of light in the den. Philip figured he had probably fallen asleep with the TV on, but he didn’t take any chances. He removed his waterlogged sneakers and started for the steps.

A voice from the den called out, “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

Philip swallowed hard. “Just after eleven.”

“May I ask where you’ve been all night?” his dad asked, appearing at the door to the kitchen. A beer dangled from the fingers in his right hand.

“I kind of ran out of gas, sir.”