2

Two seconds after walking up to Miss Delancey’s Tarot and Palm Reading, Bennie knew that she was going to regret this.

Next to her, wearing her threadbare dress and refusing to put on shoes, Motheater peered at the neon light in the window suspiciously. Her disastrously held together outfit wasn’t a good look anywhere, but especially not in Kiron. Especially not for Bennie, a Black woman who had already been accused of suspicious behavior. Bennie had thought about getting her a change of clothes but decided the less time spent in Motheater’s company, the better. Besides, Kiron had its fair share of strange characters, right? Bennie held onto delusion tightly as she took a deep breath in front of the palm reader’s.

“I can’t help you if I ain’t all of myself,” Motheater said, her voice tinged slightly petulant. “But I don’t think no decent Neighbor would tart her work like this.”

“Vikki Delancey is the closest thing Kiron’s got to a witch,” Bennie said, resolutely ringing the doorbell. “I don’t know anything about Neighbors, and right now, this is the best I can do.”

That seemed to placate her, and Motheater moved to stand next to Bennie. She examined the doorbell and then pressed it herself.

“Stop that,” Bennie muttered, batting Motheater’s hand away. “You’ll annoy her.”

“It’s like a piano key,” Motheater justified herself. “It’s not magic.”

The door swung open, and the two young women were face-to-face with Delancey. She was a tall, thin white woman with blonde hair wrapped up in a scarf, and she pursed her mouth as she looked at them through bifocals, quickly undoing the magnet at the bridge and dropping the pieces, letting them hang like leaves on a vine.

Bennie could feel Motheater’s hackles rise. Some shift in her shoulders betrayed her, gave her a stance like a wounded creature. Delancey might have noticed the expression on Motheater’s face, because she turned quickly to Bennie. Her mouth softened.

“Ah, Miss Mattox.” She smiled, and Bennie wanted to throw herself into the gutter. Her last desperate attempt at using “magic” had led her here, and she hadn’t come away with anything other than a lighter wallet. “Something I can do for you, dear?”

“I’m here with . . .” Bennie paused, watching Motheater warily out of the corner of her eye. “A friend. She’d like a reading if you have the time.”

Motheater, thankfully, did as she had been coached and nodded. “I’d like to see my future if you can offer it.”

There was something about the way she said it, Bennie thought, earnest and disbelieving at the same time. Like she knew prophecy could happen but was sure it couldn’t happen here.

“Of course, dears, come in.” Delancey gestured them inside, then led them through to the back parlor. The promise of money was enough to smooth over any judgments that Delancey might have had when she first saw the mismatched pair of them. “Did you find your last reading helpful, hon?”

“Yeah, super insightful.” Bennie plastered a fake look of gratitude on her face, widening her eyes. “Thank you.”

The real answer was no, but she had come a few months after Kelly-Anne’s death, on the verge of breaking up with Zach, lost and looking for . . . well, anything. It was the same reason that she had been driving along the creek that morning. One more vain attempt to find a hint, a clue, something to help her figure out what the fuck White Rock was doing in that goddamn mountain.

They never recovered Kelly-Anne’s body. There was no trace of her at all. How could a woman just disappear in a modern mining operation?

Delancey smiled as they walked into the parlor, and Bennie was relieved that she seemed satisfied with the half-assed praise. The room smelled of stale incense, and while it stung Bennie’s nose and almost made her cough, Motheater didn’t seem to notice, looking around the room with a critical eye, measuring the worth of the woman by the cheesy decor and gem collection.

“Your accent is unusual,” Delancey said, sitting and arranging her skirts. She pet the velvet table cover delicately, her chipped manicure a sickly shade of violet that matched her sour smile. “Where are you from?”

“Here,” Motheater said, staring at the woman. Bennie, annoyed that she was relegated to the vinyl-covered furniture, sat on the arm of the couch, angled toward Motheater. Over Delancey’s shoulder, Bennie could see a kettle beginning to boil over, the cap left off. She almost wanted to mention it, but the irony of a forgetful psychic might push Motheater over the edge entirely.

“From the mountains?” Delancey asked, picking up her tarot deck and shuffling it.

“Well, not many of your folk left anymore,” Delancey muttered, still looking at the cards.

“A very long time.” Motheater grinned, wider than she had before, showing all her teeth. Were her teeth filed into points? Bennie was grateful that Delancey had kept her glasses off, as she couldn’t imagine that Motheater’s sharp little teeth wouldn’t have freaked her out.

Delancey didn’t seem to notice the wolf in front of her. Bennie assumed that her prescription must be exceptionally strong if she was missing Motheater practically licking her chops. This was a horrible idea. Maybe she should have just dropped Motheater at the ER and washed her hands of it. Bennie shifted in her seat, the vinyl squeaking.

Delancey looked up sharply. Bennie mouthed an apology, and the woman settled again, looking at Motheater. “I’ll give a basic reading, and if you have more questions, we can go further. The first spread is usually paid upfront.”

Motheater looked at Bennie. Bennie sighed, dug into her Carhartt jacket, and pulled out her wallet. She put a twenty on the table—the same price as last month’s reading—and watched it swiftly disappear into Delancey’s sleeve. It was half an oil change, but Bennie was in too deep now. She had committed to this terrible plan, and she was going to see it through. Bennie couldn’t forget the feeling of the leaves sliding in between her boots and pants, the crunch of dead leaves that had slipped under her clothing falling apart in the soft spots behind her knees. Wind didn’t do that. If that was what Motheater could do now, . . . what would she be capable of when she was made whole?

Motheater narrowed her eyes at the bill and looked back to Delancey. Bennie couldn’t read her expression as it curdled strangely in the corners of Motheater’s mouth. Bennie was fascinated by her every expression, trying to decode the omens written on her face.

“Worth every penny, dear.” Delancey shuffled the cards, then cut them into three piles. “Pick one.”

Motheater concentrated hard on the deck. She tapped the pile on the far left. The other two were swept underneath, and Delancey nodded, as if pleased.

“The first card represents your past,” Delancey said, laying a card down. “The Moon, reversed.”

Bennie leaned closer. It was the same deck that Delancey had used when she had gotten her reading. This card showed a dog and a wolf howling up at the large, full moon. From her angle, the twin towers in the background were jagged, broken against the background. Bennie didn’t know much about the cards beyond what her big sister had recited from a manual back in high school and what her own furious internet searching had turned up after she had asked Delancey for help four months ago.

“Your future,” Delancey said, in what she was probably hoping was an impressive voice. “The Emperor. Reversed.”

Delancey sat back, nodding as if all this made perfect sense.

None of these cards seemed bad to Bennie. No devils or towers or the Ten of Swords that had shown up in her own reading. She hoped that Motheater was at least paying attention, if not intrigued.

“Hm.” Motheater frowned. “Explain this.”

“Of course,” Delancey said, as if being asked was all she had ever wanted. “The Moon in any position indicates fear, darkness, and mystery. Your past was probably full of confusion, living as you . . . living apart from modern civilization.”

No response. Delancey continued. “The Four of Cups shows you’re entering into a time of rest and contemplation, a spiritual awakening. This is probably because of your decision to shun your family’s ways, coming down from your family’s homestead in the mountains.”

Bennie’s eyebrows went up. Sure, Delancey made a living on this sort of thing, but still. It seemed a little presumptive to just come out with shit like that. Worse, what if it were true? If Motheater really were escaping some kind of conservative cult in the Blue Ridge, this whole thing would probably just confirm that people in towns were godless.

Bennie felt, very keenly, that she might have made a mistake. She sat up straighter, not looking away from Motheater.

“And last, The Emperor . . .” Delancey hesitated. Bennie saw her eyes flick to Motheater’s hands, which she had on the table, held like a prayer. “Your father, or an uncle, a domineering male force. Someone who has kept you under his thumb. Beware his influence; he seeks to drag you back into a life of servitude.”

Motheater’s brow was folded up like the drying banks of a creek in autumn. She looked over each of the cards carefully, taking in their symbols, the backgrounds. Her eyes hesitated on The Emperor. Bennie didn’t see any kind of satisfaction in her pursed mouth, her narrowed, dark eyes.

“I understand,” she said finally, sitting back. She glanced at Bennie, and before Bennie had a chance to say anything, to reassure Motheater or tell her they could leave, she gestured at the cards again. “Another.”

“What?” Bennie couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice. “Really?”

“Yes. Another. I understand now.” Motheater sat up straight, her gaze fiercely direct. The psychic seemed pleased with herself.

“Of course.” Delancey looked over at Bennie, who sighed and gave her the last twenty from her billfold. “A reading for direction, perhaps? To help guide your way?”

Delancey had already swept the spread back into her hands, shuffling them into the deck. Motheater hadn’t looked away from the cards. Her shoulders straightened, and Bennie could tell there was something changed in her. She fiercely wanted to know what it was. “It doesn’t matter.”

The parlor went silent. The kettle boiling behind Delancey hissed as water hit the hot steel burner, and Delancey started in her chair. She put her deck down and quickly twisted her specs back together to peer at Motheater intently.

“Would you like to ask a question instead?”

“No. Do it again.”

The boiling water sounded like rain against a river. Bennie found herself staring at Motheater’s profile, barely breathing. The steam seemed to encompass the room, a horrible moist heat. Or was it just her? Delancey didn’t seem bothered by the change to the temperature, her gaze fixed on the self-proclaimed witch.

Delancey sighed and then split the deck three ways again. Motheater gestured vaguely, and Bennie could see that Delancey was getting annoyed, despite the forty dollars she had been paid for ten minutes of mumbo jumbo.

Delancey drew the first card quickly, putting it down without looking. “The past.”

Motheater sat back with a satisfied smile. Immediately, Bennie didn’t like that look—it made her teeth tighten like she had sucked a lemon. There was a squeak of protest from the vinyl as she stood up to get a better look.

The card was blank. All that was on the table was a piece of thick, coated paper, with no image on its face. Delancey hesitated. “A printer’s proof, my apologies.”

She swept the card across the table and laid down a second on the purple-trimmed velvet. It was as blank as the first, but this one had a small stain on the front. The steam was making Bennie sweat, and there was a bit of perspiration on Delancey’s eyebrow, threatening to drop on her low glasses, but she had gone very still. Her hands began to shake.

Motheater stood, mouth twisted up sharp and beautiful, like a hawk.

“You are no Neighbor,” Motheater said, soft and cold, “and you are not known in any good book.”

Delancey flipped over a third card, then a fourth. Nothing. Sweat dripped onto her hands. She spread the deck in front of her, seventy-eight cards, all blank. She stared at them. Behind her, the kettle was rattling furiously, the last bit of its water spitting against the heat, a heaving flood through a small creek.

The heat left, like every window in the room had been thrown open. Bennie shivered, excited, nervous, thrilled. She watched Motheater as if the woman were true north. Bennie had been desperate, hadn’t she? Maybe she’d just been waiting for this moment. Maybe all she needed was real magic.

Motheater turned and didn’t look back as she left the parlor, leaving the front door open as she walked outside.

Bennie stepped forward and touched one of the cards on the table and was surprised that it was hot, almost burning. She pulled her hand back fast, eyes wide as the laminate started to bubble on the table. The cards were boiling. This was incredible. This was happening, real, right in front of her. Fuck.

Delancey’s hand stuttered toward hers, and Bennie jumped back. “So sorry,” Bennie muttered, almost tripping over her feet as she backed out of the parlor. “Thank you, I—”

“Get out.” Delancey’s voice became harsh, losing its mystical breathlessness. “Get out!”

“Oh, sure thing.” Bennie waved, skipping out of the small home and running to the truck, Motheater already seated inside. This was thrilling. The most exciting thing to happen to her in years, something that she couldn’t explain or reason away. She was so excited she was shaking.

“What the fuck was that?” Bennie asked, turning the truck over as soon as she got into the seat. She didn’t want to be anywhere near here if Delancey decided to call the cops.

“A small cunning,” Motheater murmured, arranging her dress. “More a grammar. It took little from me.”

“You knew she was a liar from the start,” Bennie said, pulling out of the parking lot, breath catching in her throat. A witch. Real magic. The possibilities began taking shape. Motheater really could help Bennie find the bodies that White Rock buried in Kire Mountain.

“You had brought me here,” Motheater explained, voice far softer than when she had been proclaiming Delancey a fraud. “Figured I should at least respect your estimate. Whether or not it was a fair opinion is not your fault when faced against thieves.”

“And that second reading? You really needed to give her more money just to embarrass her?”

“Beloved, believe not every spirit, but try the spirits whether they are of God: because many false prophets are gone out into the world.”

“I don’t appreciate being preached to.” Bennie didn’t care; she was still grinning. “You spent my last twenty to prove a gospel. Put your damn seat belt on.”

Motheater held her hand out, two bills folded in between her thumb and forefingers. Bennie blinked. When the hell had she swiped those back?

“Ain’t got time to pay liars,” she said, smiling a little as Bennie took her money.

“Was that magic, too?” Bennie stuffed the forty bucks into her pocket. Motheater seemed to have figured out the seat belt. Bennie doubted that even a witch could survive a crash on Kiron’s one-lane roads.

“No,” it came out naw, something low and mountain. “I’ve met pickaxes who’ve taken fewer hits than Delancey. ’Course she didn’t notice a little slip on the way out.”

Bennie laughed. The strange, skinny woman smiled back, her eyes crinkled at the edges, her strange black hair stuck up at odd angles. God, she was incredible.

“You need new clothes,” Bennie declared. “There ain’t no way you can keep running around in a half-falling-apart dress.”

“Fine,” Motheater muttered.

Bennie took a turn that would get her to the Baptist church. They had a donation closet in the basement. “But you’re on a budget.”

Motheater smiled at her and then turned to the window, pressing her forehead against the glass. Bennie tried to focus on the road, on the potholes and hidden drives, but she couldn’t help glancing at Motheater a few times every minute.

A witch with magic. Real magic. Wasn’t this Appalachia? Weren’t witches as a part of this place as the wild ginseng and hidden swimming holes? Didn’t they belong here, same as her?

Bennie clenched her hands around the steering wheel as they passed neat little double-wides. Bennie had tried everything else to bring White Rock to heel, get justice for her friends, protect those she loved who still worked under the mountain. There wasn’t a single family in Kiron that didn’t have blood or friend in Kire Mountain, working to extract coal for White Rock.

Now, if she helped Motheater find herself—whatever that took, whether it was her memories, magic, whatever—Bennie might be able to save Kiron from the threat that loomed over the whole town. At the very least, she had to try.