Eyes of the Tarot Read online

  “But I didn’t…”

  His voice trailed off, and Bonnie knew he was realizing that his mother would never believe him if he told her what had actually happened.

  He looked down at the carpet. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I couldn’t help myself.”

  At once Mrs. Peterson’s face softened. “I know how terrible this is for you Alan. You just have to control yourself.” She turned to Bonnie. “I think you’d better be going. Alan is tired.”

  Bonnie started to protest, then nodded. “I guess you’re right,” she said softly.

  Mrs. Peterson turned and left.

  Alan grabbed Bonnie’s wrist. “What are you going to do?”

  She answered him with complete and utter honesty.

  “I don’t know.”

  #

  The day seemed endless. Bonnie, sitting alone in her room, was haunted by the thought of Madame LePanto, more alone than she was, lying sightless and helpless in her cottage, alive but not alive, trapped in some horrible limbo by the forces of the evil tarot.

  She had no one left to ask for help, no one to turn to. Madame LePanto had been her strength. With her out of the game, Bonnie felt naked, exposed to whatever powers might be trying to use her.

  Not only that, she knew that she herself was the only one who could rescue Madame LePanto.

  The old woman’s life was in her hands, and she didn’t have the first clue how to go about saving her.

  That wasn’t quite correct. She did have one clue: the line and the cross that had been scratched into the wall by Madame LePanto.

  But what did it mean?

  Glancing down at the cards, Bonnie saw the answer and was amused by the simplicity of it. The symbols were Roman numerals, directing her to a card—or cards. She furrowed her brow. Was Madame LePanto sending her to the IX or the XI card? Or was it even possible she meant both the I and the X?

  Bonnie felt a surge of uncertainty. Even if she could decide which ones, what then? Was Madame LePanto telling her which power was responsible for her disappearance, or giving her a card to turn to for help?

  She considered the cards:

  I—The Magician

  IX—The Hermit

  X—The Wheel of Fortune

  XI—Justice

  She shuddered. If the message was “I and X” she certainly wasn’t being told who to turn to for help. She had little doubt that Magistimes was responsible for Madame LePanto’s disappearance.

  Or was he? The Fool and the Priestess had both told her that not all the forces involved with the cards were within the Magician’s control. She had assumed they had been speaking of the positive forces. But perhaps some of the evil forces were also beyond his power.

  Looked at from another way, if the clue was “I and X,” the other card was the Wheel of Fortune. Though it was an important card, it didn’t help to explain anything under the present circumstances.

  That left either The Hermit or Justice.

  She sat with the two cards in front of her, looking from one to the other.

  Justice was a seated woman holding an upraised sword in her right hand and a balancing scale in her left. She looked stern but fair. Certainly justice was called for in these circumstances. But could she really help Bonnie, or was it just an appealing idea?

  She looked at the other card. The Hermit was an old man, leaning on a staff and carrying a lantern. Trapped in the lantern was a six-pointed star, shedding light before it. The Hermit was a guide, a mentor.

  Bonnie tapped the card. It had to be the one. In Madame LePanto’s absence, a mentor was just what she needed. She would turn to the Hermit for guidance.

  She desperately hoped it was the right choice. Because when she went to bed, the Hermit would be under her pillow.

  Sitting on Bonnie’s desk was one more item, a particularly grotesque one: the finger bone she had found with the cards.

  She was sure now that the bone had come from the wizard’s hand. But how it had ended up with the deck she wasn’t certain.

  In fact, how the deck had come to be back in the possession of the McBurnie family was a great mystery. It was as if the fate of the McBurnies and the fate of the cards were intertwined, so that even though the deck had disappeared for a time, it was inevitable that it would return to haunt the family.

  Could she be the one to break the curse?

  Or would she become its next victim?

  She shuffled the cards idly.

  She knew it was a mistake the minute she began. But it was too late. Something was moving through her, something stronger, more powerful than she herself. As desperately as she wanted to, she could not put the cards down until the power left her.

  She finished shuffling, cut the deck, and turned up a card.

  The Magician stared up at her with anger in his eyes. She understood now that the eyes were the key to the cards. They were an intersection with another world, another place. Now Magistimes was looking out at her from that place.

  That was why the eyes of this tarot had always seemed so real.

  They were.

  Her hand slammed the card back down. She cut the deck again.

  The Fool.

  He was looking out at her, too—a sidelong glance that was worried instead of carefree as it should have been. As if unwilling to be caught in a moment of concern, he suddenly winked at her.

  Bonnie cried out, and her hand slammed the deck shut again.

  A third time she cut the cards.

  This time she turned up the Priestess. The woman stared straight at Bonnie with a clear, direct gaze and for a moment Bonnie felt warm, even hopeful.

  She closed the deck and made one more cut.

  The six of swords—a ferry boat carrying hooded passengers across a gray river.

  Fear death by sea.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Hermit was standing beside her bed. He wore a gray cloak and his beard tumbled across his chest like the foam of a long sea wave. In one bony hand he clasped his staff; in the other he carried a lantern. Trapped within the lantern was a six-pointed star, which cast a cool light over Bonnie’s face. From beneath his hood the Hermit’s eyes glittered like a pair of fiery opals, strong and compelling.

  “We need you,” he said in a voice dusty with age.

  Bonnie sat up. “I need you,” she replied. “Can you help me?”

  The Hermit lowered his lantern. “I hope so. That is my purpose in this world.”

  The phrase struck Bonnie as strange. “Who are you?” she asked abruptly. She paused, then added, “Not just you—all of you in the cards.”

  The Hermit sighed. “We are the hopes and fears and powers and dreams born in the mind of man. We have been trapped in the cards by Magistimes. Your use of the deck has been setting us free. Slowly. A little at a time.”

  Bonnie nodded. She had suspected as much.

  “Who is Magistimes?”

  “He is the Fool—the Fool gone wrong.” The Hermit sighed again. “There is always a Fool. There is only sometimes a Magistimes.”

  “Why did Death come after us?”

  The Hermit gave her a sad smile. “He came to warn you, not to claim you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Death is the strongest of us all. We had to warn you about Magistimes, and only Death could materialize himself. I told him it would not work, but he saw no other answer. You must understand it was not Death who caused your problems last night. It was your fear of him.”

  Bonnie nodded.

  “Where is Madame LePanto?

  The Hermit paused, and when he answered, Bonnie detected the slightest note of fear in his voice. It caused an icy tremor to shiver down her spine.

  “The old woman is held by the dark forces of the tarot. They are on Magistimes’ side, and because she was against them they took her.”

  “How can I free her?”

  “Destroy the cards.”

  “I’ve tried!” cried Bonnie desperately. “We tried t
o burn them and they wouldn’t even singe. They’re indestructible.”

  “Did you truly want to destroy them?” asked the Hermit.

  Bonnie started to answer, then bit her lip. “I… I’m not sure,” she admitted.

  He nodded. “You must truly desire their destruction in order to succeed.” He looked into the distance for a moment, then said, “The answer is in the sea. Look to the sea for strength.”

  He turned and began to walk away, thumping his staff on the floor. Bonnie reached out to him. “Don’t go! Don’t leave me alone. I’m afraid!”

  The Hermit turned back to her. “I am only a guide,” he said softly. “I can point the way. But I cannot make the journey for you.”

  Then he turned again and did walk away, down a long and winding road that somehow led out of her bedroom, out of her life, out of the world.

  “Come back!” called Bonnie. But it was too late. He was gone, and all her tears could do nothing to bring him back.

  She was alone.

  No. Not alone. The Magician was somewhere nearby, watching, waiting, measuring her strength.

  She knew now that every time she used the cards he grew stronger. How strong was he already? What were his plans?

  She climbed out of her bed and crossed to her desk. Dimly she became aware of a sound.

  It was the radio playing in her brother’s room. He often went to sleep with it on, and she had learned to screen out the sound most of the time. But suddenly a news bulletin caught her attention.

  “… major storm off the coast. Hurricane force winds are predicted. Scientists are baffled by the storm, which seems to have sprung up from nowhere…. “

  A coldness flowed over her. Fear death by sea.

  She had thought the words applied to her. But her death was not the only one to be feared. Her father was out at sea now in his tiny boat. Was this mysterious storm some devilish concoction of Magistimes’, some wicked way of demonstrating his power?

  Words flowed through her mind:

  Fear death by sea.

  Look to the sea for strength.

  The answer is in the sea.

  She knew what she had to do, though the thought of it terrified her.

  She had to take the cards to the sea.

  A whimper escaped her lips. She didn’t want to leave the house. She didn’t even want to leave her room, in which she somehow felt safe from the terrible forces she had unleashed.

  What would happen if she did not go?

  She remembered, against her will, the chilling scene in the crystal ball, and from the fear and terror of that event drew new strength. She had lost her grandfather to the sea, to the vengeful will of Magistimes. She would not lose her father that way, not if she could help it. She had done enough damage already, to Alan, to Madame LePanto. Now she and she alone would have to end this thing.

  She glanced at her desk and was startled to see the Magician staring up at her. She would have sworn she had left the card tucked face down in the deck.

  “You haven’t beaten me yet,” she said, sounding braver than she felt.

  As if in answer, thunder rumbled outside, close to the house, and the storm began in earnest.

  #

  When Bonnie slipped out her front door she was dressed in jeans, a sweater, and a long raincoat. She carried the cards in one hand, not caring if they got wet.

  And they did get wet, for the rain was pouring down in buckets. Yet the water rolled off the ancient pieces of card as if they were encased in glass. She wanted to fling the cards to the ground, stamp on them, scatter them in the mud. But she knew it would do no good. The answer was in the sea.

  She set her jaw and turned toward the ocean.

  She did not notice the slight figure that slipped out of the house behind her, following closely in her footsteps.

  Leaning into the wind, she started to walk.

  #

  The waves were terrible, towering two, maybe three times as high as Bonnie. They crashed against the shore with thunderous force, exploding in a heavy spray that merged with the surging rain. There was so much water rolling and splashing and falling that it was hard to tell where the ocean ended and the shore began.

  Bonnie stood at the foot of a long stone breakwater. The waves were washing over it and the footing would be treacherous. But she had to travel to the end of it. She had to get as far from the shore as she could.

  The answer is in the sea.

  As she climbed onto the breakwater the driving storm lashed at her, nearly knocking her into the sea. She clutched the slippery stones and held on for her life.

  The wind howled around her, tearing at her raincoat, whipping her hair across her eyes. The end of the breakwater was lost in rain and waves, out of her sight.

  She moved grimly forward. The waves battered at her and she quickly realized that walking was too risky. She would have to crawl.

  She shoved the deck into the pocket of her raincoat and continued forward.

  Someone was behind her. She knew it without looking, and she was scared. Far more scared than she was by the wind or the rain or the surf.

  “Go away!” she cried over her shoulder. “Get out of here!”

  She couldn’t see anyone. But whether she could see him or not, whether he answered or not, she knew the Magician was behind her, following her, fighting her.

  She crawled on, clutching desperately at the rocks.

  The fury of the sea increased. She knew she had to act quickly. The storm was a killer, and a small craft like her father’s could not survive it for long. Others like it would be out there, too, all of them threatened by the curse of the McBurnies.

  Drenched to the skin despite her raincoat, spitting out saltwater, Bonnie reached the end of the breakwater. She struggled to her feet and reached into her pocket. She drew out the deck and lifted it above her head, ready to give it to the sea.

  But her arm could not complete the gesture. She had loved the cards, been enthralled by their beauty—and by the sense of power they had given her.

  She hesitated just a moment too long.

  “Stop!”

  The voice was deep and commanding, and she knew to whom it belonged. She stopped—as did everything else. The wind, the rain, the violent waves all came to a halt around them.

  The storm still raged. But they were in a place of calm, an eye of peace.

  She turned.

  Magistimes was standing there, waiting for her.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Give me the cards, Bonnie.”

  Though she was speechless in the face of the Magician’s power and beauty Bonnie was not yet ready to surrender. Defiant, she crossed her arms in front of her, clinging to the cards.

  Magistimes frowned and locked his eyes on hers. The snake that bound his tunic thrashed angrily.

  “Give me the cards,” repeated the Magician, his voice low and powerful as the thunder.

  Bonnie felt herself weakening. His eyes were so beautiful. Surely he couldn’t be evil. It couldn’t be wrong to do as he said.

  “I need the cards, Bonnie.” His voice was soft now, gentle and persuasive. “You have done well with them. You have done what I wanted. You know you have.”

  She felt a glow. His praise was like a kiss.

  “Now give them to me, Bonnie. Give me the cards—and the other thing—so that I can return in the flesh. Give them to me, and I will make you Queen of the Tarot.”

  Bonnie felt her arms uncross themselves. She willed them to stop moving. They would not. It was as if they belonged to someone else.

  “That’s right.” The Magician’s voice was low now, with a note of calm assurance. “Give me the cards.”

  Part of her was screaming out against what was happening, fully aware that once she passed the cards to him she would be completely in his power. And then he would get the other thing, the thing she had in her pocket. And once that happened, it would be all over, for herself, and maybe for the world.

  Magi
stimes was horribly powerful. Strength flowed from him. He had honed and sharpened his magic so he could master and control humans as easily as he could train a dog. If he became real now, if he reentered the world as solid flesh, there would be no stopping him.

  But Bonnie knew she had one thing in her favor. He was afraid, too. She had something he needed, and there was still a chance she could stop him after all his centuries of waiting.

  “Give me the cards, Bonnie.”

  He was smiling, and it made her feel warm. She wanted to live in his smile and die in his arms. No one in the world was like Magistimes.

  She extended her hand, ready to pass him the deck. But as he reached out to take it from her a new voice cried, “Bonnie! Don’t do it!”

  She looked up, momentarily startled out of her trance, and saw Alan rolling down a sand dune in his wheelchair—rolling too fast for safety. She thought he was going to crash. Then she realized he was not alone. Behind the wheelchair, guiding it, was her little brother.

  Magistimes spun around. The snake hissed furiously. Turning back to Bonnie the Magician snapped, “Give me the cards. Now!”

  “Bonnie, don’t do it! He’ll kill you! He’ll kill us all!”

  Magistimes turned again. Bonnie expected him to say something to try to silence Alan. Instead he moved without speaking; in terrible silence he made a gesture.

  At once, the beach erupted with swords. They came thrusting out of the sand, waving back and forth, their deadly edges flashing.

  Randy swerved the chair just in time to avoid running into one. The blade flashed close to Alan, but he didn’t flinch. His eyes and attention were focused on Bonnie. But the waving swords made it impossible for them to go forward.

  “Get down, Randy!” shouted Alan. Then he threw himself from the chair and began to crawl toward Bonnie.

  Magistimes gestured again and Bonnie heard a sound of thundering hooves. Not Death himself this time, but the deadly Knight of Swords.