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Nathaniel Wesninski was not the sort of man to give any credence to religion, magic, fate, or mystical forces. The years spent under the roof of a murdering psychopath had forced him to the realization that there was no god, and if by some long shot there was a higher power at work in the world, that power had no regard for his well being.
After he and his mother fled Baltimore they spent years hiding in foreign countries and large cities all around Europe. He had grown up on the run, shifting from identity to identity, from city to city, country to country. His mother knew how to hide and blend in, but eventually, that wasn’t enough. Europe was too hot for them to stay, and they wouldn’t blend in easily in the other continents, so Mary Hatford decided that it was time for them to return to the States. They came in through Miami and made their way up the east coast, hiding out in small towns and on the fringes. After years of losing themselves in the masses they were going to ground in small town America.
This was how Nathaniel came to Henrietta, Virginia. It was too near to Baltimore for either of them to feel comfortable, but Mary reasoned that no one would look for them this close to their old home. Besides, rural Virginia was not a part of the Butcher’s territory. Mary got them rooms at a small bed and breakfast; it was cheap and relatively anonymous and, best of all, there were no security cameras. They paid in cash and used their fake IDs. Henrietta, Mary said, was perfect for lying low and she wanted them to spend at least a month or so there while the search spun out over the ocean and across borders. She gave Nathaniel a haircut so that he could blend in with the local population; he currently had short, light brown hair and grey contacts. They looked like an average mother and son, unremarkable and bland, their scars well hidden beneath bulky clothes.
Nathaniel got a part time job at the local pizza place, Nino’s, and that’s how he met the psychic’s daughter, Blue Sargent. Blue, he discovered, was not a psychic. Instead, she was an amplifier; she made things louder for the household of psychics at 300 Fox Way. At least, this was the rumor that followed her. Nathaniel’s coworkers at Nino’s had been very willing to tell him everything about Blue Sargent and the psychics, just as they had been willing to gossip about the Aglionby boys, particularly Joseph Kavinsky.
Nathaniel dismissed the idea of psychics as ridiculous and he thought that Blue was probably a liar. But as he spent more time with her at work, observing her mannerisms and high standards, he got the impression that she was not a liar, and he would know: being an excellent liar had given him a sort of innate truth detector. Blue wore her strangeness on her sleeve, quite literally. While Nathaniel did everything possible to blend in, Blue did everything she could to stand out. They were polar opposites and Nathaniel couldn’t help but get a little obsessed with his small, feisty coworker (though, honestly, Blue wasn’t much shorter than he was). Blue was a puzzle that Nathaniel wanted to figure out, but he knew that he shouldn’t. If Blue really had a connection to mystical forces then he should stay far, far away. And yet…he couldn’t.
It was a chilly October night and Nino’s was finally closing just shy of midnight. Friday nights meant later shifts but Nathaniel was always willing to work late if it meant some extra tip money coming in from the wasted Aglionby boys. Usually Blue did not work the late, late shifts but tonight one of the waitresses had called in sick so Blue was filling in. She turned off the overhead lights, leaving only the strands of orange twinkle lights on. It gave the pizza parlor an eerie, festive glow and matched the grimacing faces of the carved jack o’ lanterns that decorated the tables. Nathaniel and Blue worked in silence, wiping down the tables, sweeping the floor, restocking napkin dispensers and the cheese and hot pepper shakers, and making sure the place was tidy and ready for the next day. The rest of the crew was in the back, washing up dishes and cleaning the kitchen.
Blue yawned and stretched, her fishnet lined shirt riding up to reveal another shirt underneath that; Nathaniel was always impressed by Blue’s layering techniques.
“Got any Halloween plans?” Blue asked as they went to retrieve their coats from the staff break area.
Nathaniel shook his head before asking, politely, “Are you doing anything?”
Blue laughed a little. “Oh, you know, just playing around with Ouija boards and waking the dead with my family. The usual.”
Nathaniel knew she wasn’t serious but he nodded and played along. “I thought as much,” he said.
“You could come over,” Blue suggested, lightly.
Nathaniel was surprised. He and Blue were coworkers, not friends; they weren’t supposed to interact outside of Nino’s.
“Why?” asked Nathaniel.
Blue shrugged. “My mom thinks that you could use our help.”
“I don’t need—” Nathaniel started, but stopped before he said something rude. “Thanks, but psychic readings aren’t my thing.”
“Pshaw!” Blue said, her Henrietta accent thickening. “Listen, I wouldn’t have asked but…well, all of the psychics suggested it to me. Individually. Privately. And, before you ask, I’ve barely said anything to them about you, only that you were new and that your name is Mark.” Blue’s expression was earnest and worried, almost stressed. Nathaniel thought about all the rules that he and his mother lived by; going to visit the psychics would definitely be violating those rules, but he was intrigued. And if it meant getting Blue off his back about it…
“Fine,” Nathaniel said.
“Okay, great!” Blue said, looking relieved. “You know where I live right?”
Nathaniel nodded.
“Alright, well, come over tomorrow at sundown. I’m not sure what they’ve got planned for you but you don’t need to bring anything.”
Nathaniel nodded again, biting his tongue to keep back all the snarky comments he wanted to make about psychics. He was a skeptic but Blue was good people and he didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
They parted ways, Blue peddling off on her trusty bicycle, the road illuminated by its old-fashioned lamp. Nathaniel walked to the bed and breakfast, his path taking him down barely illuminated streets, through empty parking lots, then into the country past wide, dark fields. The stars were shockingly bright in the unpolluted sky over Henrietta. Nathaniel breathed in deep, holding the clean, cold air in his lungs until it hurt. This was a world away from Baltimore and for a moment he imagined what it would be like to stay in this secluded corner of the country, holding down a minimum wage job, living in one of the trailers on the outskirts of town, and never having to look over his shoulder.
The peaceful night was broken by the loud roar of car engines and the squeal of tires taking a turn too fast. Nathaniel moved off the road in a hurry, almost falling into the ditch. Headlights raced towards him, an entire brigade of bright speeding lights. His heart tripped, fearing pursuit, discovery. But it was only Kavinsky and his crew, out racing the other bored adrenaline junkies of Henrietta. Their cars whooshed by Nathaniel, the headlights picking him out for a few brief seconds before they were gone, tearing away towards the mountains. Nathaniel stared after them, his heart strangely hungry. He knew then that Henrietta would not be his final destination; it was just another stop on the map. As much as he would like to stay, something in his very being demanded that he run, run, run, and keeping running.
Saturday passed in a blur. Nathaniel ran errands while his mother worked (illegally and off the books) at a local trailer company. He spent the morning in the laundromat, then went to the grocery store (more like a general store, tiny, unaffiliated, and lacking in security cameras), and returned to the bed and breakfast to put away everything and clean. Nathaniel had always been a dutiful son; to be otherwise was to invite punishment and pain, and even here, away from his father, Nathaniel was still compelled to meet his mother’s exacting expectations. Living with his father had been a nightmare, living with his mother was better, unquestionably, but still difficult. Nathaniel’s mother was strict, especially when it came to interacting with other people. She did not want Nathaniel making friends, because it was another way for him to be exposed. And she had explicitly forbid any romantic attachments. This was why, as the sun began its descent behind the mountains, Nathaniel snuck out of his window and across the fields, to go meet the psychic’s daughter.
300 Fox Way was not what Nathaniel had expected. He had envisioned a creepy mansion like something from the Addams Family. Instead, he got a charming home full of women. The house was large and rambling and it seemed to contain multitudes. Nathaniel did not think he had ever seen so many females in one place. Blue met him at the door. She was wearing something that might have been a rain jacket at one point but now it was shredded into long strips that flowed around her when she walked. Underneath she was wearing her usual layers: knitted leggings, a patchwork skirt made of T-shirts, and a top that looked suspiciously like a pillowcase. Nathaniel, very tactfully, did not ask if this was a Halloween costume.
Blue led Nathaniel into the kitchen, which was occupied by three women. Blue introduced them as Maura, Calla, and Persephone. She introduced him as Mark. The three women glanced at each other as if to say “Ah-ha.” Nathaniel suddenly felt very exposed. This had been a mistake.
Before he could backtrack, one of the psychics, Calla, grabbed him by the hand. Nathaniel tried to pull away, but Blue put one hand, calmingly, on his shoulder and rested her other hand on Calla’s arm. Calla stared at Nathaniel, her eyes sharp and demanding. She hissed in a tight breath that sounded pained before releasing Nathaniel. She shook her hand rapidly, as if trying to get rid of something nasty.
“You,” Calla said, her voice sharp and hard, “rabbit is too soft a comparison for your kind. More like skink,” she hissed. “You just snap off your tail and hide underneath the closest rock while the cat plays with your twitching extremity.”
Nathaniel felt sick and sat down hard on one of the mismatched chairs surrounding the kitchen table.
“Calla!” Blue exclaimed at the same time that the other psychic, Persephone, murmured, “That’s not very nice.” Blue tried to pat Nathaniel’s back, but he jerked away from her touch. His chest felt tight and he was having a hard time catching his breath.
“Okay, okay,” said another voice, it must have been Blue’s mother, Maura. “Now, just put your head between your knees and breath. Yes, like that. Slowly. In and out. Very good. Just keep breathing.” Nathaniel focused on her voice and got his body back under control. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, why being here, hearing the truth from a stranger, hurt so much. He had as many masks as he needed, but here he was stripped bare. What was he underneath it all? A skink, Calla had said, a coldblooded, scheming reptile. She wasn’t wrong.
“Here, drink this,” Maura said, placing a steaming mug of tea in front of Nathaniel. It smelled…pungent, not like something that one would drink willingly. Nathaniel blew on the tea, cooling it before trying a sip. It tasted like it smelled, like mushrooms and plants.
“Mom!” Blue shrilled. “Don’t give Mark hallucinogenic tea!”
“Blue, I would never!” said Maura, pretending to be shocked. “This tea is good for open minds and if it causes one to see little green men, well, that’s just an added bonus.”
Nathaniel couldn’t help it then, he laughed, a quick, short sound that might have been mistaken for a hiccup. He took another sip of tea.
“No green men yet,” he reported, “but I do see a most peculiar group of women looming over me…”
Calla made a rude noise, Maura laughed, and Persephone smiled. Blue looked exasperated.
“If you’re feeling better, we’ll continue?” Maura suggested.
“Yes, I’m fine now,” Nathaniel replied.
“Good,” Maura said. “What we’re going to do now is a reading using tarot cards. The point of this reading is not to tell your future, but to give you guidance.” Maura pulled a deck of cards from her pocket. They were marked with curious pictures and symbols, coins, wands, swords, and cups. The three psychics watched as Maura placed the cards on the table in a complicated pattern. Their brows were furrowed, as if what they saw made them unhappy. Nathaniel didn’t understand what the cards meant, but he thought they looked bleak and bloody, littered with swords and ominous images like a lightning struck tower. Then Maura laid down a card and Nathaniel felt something, like a pull in his chest. He reached out and touched the card, his fingers skimming across the image as if he could feel the texture despite the card’s slick surface.
The Knight of Swords. The image was as sinister as the other cards in the swords suite, but it felt right to Nathaniel, the vengeful dark knight on a charging horse. It looked like a force to be reckoned with, unrelenting, unforgiving. It looked like salvation.
“That’s not your card,” Maura said, but there was a small smile on her face and a light in her eyes.
“I know,” Nathaniel said, because he did know.
Maura continued to lay down the cards and while the outlook continued to appear catastrophic, for the first time Nathaniel felt something like hope. Maura set down the Death card and Nathaniel felt a chill spider walk down his spine.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Persephone said quietly. “Death does not mean you will die, necessarily, but it does mean change.”
“Yes,” Maura agreed, “from here your reading is unclear. You’ll come to a point where you have two paths in front of you and you can choose to continue on as you always have or you can change. You can trust, let someone in. Regardless, you have a hard road ahead.”
Nathaniel nodded and leaned back in the chair, exhausted. He felt like he’d just done something strenuous, like climb a mountain. His stomach felt hollow and strange.
“The Knight,” he said, and gave Maura a questioning look.
She smiled. “You’ll know him when you meet him. Until then…” She glanced at Persephone.
Persephone pulled something from one of the pockets of her tent-like dress and pressed it into Nathaniel’s hand. His hand instantly knew what it was: a knife. He examined it. It was a small black butterfly knife. Thin, easy to conceal. He whirled it open with practiced ease and tested the blade against his thumb, blood beaded from the cut. He slung the blade closed and slipped it into his pocket.
The women were all staring at him, though Blue was the only one who looked surprised by his proficiency with the blade.
“Hold on to that until you meet your Knight,” Maura said. “You’ll probably need it and, when the time is right, if you decide to trust, give it to the Knight.” She smirked a little. “I’m sure he’ll love it.”
Nathaniel didn’t really understand but he nodded anyway and then yawned. It was late and his mother had probably discovered his absence by now. He cringed a little, imagining the beating that awaited him for sneaking out. He stood, a little unsteady, and Blue gripped his elbow.
“C’mon,” she said quietly, “I’ll walk you out.”
Nathaniel thanked the psychics and they wished him a good night and a safe All Hallow’s Eve. He expected that Blue would leave him on the porch but she kept walking with him, arm and arm, down the road and through the fields. They didn’t talk. Nathaniel’s mind was spinning from everything he had seen and felt, and he touched the knife in his pocket, like it was a talisman.
The night was cold and Blue was pressed against him, warm and comforting. He felt a surprising amount of affection for the small psychic’s daughter. He wished he could stay but…
“I’m the Page of Cups,” Blue said softly, “not a Knight.”
“You’re fierce enough to be a knight,” Nathaniel said. Then he added, “There weren’t any cups in my reading.”
Blue shook her head. They had made it back to the bed and breakfast. Nathaniel saw that the lights in the basement suite they were staying in were on; his mother was back and she was missing him. He and Blue stood in the shelter of the trees at the back of the yard, hidden by the night shadows. The leaves rustled in the autumn wind and, off in the woods, a fox barked, the noise making the hair on Nathaniel’s neck prickle. It felt like an omen.
“I think this is goodbye,” Nathaniel said quietly.
Blue gazed up at him, her expression complicated and sad. “If I was anyone else,” she said, “I’d give you a farewell kiss.”
“My mother would kill me if you did,” Nathaniel replied and Blue’s lips quirked in a bitter smile.
“That would about do it,” she said.
They stood beneath the trees for a few more minutes, both unwilling to walk away. The burner phone in Nathaniel’s pocket buzzed and he knew he had stayed too long.
“I have to go,” Nathaniel said, dread icing his stomach momentarily as his flight impulse kicked in.
“Be well,” Blue said and then she turned and walked away. Nathaniel watched her go until her tiny form was lost in the night. With a sigh he closed his eyes and steeled himself for the confrontation with his mother. Swords and fire and blood danced through his mind but he chose to focus on the Knight. He had entered Henrietta a skeptic but now, with a knife in his hand and hope hidden in his heart, he was leaving a believer, not in god or magic, but in something.