Scythe & Sparrow (The Ruinous Love Trilogy, #3)(73)

HAUNTED


Rose



This is my favorite time of year. And it might not be Silveria Circus, but in a way, this is even better.

A brand-new night fair. An epic haunted house. A creepy-ass tent for my tarot readings.

Saugus Frightfair.

It’s a perfect October night.

My setup is legit pretty fucking cool. When unsuspecting fairgoers come in for a reading from a terrifying clown, I’ve got all kinds of jump scares at my disposal. I keep a remote hidden on my lap and buttons on the floor I can press with my feet. I can turn off the lights, set off a smoke machine, trigger doll heads to drop from the ceiling or screams from the hidden speakers or a ghost mannequin to pop out of a cabinet at the side of the room. Sometimes, other staff sneak in to scare the shit out of unsuspecting clients. People love it. Especially when they get so into the reading that they forget to anticipate the next scare. And my cards have been on fire tonight. Readings about exes and romance and secrets, about ambition and hope and love and loss.




Eventually, things finally start to taper off toward the end of the night. There are still loads of people milling around, but there are longer gaps between visitors to my tent. I wrap up a reading for a pair of teenage girls and when they leave, I take out the creepy teeth and decide it’s time to turn off the neon open sign at the entrance of my tent. When it’s switched off, I let the curtain drape across the door. With a quick call on my walkie-talkie to the fair manager, Wendy, to let her know I’m closing up, I pocket the device in exchange for my phone and send a text to Fionn.

Hey :). I’m just finishing up for the night. You still want to pick me up? No worries if you’re already in bed!

Yeah for sure. Thought I’d make my way there to have a look around. I hope that’s okay! I’m just parking.

That sounds perfect.



With a smile and a deep, contented sigh, I sit back down at my table, cleansing my deck before I shuffle it. I’ve been so busy lately that I haven’t had much time to do a reading for myself. And maybe it’s not just that. I’ve kind of enjoyed not trying so hard to interpret the chaos that lives around and within me.

But when my readings have seemed so spot-on tonight, resonating with almost everyone who’s come in to sit across from me, it’s impossible not to pick the cards up and think about the future. Especially when Fionn is in town, though I try not to read our relationship too often in case the cards tell me something I don’t want to know. I’m happy with what we have, even though I want more. And if it’s destined to go in the other direction from where I hope we’re heading, I’d rather just enjoy what we have without being worried about how it will end. So instead of asking about my love life directly, I go to one of my favorite questions for a simple reading, shuffling as I say it out loud.

“How can I prepare myself for what’s coming next in my life?”

I draw the first card.

Knight of Swords.

I sit up straighter. This is a card I rarely pull for myself, and when I do, it usually means I have to act quickly. But it can also mean someone or something destructive. Someone ruinous.

I draw the second card.

Death.

My blood runs cold, as though it’s been drained from my limbs, leaving my skin chilled and my hair raised. Like any card, Death can mean many things. Transformation. Endings. Change needed for growth. But after the Knight of Swords …?

I draw the final card.

Four of Swords.

Stillness. Pause. Mourning. Time spent recovering.

“From what?” I ask. But I don’t think I want to know the answers to my questions anymore.




I stare at the three cards. Unease snakes across my spine. The longer I look at them, the more I wish they would change, or that I could see any other meaning than mayhem and destruction. But no matter how I try to spin the interpretation, there’s only a sense of dread drifting around me.

I hastily shuffle the cards back into the deck, put them in my leather pouch with the selenite, then slide the pouch into my pocket. With a long sigh that does little to calm me, I sit back in my chair and press my eyes closed. I try to find comfort in the sounds of laughter and music outside my tent, in the scents of donuts and popcorn. I close my arms over my middle and think of Fionn’s embrace, of the warmth of his presence and the calm that comes with knowing there’s someone out here in this crazy world who sees the real me and doesn’t turn away. And that’s all I want now. Some comfort and calm.

“Time to go home,” I whisper to myself.

“That’s a shame. I was hoping you were going to tell me about all the good things that lie in my future.”

My eyes snap open and land on a man looming at the entrance of my tent.

His face is painted in white, a contrast to the yellow of his teeth, his lips peeled back in a menacing grin. His eyes are fixed on me, framed by diamonds of black face paint. A red ball covers the tip of his nose, a wig of curly fuzz stuck to his bald head.

I go rigid in my seat.

“After all, I drove all night to get here just to see you. Get it?” Matthew Cranwell points to his face, where a glass eye covers the prosthetic that must now be in place behind it. His smile widens. “Do you like my new look? I think the nose really adds something.”

“You’re right. You look just as much like a clown as the first time I met you,” I say, edging my foot closer to the buttons hidden by my tablecloth. “I heard your wife finally left your ugly ass. Took the kids with her too. Good for her.”