Page 15 of A Charming Touch of Tarot (The Gin & Tarot Club #2)

15

Nine of Swords

As the dimly lit bar buzzed with conversation, a beautiful girl sat alone at the end of the bar, bathed in the soft glow of overhead lights. Her gaze fixed on the liquid swirling within her glass. With every sip of her gin and tonic, she seemed lost in thought, her mind a universe of its own, at least to the curious onlooker.

There was a quiet intensity about her as she glanced around the room with a calculated gaze, her eyes darting from one customer to the next, waiting for the right moment to unfold.

A handsome stranger met her eyes, catching her off guard. She wasn’t supposed to be seen or noticed, but that wasn’t likely to happen. The girl was gorgeous, drawing more attention than she realized. She moved her long, blond hair over her shoulder, pulling her eyes back to her drink and away from his penetrating stare. She waited.

An hour later, the time had come. She slipped an envelope discreetly across the worn wooden surface of the bar before casting a quick glance around, ensuring that no prying eyes caught her clandestine exchange.

The bartender accepted the envelope with practiced ease, slipping it swiftly beneath the bar top with a subtle nod of acknowledgment. He knew what to do.

With her task completed, the girl nonchalantly finished the remnants of her drink, the clink of ice against glass barely audible over the music pouring from the jukebox in the corner. Without so much as a second glance, she rose from her seat and headed toward the exit.

A sense of unease prickled at the back of her neck, and her steps quickened ever so slightly. But it was no use. A strong arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her back with startling force. A hand clamped over her mouth, muffling the scream that threatened to escape her lips.

In the darkness, a struggle ensued, the girl’s heart pounding against her chest as she fought against the unknown attacker. Panic surged, her heart hammering against her rib cage in a desperate rhythm. Darkness enveloped her, swallowing her whole.

I sit straight up, hands flying to my neck as a scream bursts from my chest.

“Alyssa? What’s wrong?” Nina’s concerned voice rings through the dark room, instantly bringing me back to my senses.

It was only a dream.

My breathing begins to regulate, and my heart rate slows considerably.

“Holy shit…that was intense,” I say, hand held to my heart. “So real.”

The lamp next to me flicks on, and the dark room is bathed in light. Nina’s standing over me, dressed in navy-and-white plaid pajamas. The shorts are barely visible under the button-down.

I peek up at her, grimacing. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“You were screaming. Scared the hell out of me,” she says, running her hand back through her hair. “I thought someone was murdering you.”

“Were you still up?” I ask, recognizing she hadn’t been in bed.

“No. I fell asleep on the couch watching 20/20 . Which didn’t help.”

Despite the heaviness still lingering from that awful dream, I laugh.

“Care to tell me what that was about?” Nina asks, taking a seat on the bed.

I relay everything I can remember and allow her to sit with it for a few minutes. Recalling the specifics only drives home the point that it was the strangest dream I’ve ever had. It was so real. Like I was watching through a camera lens, waiting for something to go down.

“You weren’t in the dream? Nobody you know was in the dream?” she asks, and I purse my lips thinking about it, which doesn’t take long.

“No. There were three people that I remember, and I know none of them.”

She bites on her cheek, eyes narrowed. “That’s strange…right?”

I huff, sitting back against the headboard. “What isn’t strange anymore, Nins? Ever since my birthday, things have taken a turn for crazy town, and we seem to be driving the train.”

She nods, blowing out a harsh breath. “Have you considered that maybe it wasn’t a dream?”

I turn toward her, gaze narrowed in on my friend.

“Humor me for a moment,” she says, and I arch a brow. “What if it was a prophecy? Or a vision?”

I’m thoroughly speechless. This is Nina speaking—an educated therapist, who would typically have an entirely separate explanation for my dream.

Oh, how times have changed.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she snaps.

“Like what?” I lean to the side, reaching for my glass of water sitting on the nightstand.

“Like I’m talking foolish. You and I both know that these things are real.”

I gulp down the rest of the glass and turn toward her.

“I’m just surprised to hear you say it. That’s all,” I explain, smiling to calm her temper. “I see ghosts, Nina. I don’t see visions.”

She huffs. “I touch people and see visions. Why is it hard to believe that you can see visions as well as ghosts? It’s entirely possible to have more than one ability, Ally.”

I consider what she’s suggesting, finding that I have no rebuttal.

“I’ve been doing some research,” she says, pulling the blanket over her legs. “Trying to understand my ability. And through that research, I read a lot about people with abilities like ours. It’s not uncommon to have more than one. In fact, it’s less common not to.”

While I’ve been preoccupied with shoving my abilities aside, Nina has been dedicated to unraveling the mysteries of our capabilities—a pursuit I should have been actively engaged in as well.

How many latent powers could be lying within me?

“Let’s assume that you’re correct,” I say, arching an eyebrow. “What can I do with the dream?”

Her tongue protrudes from the side of her mouth while she appears to concentrate.

“I think it’s very important for you to write down every single detail while it’s fresh. And then, you should probably try to connect with the girl, because it’s likely she’s already dead.”

Anxiety coils in my stomach as I entertain the morose possibility. “Do you think?”

Her grim expression says she absolutely thinks it’s possible.

“If it’s a vision and what you saw has already transpired, then yes, she’s likely deceased. However, if it’s a prophecy, you might be able to save her.”

I blink repeatedly, replaying her words in my mind.

“How? If she’s not a spirit, I can’t connect with her.”

Her gaze locks onto mine, and I detect a hint of sorrow lingering within her icy irises.

“Don’t you see the similarities between Chelsea Grayson and the woman in your dream?”

I’m not even sure what happened to Chelsea. All I have to rely on are a few movie clips depicting the demise of other girls.

“There’s likely a connection,” she remarks, and I wonder if she could be right.

I don’t have to ponder for long because in the dim corner of the room, not one but two ghostly figures flicker in and out of sight, their faces twisted in silent screams. The girl in the red dress, unmistakably Chelsea Grayson, is one of them, but the blond girl, with hair tangled and matted, wearing the same outfit she wore in my dream, remains nameless.

“Who are you?” I whisper, knowing deep down not to expect a response.

Poltergeists don’t communicate with words. If anything, they assault your senses with a deafening banshee cry.

“You were right,” I say, not taking my eyes off the specters. “She’s dead, and they are connected.”

I hear her intake of breath. “You need to call Nick.”

She’s right. He needs to know that there’s another victim.

I grab my phone from the nightstand and make the call, paying no attention to the fact it’s two a.m.

“Hello?” His craggy voice is full of sleep, and I instantly feel bad for waking him. “Alyssa?” he says when I don’t speak.

“I’m sorry to wake you, but we have a problem.”

There’s a rustling on his end, and I envision Nick springing from bed, his concern overriding any remnants of sleep. “What’s happened?” he asks, sounding every bit the detective.

“There’s another victim. Her death was much the same as Chelsea’s,” I say, knowing he’s going to need much more than that. “I don’t know who she is, but she’s blond and young like Chelsea.”

“How do you know this? Did she come to you?”

“Yes. She appeared beside Chelsea, which is why I know it was the same person who killed her.”

He sighs heavily. “What else do you have that I can use to find her?”

“Her body was dumped in water too, so I’d start by the docks.”

I pause, trying to decide whether to tell him about the dream. Seeing ghosts, I’ve proven, but the dream part is new even for me. In the end, I decide to trust that he won’t rebuff me.

“I saw her in a dream before she came to me in life,” I admit. “She was at an underground speakeasy, running drugs.”

“I’ll check for local missing persons and see if I can match the description you’ve given with someone.” He huffs. “Is there anything about the speakeasy you can tell me?”

I search through my memories of the dream, finding nothing of use. I’m about to tell him that when I remember that the bar napkin had a symbol on it.

“There was a symbol. I’m not sure if it’s random or part of the club, but it was a triangle with an eye in the center. Well…the oval shape of an eye with another upside-down triangle interlocked with a half triangle.”

“Half triangle,” Nick says, mostly to himself.

“It didn’t have the bottom line. Instead, the ends of the intersecting lines looked like inverted feet.”

“Wait…” he says, words trailing off. “I’m sending you a photo. Can you confirm that this is the symbol you saw?”

My phone pings, indicating a text, and I pull it up to see exactly what I was attempting to describe. At least in part.

“That’s it, if you put the eye around that and center the eye in the middle of a full triangle.”

“That’s helpful, Alyssa. Very helpful.”

I smile, even though he can’t see me. I’m just happy to know I’ve given him something to work with.

“How are you doing? Has…have you seen Isla?”

“No. I haven’t. I actually left the ring back at my place,” I admit, feeling guilty for purposefully leaving her behind.

It’s no offense to Isla—she’s lovely—but I wanted to focus on Nina while we search for Ian.

“That makes sense,” he says around a yawn. “Well…I hope you and Nina are enjoying your trip. I…” His words trail off, and I wonder if he’s going to complete the sentence, and then he does. “Miss you.”

A smile spreads across my face. “I miss you too. Hopefully we can both wrap up our mysteries and get back to that date that seems to evade us at every turn.”

“I’d like that.” He sighs. “I should probably start looking into your blonde. Get some sleep, okay?”

“I will. And if I learn of anything else, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks, Lyss. I’ll talk to you soon,” he says before ending the call.

“That went well,” Nina says, swiping through her phone.

“It did, but I know I put so much more on his plate. Another body is going to make this case all the harder for him.” I sigh.

She doesn’t comment on that because she knows I’m right. With every additional piece of information that was dragged to the surface revolving around Richard, things got more difficult. Sometimes, more isn’t better when trying a murder case. There’s too much room for a mistrial, which means that one family is likely to get screwed out of justice.