Page 18 of Olive Becket Plays the Rake (The Seattle Suffrage Society)

Madame Celestia bustled forward, placing two cups of tea on the table before the loveseat.

Olive gritted her teeth as Emil reached for his, the movement causing a far-too-interesting friction along her side and making her uncomfortably aware of that citrusy smell.

Had he changed his cologne? She held her breath until he settled.

When she finally looked up, Madame Celestia was seated in an armchair, a wax doll with uneven eyebrows clasped in her lap. She watched them with a smile.

“What can I do for you love-birds today?”

Emil spluttered into his teacup, and Olive closed her eyes in humiliation.

“Not love-birds,” she managed to say.

“We’re working on an investigation,” Emil added.

“And you need guidance from the beyond,” Madame Celestia finished, nodding and stroking the doll’s head absently. “Do you need general guidance or do you have a specific question in mind?”

Olive turned to Emil. He blinked back at her. She nudged him with her shoulder. He nudged her back.

A moment passed, and Olive realized with a start that he was waiting for her to take the lead.

“General—”

“Specific—” Emil said at the same time.

“Goodness,” Madame Celestia trilled. “This calls for a crystal ball, wouldn’t you say, Luna?” She bent her ear to the doll’s head, as if listening, then nodded. “Crystal ball, indeed.”

She set the doll aside and rose. While her back was turned, Emil leaned into Olive’s side and hissed, “Distract her so I can slip away.”

“What do you think I’m doing?” she hissed back.

“Being a lamb again.” He gave her a long look. “But I know you’re capable of so much more.”

Her lips parted. That was the second time he’d badgered her into action with his insult-turned-encouragement.

But she wasn’t insulted. It felt good to have someone believe in her.

She’d become so accustomed to others lowering their expectations for her.

To her friends making excuses for her and allowing her to fade into the background.

Not Emil. He made sure she upheld her end of their bargain. It was annoying, but effective.

She gave him a short nod. “I can do it.”

His lips twisted into a lopsided grin. A grin, she couldn’t help but notice, that was the complete opposite of the false one he’d given Trudy Blount.

She stared up at him, transfixed. He gazed down at her, his deep blue eyes crinkling at the corners.

Her heart began to pound; her palms turned sweaty.

She was all too aware of their proximity, of—

“Here we are,” Madame Celestia announced. Olive jerked her attention back to the spiritualist. An orb the size of a snow globe rested on the table in front of them, its contents opaque and murky. “Are we ready to begin?”

“I beg your pardon, Madame,” Emil said, setting his teacup on the table. “But could I use your facilities before we begin? I’m afraid your tea was simply too delicious.”

“Of course,” she replied absently, her attention on the ball before her.

Emil braced one hand on the arm of the loveseat and began to lever himself up.

Just then, Olive’s stomach let out a loud, humiliating warble.

Emil paused mid-rise before continuing to a standing position.

Oh God, had he heard it? Heat flooded her cheeks, and she cleared her throat noisily to mask the remaining sound.

What if he thought it was something else?

But when he swiveled to look down at her, he said only, “I’ll be back soon.”

Madame Celestia escorted him to a door at the rear of the room, murmuring directions. Once the door clicked shut behind him, she raised her hands in silent celebration. “Oh, what fun! Am I doing a good job?”

“Even better than I imagined. I wasn’t expecting the dolls.”

The old woman chuckled. “Victoria told me to play up senility. Said it worked wonders on Mr. Anderson at the musicale.”

“Then these aren’t all yours?”

“Lord, no. I asked my church group to chip in. I have to return them next week.”

Olive let out a weak laugh. “What a relief—they’re very disconcerting. Staging the printing press was more than enough.”

“For your purposes, perhaps, but I needed to ensure he doesn’t come sniffing for other reasons.”

Olive tilted her head. “What other reasons?”

Madame patted her hand just like Mrs. Godfrey did. “Never you mind. Shall we use the crystal ball while we wait?”

“Oh no. Thank you. But I don’t really…”

“Tarot, then.” Madame sprang to her feet and lifted a stack of cards from her cabinet. “Oh, please. Let me give you a reading. I haven’t had this much fun in such a long time.”

“Won’t Mr. Anderson be back shortly?”

The medium waved a dismissive hand in the air. “He’ll need a few more minutes to sort through all the things I left out.”

“All right,” she said weakly.

Madame Celestia sank into her seat, a colorful deck of cards flowing between her hands as she shuffled them.

“Do you have any questions about the future?”

“All I have are questions.”

“Then I’ll give you one of my own special readings.

I learned this from a spiritualist in upstate New York last summer.

She spent the summer in Paris, studying under a man who reads for French royalty.

And he learned from an Egyptian fellow who spent a decade traveling the world and mastering the art.

” She paused and looked up with a brilliant smile.

“Meaning everything I say today is straight from the horse’s mouth. ”

Olive gripped her hands tightly in her lap. “If you say so.”

The spiritualist fell silent, her attention returning to her deck. She shuffled the cards slowly, lovingly, nodding occasionally or giving a slight shake of her head. At last, she stopped.

“Now, Miss Becket, these cards are a doorway to a realm of understanding beyond man’s knowledge. They will reveal a message the future wishes you to know.”

Olive straightened and nodded mutely.

Madame flipped over the first card. “The chariot. A powerful card. Some think the chariot indicates a physical journey, but it can also be a journey of the spirit. But more than that, it represents achievement, a pinnacle, a climax of sorts. The journey might not be painless, but the real danger lies in remaining still. In maintaining tradition. The good news is that you will overcome these hardships. The future tells us so.”

Olive’s heart pounded. She wasn’t sure she believed any of it, but wasn’t she already experiencing hardship in her life? Wasn’t it nice to imagine she might one day overcome it all?

Madame flipped the second card. “Oh,” she breathed. “I adore the Queen of Cups. The cups, Miss Becket, involve the emotions. Our intuitive nature. The queen has mastered them all. She is love. Compassion. Kindness. Creativity.” She looked up. “She is you.”

“Me? Oh no. Surely not. I haven’t mastered a thing.”

“Not yet, perhaps, but you will. The card reminds you to believe in yourself.” Madame didn’t wait for an answer, but flipped the third card. Her brows rose to her hairline. “My, my. The Knight of Swords.”

“Who is he?” Olive asked eagerly, completely bound in Madame’s spell.

“The swords involve action, power, and courage. This is a reminder that though you are led by your heart and your intuition, it is sometimes good—sometimes even necessary—to use a sword to defeat your enemies.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully.

“And our dear, dear knight. He is persistent. Determined. He can influence the Queen’s actions.

He is also protective. He uses his sword to protect his Queen on her journey.

” She glanced up, a small smile on her lips. “I believe the Knight is Mr. Anderson.”

Olive’s gasp filled the small room. “What? But I—no, no that couldn’t—he doesn’t even like me—could he?”

Madame lifted a shoulder. “Who are we to doubt the cards? There’s another interpretation, if you care to hear. It’s slightly more…base.”

Olive squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to know, did she? Oh God, she did want to know. She opened her eyes. “Tell me.”

“The cups are a vessel waiting to be filled. And the sword? Well, it has been likened to a man’s…tool, shall we say. This could be a sign that the queen will have a physical relationship with her knight.”

Olive’s lips parted. It was insanity. It was dangerous to believe she could have such a future.

That any man, let alone Emil Anderson, would fight for her.

That he would want her in a role other than assistant.

She would be foolish to believe it, let alone want it even one teeny tiny iota.

So why did the fantasy set her pulse aflutter?

Make her skin flush and her muscles quake?

Just then, the door opened, and Emil came pushing through. He gave her a curious look, then lowered his gaze to the table. “Tarot? Interesting. What’s the knight for—”

“Nothing,” she blurted. “Nothing at all.” She stood up hastily and rushed to the coat rack. Shoving her arms through her coat sleeves, she said, “Thank you, Madame. I believe that’s all the information I need.”

“Would you care for a reading?” She was looking at Emil with interest.

“Why not—”

“No, we haven’t the time. Thank you again.” There was absolutely no way she could risk him hearing a similar trajectory. He would laugh them all the way home.

And with uncharacteristic bravery, she gripped his arm and pulled him out the door.