Page 73 of The Truths We Burn

“Well, you can tell them I’m not interested in anything they have to say. Maybe you should keep these things to yourself from now on, yeah?” I shouldn’t be entertaining this. I don’t want to be.

I stare down at her. The shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders, she stands openly in the rain, unbothered by it.

“Stubborn boy.” She arches her eyebrow. “I’m telling you the high priestess”—she taps the card in the middle— “is coming for you. You can only run so far before you run headfirst into your past. You’ll have to face her, that pain, that heartache. Soon. Covering it up is only burying you further into your grave. Facing her can give you the redemption you need.”

How the fuck did I end up here? Why the hell do I attract shit like this?

My stomach burns with irritation.

I hear enough about this stuff at home, just in a different format.

Spirituality, religion. It’s all the same with their self-fulfilling prophecies. It’s not used for good or to help people, just to control minds, to keep people in line.

It was created to scare people into following rules they wouldn’t abide by if they weren’t in fear of a big man in the sky.

She’s coming for you?You’re fucking joking me.

“I’m done with this.” I turn away from her eyes, placing my hands on my bike and throwing my leg over the seat.

Apparently, she hasn’t gotten the memo, because she follows, walking up next to me.

“I don’t want your witchy bullshit. I’m not buying it,” I say with a little more force so I can get my point across. I jerk my helmet over my head, messing with the straps.

“And I’m not selling it.” In a calm movement, she reaches the last card towards me along with a business card, dropping both in my lap.

“Ten of swords, kid. If you don’t rethink the path you’re headed down, prepare for a painful ending. One full of loss, betrayal—it will be brutal and nasty. You won’t make it out. Take these with caution, and if you ever heal from what religion did to you, come by and let me read your palm. I have a feeling you have a great story to tell.”

Then she’s gone, as if she didn’t just drop some psychobabble horse shit on me, walking away through the rain, her boots clicking as she disappears.

I look down at my lap.

The one white rectangle has her name printed on it with a phone number.

Bliss St. James.

And the one next to it is the same pattern of black and gold as the other cards.

This one has a man face down in the earth, multiple swords piercing him in the back, driving him farther into the ground. His arms are outstretched as he reaches for help that doesn’t seem to be coming.

The wind picks up, and the rain begins to fall harder. Chills roll up my arms at the bitter water that soaks through my clothes.

I quickly rationalize that the only way she knew about how I feel about religion was because of my body language. People like her are good at reading those kinds of things, picking up on the little things. It’s how they successfully con clients.

Well, I’m not buying it.

I flick both cards onto the ground with zero regard, allowing the water to absorb them into a soggy mess.

I quickly turn the key over on my bike and let the engine rumble between my thighs. The power that surges through me as it hums warms my body.

I pull my helmet shield down over my face, darkening the area around me more.

Fuck divine intervention. I don’t need redemption.

If God has a problem with me, he knows where to come looking for me.

Until then, I’m going to keep ripping heads off until all of Rose’s wrongdoers are roasting alive in Hell.

Sage