Nora Roberts - The Pagan Stone

The sound she made wasn’t quite a laugh, and was all insult. “I wouldn’t place my bets on that just yet.”

“I like the odds. But the point is, I thought we’d both want the rules laid out beforehand. The over-the-line part was making it sound as if you were looking for something more.”

“That was the over-the-line part?”

“You could cut me a small break here, Cybil.”

“Actually, I already have.” She thought of the Treatment, and smiled. “You just don’t know about it. Let me ask you something. Do you really believe you’re so irresistible, so appealing, that I’ll fall in love with you and start dreaming of white picket to fence you in?”

“No, I don’t. That’s part two of the over-the-line. Straight out?”

“Oh, yes, please.”

“All the hookups, the link-ups, the subsets like you called them,” he said, gesturing to her board, “started to make me uneasy. Added in the more we’re in this, the more I’ve got an urge for you-which I know damn well is mutual-I overreacted.”

And that, Cybil decided, was as close to an apology as he’d come up with, unless she beat him with a stick. All in all, it wasn’t half bad. “Okay,” she said, mimicking him, “all right. I’ll cut you a slightly bigger break than I already have. I’ll also toss in the fact that I think both of us are old enough and smart enough to resist our urges should we have concerns that acting on them will result in driving the other party into mad and hopeless love. Does that work for you?”

“Yeah, that works for me.”

“In that case, you can either run along and do whatever it is you do, or you can stay and pitch in.”

“Define ‘pitch in.’”

“Lend a fresh eye with the charts, the graphs, the maps. Maybe you’ll see something we’re missing, or at least the potential of something. I need to finish this one, then it needs to be analyzed.” She began to write again. “Then, if you’re still around, it might be a good idea to try another link-up-of the psychic variety-when at least one other person’s around. It occurred to me if the timing had been different yesterday, and that dog had gotten there sooner-”

“Yeah, it occurred to me, too.”

“So, I think at least until we have a better handle on it, we shouldn’t try that sort of thing alone, or outside.”

He couldn’t argue with that. “Tell me about this first, the cards.”

“All right. Start with me. I’ve listed my cards, in the succession they were picked, and the subsets I picked with. Yours and mine here, then with Q and Layla, then with the group as a whole. There are twenty-two Major Arcana in a Tarot deck. You and I chose five cards each, all ten of them Major Arcana.”

He scanned the board, nodded. “Got that.”

“My female subset, five cards each, and a total of fifteen of Major Arcana. When I picked with the group as a whole, the first three were again Major Arcana, the last three-and as I elected to pull from the deck last, all twenty-two were already pulled-were the Queen of Swords, the Ten of Rods, and the Four of Cauldrons.

“Now, when you look at my three rounds, you see that in the first, and the last, I pulled both Death and the Devil. Other repeats, first and second rounds, the Hanged Man, and in all three rounds, I drew the Wheel of Fortune. Second and third, Strength.”

“All of us drew repeat cards.”

“That’s right, so those repetitions add weight to our individual columns. And, tellingly, each woman picked a queen, each man a king. Mine, Queen of Swords, represents someone on guard. An intelligent woman who uses that intellect to gain her own way. Which I’m certainly prone to do. This queen is usually seen as a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman. Ten of Rods, a burden, a determination to succeed. Four of Cauldrons, help from a positive source, new possibilities and/or relationships.”

She stepped back, frowned at the board. “My take here is, the cards from the Lesser Arcana represent not only who we are, but what we need to do individually to aid the whole. With the repeat cards representing what was set before us-individually again-what’s come to be or is coming, and the eventual outcome.”

“How about my king?”

“Again Swords. Represents a man of action who has an analytical mind. And though it might be seen more as Fox, as it’s often someone in the legal profession, it means this man is fair, a good judge and basically, nobody’s patsy. Next, you have the Six of Rods, triumph after a struggle. And last, Nine of Cauldrons. Someone who enjoys the good life, and has found material success.

“So…” She blew out a breath. “As Q and I are most familiar with the Tarot and its meanings, we’ll work this. Shuffle it around, analyze, dig into meanings in each subset and in the order of individual picks, repeats, and so on.”

“Which will tell us…?”

“Strengths and weaknesses-that’s a key, isn’t it? For each of us, for each subset, and for the whole. And speaking of Q,” Cybil continued when Quinn stepped to the doorway. “Did you get the thing from the place?” Cybil asked sweetly.

“What? Oh, that thing from that place. They were out. So, what are we up to?”

“You and I are on cards. Gage will be putting his analytical mind and his judgment into charts, maps, and graphs.”

“Cool. Isn’t it sweet how Cal and I picked King and Queen of Rods?” She beamed her smile at Gage. “Both prefer country living, are loyal with strong ties to family.”

“Handy.” With that, Gage decided the maps needed his attention.

He wondered how many hours they’d put into all this-their pushpins and computer printouts. He understood and valued the need for research and prep work, but honestly couldn’t see what help color-coded index cards were against the forces of evil.

As he studied the map of the Hollow, his mind automatically filled in houses, buildings, landmarks. How many times had he cruised those streets-on a bike, then in a car? There was the place where the dog had drowned at the dawn of the second Seven. But the summer before, he and Fox and Cal had snuck out and gone skinny-dipping in that pool one hot summer night.

The bank would be there, corner of Main and Antietam. He’d opened an account there when he’d been thirteen, to hoard money where the old man couldn’t find it. And that asshole Derrick Napper had jumped Fox there one night, just for the hell of it, as Fox cut through on his way from ball practice to the Bowl-a-Rama. The Foster house had been right about there, on Parkside, and in the basement family room, he’d lost his virginity and taken that of the pretty Jenny Foster one memorable night when her parents had been out celebrating their anniversary.

Less than eighteen months later, long after he and pretty Jenny had parted ways, her mother had set the bed on fire while her father slept. There had been many fires during that Seven, and Mr. Foster one of the lucky ones. He’d awakened, put the fire out, then managed to subdue his wife before she lit up their children.

There was the bar where he and Cal and Fox had all gotten ridiculously drunk when he’d come back to celebrate their twenty-first birthday. A few years before, he recalled Lisa Hodges had stumbled out of that same bar and shot at anything that moved-and some that didn’t. She’d put a bullet in his arm that Seven, Gage thought, then offered him a blow job.

Strange times.

He scanned the graphs, but as far as he could see, it didn’t appear that any one area, or sector, of the Hollow experienced more episodes of violence or paranormal activity. Main Street, of course, but you had to factor in that Main got more traffic, more people used it than any of the other streets or roads in and around town. It was the primary route, with the Square the hub.