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“The High Priestess card is one of the Major Arcana, as you may be aware,” he says. “I suppose its most important facets are that of intuition and embracing one’s duality.”
“That makes sense, Persephone being caught between life and death, springtime and winter, and all that.”
“Worship and being worshipped,” The Owner continues. “Masculine and feminine.”
“It seems pretty obviously feminine.”
“Perhaps at first. But stereotypically masculine traits are shown in Persephone. The thaw of spring can be quite destructive when a thunderstorm strikes. It is in her acceptance of her duality that she found happiness.”
I’ve always preferred the romantic iterations of Persephone and Hades, where they want to be together, chose each other, not him kidnapping her and forcing her into marriage. I like The Owner’s explanation and reach to take the card back from him.
He pulls it closer to his chest.
“Might I present the offer of an exchange?” he asks. “I keep the card and trade you anything in the store you want. Anything at all.”
“Oh, I… I don’t know. I kind of like the card, knowing it was Mattie’s and something so rare. I don’t know if there’s anything in the store right now that I’d want more.”
“No? Are you certain there is nothing you’d… wish for?”
My stomach plummets, and I clutch the still mostly full coffee cup the way The Owner is clutching my card. “I’m focused on Madame Mattie’s right now, on making sure it stays open. I love that place and the tunnels, all its history, the intrigue of it all.” And learning that there really was an incubus responsible for her success.
The Owner smirks again. “Might you then be interested in an exchange for Madame Mattie’s personal journal?”
The hair on the back of my neck stands taller. “Do you really have something like that?” No journal or written accounts by Mattie, other than bookkeeping, were ever discovered. At least not known discoveries.
“Come with me. All sorts of treasures find their way inside my shop.” He flourishes the card, and it’s gone like a magic trick. I hope just up his sleeve, because if he’s tricking me, I am going to go back to Odai and wish for the card’s return. Assuming that would work.
I follow The Owner anyway. Seeing someone else walking out of another aisle, browsing casually, does ease me a little.
There is a back room I’ve never personally seen someone exit or enter, and a little café counter that has never once been open, not in all the times I’ve come here, despite looking in working order and kept tidy. Beside it is the checkout counter.
The Owner retrieves a small box like a miniature treasure chest from behind the counter. It’s small enough that only a single book could fit inside, more likely filled with jewelry, but although I can’t see what’s in there when he opens it, what he pulls out is indeed a small, weathered, leather-bound book.
With Mattie’s initials embossed on the front: M.S.
I reach for it without thinking, and the Owner passes it to me. A quick rifle through its pages shows that it is almost entirely full. The handwriting is flowy but not illegible and flipping back to the front with a delicate touch, I find an inscription.
No compromise. Ever.
The diary of Matilda Elizabeth Swaine.
“Do we have a deal?” The Owner asks.
It’s all a little convenient, too perfect, even more so than having a genie back at home who could have conjured this very journal for me if I’d thought to ask for it. Which makes me wonder, “Does she write anything about the incubus? I mean, does she divulge if she believed the story was true?” Just in case, I figure I shouldn’t say, does she admit it’s true.
“You will have to read to find out.” He grins and asks again, “Do we have a deal, young one?”
“Yes,” I say, and the book fits almost as easily into my hoodie as the card did. “It’s a deal.”
Odai
Jeffrey is changed when he returns, distracted. I do not know what he encountered in that place of power, I do not fully know what resides there, but it pulses with unknown depths of magic that stretch beyond me. Something protects it, which is why I did not fear for Jeffrey but would also not dare cross its threshold myself and invite conflict.
Some magics do not interact benignly with each other, and some wielders are territorial.
“Did you foster any partnership agreements?” I ask.
“Oh shit. I forgot to ask. I’ll go there again sometime.”
