Page 16 of Florescentia

Practicing with Everie cards was not only as common as traditional orison, but a grounding self-therapy for the more secular. The other end of the spectrum considered Everie practicing as a type of invocation, but there was little to prove such a thing.

No matter the reason, the practice was rarely troublesome. No one was hurt by entertaining cards. It wasn’t like gambling, tossing money to chance. It was a culture. A community gathering. Sure, people spent good money on finely crafted cards and specialty tables; even the Everium had a membership base. But these things were not considered wasteful due to the practice’s community value.

The teas were all herbal, formulated for harnessing different moods and emotions. They were meant to calm and stabilize you, no matter the questions pestering your mind, pecking at the back of your eye until the words blurted out. The tables were finely carved, circular with rimmed edges, to keep all contents on the surface. Each table provided cards and included samples of burning incense to cleanse.

The cards flicked and rippled between my fingers as I split and folded them in a dovetail shuffle. They said the more neutral the dealer, the truer the premonition.

“One card, for my week,” Clara chirped, taking bites of her uncrusted cucumber sandwich.

“One card,” I repeated to my sister-in-law.

“Draw three, I have a busy rest of the quarter,” Mrs. Fairfax said. My mother-in-law distractingly arranged her gloves on her lap.

I glanced across the table, the cards snapping again as they folded. “And you?” I queried the newcomer.

The girl’s chest puffed like a pigeon’s, a smirk like a cat’s. “I don’t think I want any.”

“Why waste the entry fee?” I placed the deck in front of me, the shimmer of the gold details tainted by the reflection of the girl’s stare.

Young, foolish. This should be interesting.

“You touched them.” She glanced at the markings of my hands. “I will do mine at home.”

“Don’t,” Mrs. Fairfax warned her, a thud from under the table that was most likely a shoe to the girl’s calf.

Clara continued to eat, slower, as if the noise would agitate an already offbeat beginning to the session.

“I’ll pull one for you anyway, no touching required,” I taunted. “It seems you may be in need of guidance.” I pulled a card, sliding it to Clara. “You’re Ava, correct?”

The girl straightened her back, picking up her tea as if I hadn’t spoken.

I nodded, as if I had any reciprocation. I flicked three more cards from the top, sliding them to Clara’s mother.

Then I pulled a card for sweet Ava.

“Do you know why I have these markings?” I asked the girl.

She stared, a crease in her brow.

Ava was one of Clara’s younger cousins. Dorian had a large family on his side. Every function, we met more and more of them. My husband and I had been sweethearts since school, but Clara was a friend before she became my sister-in-law. While our families were close now, I understood that the younger ones could get quite resentful if no attention was paid to their tantrums.

“You know, our ancestors regarded uniqueness as holy.” I placed Ava’s card in the middle of the table; the vitiligo on my hand had spread since the last ritual, making my hand starkly pale against the dark wood. “Shadows are the absence of light—doesn’t mean things don’t exist within the unknown, even if you don’t understand it. My condition is random, unpredictable. It is also wholly mine, never repeated. Skin is sacred, passed down and constantly changing. It is a map of those who came before you, and those who come after.” I flipped her card. “It is divine.”

Her card revealed a Cathal in Nova.

Cathal was the patron of Implodium, the collapse of the year. The flora began to wither, the animals moved south, and the sun spent less and less time in the sky.

The patron was symbolized by a coyote, the scavenger, an arrow through his mouth and out the back of his head.

Scavengers were complex beings. They were creative, resourceful risk-takers and were social chameleons. They could survive anywhere, as well as make friends. They worked exceptionally well as individuals or in unconventional groups equally.

The scavengers were also some of the most intelligent, with vices including avoidance, lack of inner joy when tying their worth to institutional accomplishments, and a fear of change and loss. Some said they could be cruel, manipulative, and had a weak moral framework. Some suffered from reckless spending, living beyond their means and playing on false success.

I moved the card toward her. “Respect for the unknown is paramount. It seems you may learn that very soon. You never know where you may find yourself.”

Ava snatched the card and sank slightly in her seat, studying the illustration. A tinge of hurt, I could see it clearly. Her cheeks burning, brow tense. She was misguided now, but that was just how the young found their footing.

Clara cleared her throat, waving her finger back at the deck. “You too! Pull one for yourself.”