Page 26 of Florescentia

The sun was just starting to pass overhead, the light from the window slipping away as my research went on. From ancient incantations to theories of physics, nothing would help my highly specific problem. I was hoping for some crossover.

A shimmer caught my eye.

I forced my eyes off the pages and to the corner. On the other windowsill, my box of Everie cards.

Maybe there was a path among the brush that hadn’t revealed itself to me. There was no better tool for deliberation than the promise from mystic cards. I supposed it was fitting for desperate measures.

My lungs felt heavy, my body was lead. A stretch of my back, and I counted three pops of my spine. Leaning back in my chair, I tilted on the back legs. Back and forth. As I looked up at the ceiling, I allowed myself meditative breaths. It was white, the molding looked nice from far away, so it was hard to see any imperfections. Dust collected on the chandelier, the tops of the bookshelves too.

There had to be an answer as to why now, of all times, I would fail to summon an entity from the depths, why my luck was quickly decomposing. In a book, in a card, in myself—I wasn’t sure. But I would find it.

“What do you want from me?” I whispered, chewing the side of my lip as if to pinch myself awake.

Something was interfering. That part was clear. I might be able to blame most things on a lack of luck, but something was blocking the new entity from coming to me.

All four legs of my chair slapped flat on the floor as I stopped my rocking. I snatched the Everie cards from the windowsill and brought them to the table.

When I lifted the wooden lid, the back side of the deck shimmered. Gold and silver foiling against dark blue cards. There was a slight deboss in the design that could be felt under the fingertips.

I stared for a minute, wondering if the sentience of the grimoire was common to other items like Everie cards. The implications were frightening if so. The Everie contained the four major constellations and eighteen minor stars. The other fifty-six cards were represented by four seasonal categories, each card having an upright Nova, typically positive, and a negative inversed Eclipse. If any of the major constellations were real and connected to these cards, I’d be worried I was using them incorrectly.

“What should I do?” I asked them, closing my eyes as if to will my intent on the expensive cuts of paper.

I picked the first card.

A vice. The Gambler in Nova. The imagery was of two hands holding coins, one mummified and the other youthful. At least it wasn’t an Altair. The card said take a chance, take a gamble, and it might work, I supposed.

Briiiing!

The phone blared again.

Briiiing!

And again.

With a disgruntled weight to my step, I forced myself out of the room. There was no preparing for who was calling and what leaden conversations were about to be dropped into my arms, meant to endure their weight.

The phone kept ringing, until I finally plucked it from the receiver. An object that I once looked forward to the sound of was now just as good as a cartoonish phantom haunting my home.

Cupping the receiver to my ear, I answered.

“Hello?” I prompted.

Nothing but scratchy static.

“Hello?” The greeting came rather harsh.

“Hello,” a voice said.

Not just some strange, faceless voice.

It was Dorian’s.

“Dorian?” Disbelief threatened to take me out by my knees. I let my back heave flat against the wall. “Is it you?”

“Dorian, is it you?” the voice repeated, a monotone shell of the words.

I had to remove the piece from my ear, staring at the receiver cup. There was no possible way it was him. I wasn’t delusional enough to believe it. A trick, something unwell. Punishment meant for me alone.