‘Is that what it is? It looks confusing. Is that middle C on the third stave?’
‘Well done! Yes, it is.’
‘I hope the souvlaki measured up?’
‘It was magnificent. We’re going there again.’ She waved her hand around the shop. ‘Can I interest you in something?’
‘Please. I want something for my beloved. Maybe a mix of something Irish?’
‘Are they Irish?’
I must have blinked, because Kate rushed to explain. ‘If they’re Irish, they may not want their own ancestral music, because it was probably hammered into them growing up and they might be all Celted out. Otherwise, sure.’
I blinked again, realising that the use of the third-person plural was intended to cover all possible genders for my aforementioned beloved. The idea that people could choose their own personal pronouns was still a little new to me, but I appreciated the general inclusiveness of the thought. ‘He’s Israeli. But he likes Clannad and the Corrs.’
‘Okay then. Is there a particular album he wants, do you think, or just something in that style?’
‘Something in that style would be lovely. Gift-wrapped?’
‘Of course. Is seventy-five dollars too much? We can give you a CD and a thumb drive, with a gift card and list of tracks.’
‘Are you going to write something specially for him? If so, that’s way too cheap.’
‘Well, not really. What’s his name?’
‘Daniel.’
‘What we’ll do with this is make Daniel a mix tape. We’ve done some multitrack Irish already, from traditional and completely non-copyright sources, so he can have them. We’ve also done some more-or-less Clannad/Corrs improvisations, and we’ll put them on too. And we’ll do one track especially for Daniel. What’s he like?’
I paused, momentarily at a loss. What could I tell these girls about my wonderful man?
She tilted her head. ‘Tall, short, funny, serious?’
‘Tall, dark and handsome. And dangerous, but only to bad guys.’
She thought about this. ‘Okay, that should be enough. When would you like it?’
‘Is Monday possible?’
‘Sure. We don’t have a party on tonight, so we’ll write something and record it after dinner.’
‘How wonderful. Thank you!’ I reached into my purse and disinterred a fifty, a twenty and a five. ‘And you must let me pay you in advance.’
Her small, perfect white teeth flashed for a moment. For a commission like this, she would always ask. ‘Tell all your friends.’
‘I will.’ I grasped the receipt and she smiled again.
I left the shop, intending to go home to sleep, but standing outside her shop was Meroe. She beckoned, looking rather like a prophet attempting to sell the Sibylline books to the King of the Romans, and I followed her into her shop. It smelt, as ever, of perfumes, incense, herbal teas and watchfulness. I stood for a long moment to admire the crystals (amethysts still seemed to be very popular), the dreamcatchers, the inspirational CDs and all the rest. I saw many boxed sets of tarot cards, which seemed to be making a comeback. Above them I noticed a placard inscribed in a sans-serif font which stated:
Please do not ask for Aleister Crowley’s tarot cards as a curse often offends.
I inhaled the odours of sandalwood and patchouli, and Meroe waited. She has a genius for it. She seems to live in a small, gently rippling pool of silence. Today she wore her usual black dress with a pale green shawl. She closed the door behind me and I waited. Then she laid her slender hand on my arm and sat me down in one of her antique wooden chairs. There was no one else in the shop.
‘Corinna, you are walking into peril, aren’t you?’ she said, her voice like small stones tumbling into a pond.
‘I fear that this may indeed be the case,’ I agreed.
She rummaged under the counter and brought out a tiny wooden suitcase with a brass handle on it, about the size of the palm of my hand. ‘I think you should have this,’ she stated in her quiet, matter-of-fact voice. I noted a small label on it saying forty dollars.
Meroe never tells me things like this without good reason, so I paid up at once, and opened it. Inside was fine straw, and buried within was the most beautiful ring I had ever seen: wooden, with a glorious blue stone with what looked to be a petrified forest within.
‘This is the Ring of Otherworlds,’ she stated. ‘It will help you see when all the lights go out. Wear it until the danger is passed.’ She walked to the front door again and turned over the sign saying OPEN so it faced inwards. ‘I’m not expecting any more customers today. I want to read for you, if you’re agreeable?’
I nodded, and she brought out a small wooden table and put it in front of me, sat herself down in a chair opposite, and produced a small silk bundle. Unwrapped, this showed itself to be a deck of cards with blue-and-white-checked backs and intriguing designs on the obverse. ‘Have you ever had a reading before?’ she asked, putting her head on one side and shuffling the deck.
‘Once, as a student. I don’t think he was very good at it.’
She handed me the pack and I shuffled it too.
‘Cut the deck,’ she instructed, and I did so. The lower half she turned around the other way and resumed shuffling.
We did this three times each, then she fanned the cards, face down, across the wooden table. ‘I use the Rider deck. It is hallowed by tradition, and is also completely safe. In my hands, anyway. Unlike some decks, which aren’t.’ I glanced at the sign and she managed a thin-lipped smile. ‘Especially not that one. I had three enquiries for it this week. Crowley was a complete pervert. I will go a long way for my customers, but I won’t stock that. Now you need to pick a card. Take your time, and remember which way up it is. Upright or reversed are quite different.’
I probably imagined it, but one of the cards seemed to be saying: Pick me! I handed it to her and she placed it face down on the table.
‘The Star. Very well. You feel that you are at the mercy of forces far too cosmic for you, and it’s all too outré. Correct?’
‘That is an excellent summary of my life of late.’
She began to deal from the top of the pack until we had a double cross laid out. It certainly looked colourful enough. She touched the card at the extreme left. It showed eight staves slanting diagonally across a green and pleasant landscape.
‘The Eight of Wands. This is your immediate past. Same as the Star, really. Life is strange and out of control, and you have been doing your best to cope.’
I nodded. Then she touched the card in the centre of the cross, which showed an angel holding a lion’s mouth shut. It looked promising. Even the lion didn’t look too unhappy about it.
‘Strength means pretty much what you think, except that it’s spiritual strength rather than something that comes out of a jar of protein supplements and far too much pumping iron. You have powerful allies looking after you. Crossing you is the Seven of Wands. I like sevens. And these two are related.’
I looked as a man on top of a hill with a big staff was beating off six other staves.
‘You are in a struggle, and outnumbered. But you have the higher ground, and a stalwart protector.’
Next came a card with more coins on it than a Bollywood wedding. ‘It would appear that the next thing you attempt will be successful.’