“No,” Nora said. “He definitely wouldn’t. But maybe not for the reason you think. None of the men in my life would approve of me being here right now.”
“Is that why you’re here?”
“Probably.”
Mercedes said nothing. Nora folded her hands in her lap, crossed her legs and patted her thigh. Gmork rested his head against her leg. Nora took comfort in his presence.
“They’re all scared of you,” Nora said.
“I believe I would be, too, if I were them. It’s not often I get this involved in a situation that’s out of my control. I just…I didn’t know what else to do. When something’s boiling, you can’t but watch the pot.”
“They think you’re a crazy stalker,” Nora continued.
“Stalker? No. Crazy? Ah. Who’s to say?’
Nora smiled. “You’ve been putting cursed Mardi Gras beads on my house for three years. Hard to explain that away as harmless.”
“Blessed,” Mercedes said, her voice sharp. “Blessed beads. Not cursed. Charged with power, good power. Nothing evil. I don’t curse anyone. Unless you cut me off in traffic. And those are just the usual curses.”
“Charged Mardi Gras beads?”
“Something my mother used to do,” Mercedes said. “A lot of women got hurt around here during Mardi Gras. It’s a prime hunting time for male predators. She would charge beads with protection spells every year on Fat Tuesday, hoping to protect some of those girls from rapists. That’s all I was doing with those beads in your tree. Trying to protect you from bad influences.”
“Bad influences? Like what? R-rated movies? Violent video games?”
“Men who don’t know what they’re talking about,” Mercedes said. “Men who don’t know anything about anything. In other words…men.”
Mercedes pointed at the silver bracelet she wore around her wrist.
“Silver,” she explained, “is feminine. Female energy. Female wisdom and intuition. That’s why I put up the silver beads. The black beads are straight-up wards against evil. Red for courage and blue for opening your mind. No curses in there at all.”
Nora stroked Gmork’s long back as she considered how much to tell Mercedes, how much to keep to herself.
“One of the men in my life tried to call a tree-trimmer this morning to cut all the beads down. I wouldn’t let him.”
“Good.”
“He’s scared.”
“Of me?”
“Of everything. His girlfriend’s about to have a baby. He’s seeing danger everywhere.”
“Potent days, right before a baby is born. The veil thins between the other world and this one. Has to thin so the soul can break through. Tell him to burn some sage incense and sleep with an agate under his pillow.”
“Got anything that’ll just knock him out until the baby’s born? He’s turning into a control freak.”
“Fear will do that to a man, make him into a tyrant. You can’t let him rule you.”
Nora smiled to herself.
“What is it?” Mercedes asked, her head tilted like a curious cat.
“His name is King,” Nora said. “Just funny, you called him a tyrant, said he shouldn’t rule me.”
“Is he family?”
“Sort of. Like common law family. I’ve known him since I was sixteen. His oldest son is one of my two lovers.”
Mercedes picked up one of her tarot decks and found a card with quick fingers. The Knight of Cups.
“Yes, that’s him,” Nora said. “Nico. He owns a winery in the south of France.”
“He’s good,” Mercedes said. “Good for you. Protects you. Respects you. Serves you. A wine-maker…he’ll believe in earth magic, whether he’s ever said it aloud or not. His love for you is simple and powerful, like a sword. But not a sword for battle. He uses it to cut through the thorny vines in your heart. He’s where you go when you want to be safe.”
“All that’s true.”
“That one I don’t worry about,” Mercedes said as she flipped through the deck. “If it was just him, you’d never have to lose a wink of sleep in your life. It’s this one that worries me.”
She flipped through the deck again and pulled out another card, The Hierophant, otherwise known as The High Priest, and set it on the table between them.
Nora stared at the card and said nothing.
“What is this card to you?” Mercedes asked.
“You tell me.”
“The cards aren’t books full of answers,” Mercedes said. “They’re doors. They tell us what doors we need to open in our lives. But only you can open that door and walk through. All I can say is that this card, it’s male. Male power. Male energy. Male power and men in power. I would guess you have a male authority in your life who has great power over you. Too much power. Power that influences you and leads you astray.”
“I can’t believe that. Not of him.”
“Him?”
“Him,” Nora said. “My him.”
“Might not be a him. Might be an it. The cards have people on them but they don’t always represent actual people. This could be a force in your life, not necessarily a person.”
“The High Priest,” Nora said, “is a person to me.”
“Who is he then?”
“Someone I will never leave.” Nora met Mercedes’s eyes.
“Someone you love.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me, Mistress Nora. I can’t help you if you don’t let me.”
“I don’t believe in any of this.” Nora waved her hand, as if to knock it all aside.
“You believe in all of it,” Mercedes said sharply. “You’re Catholic. You believe in prayers, which we call spells. You believe in blessing, which we call charging. You believe in God. We call that force the Goddess. You believe in magic, except you don’t call it that. But it is magic, all the same. Magic words, magic songs, magic spells. Light a candle, whisper a name, summon him home to your bed. That’s a love spell. You cast one and it came to pass.”
“I decorate for Christmas, too. I don’t believe in Santa Claus.”
“But you believe in Jesus.”
Nora couldn’t look at Mercedes and her dark waiting eyes anymore. She glanced away, stared at a painting on the wall, a painting of a white stag in a field of snow.
“What is it? What are you afraid of?”
Nora swallowed a lump in her throat.
“I’m not leaving the man I love. I’m not. I won’t.”
“I would never tell you to.”
“You already did.” She reached out, picked up the card of The High Priest.
“Your lover is a priest, isn’t he?” Mercedes asked. Nora nodded slowly. “You’re the mistress of a warlock. No wonder there’s so much power around you. You’re sleeping with a warlock.”
Nora laughed out loud. Rude? Yes. Unbelievably rude. But she couldn’t stop herself. It was all too ridiculous. Søren. A warlock.
“Laugh all you want,” Mercedes said. “Laugh all you can. I know you think I’m crazy. It’s all right. I’m not the one sleeping with a priest. Even I know better than that.”