“That wasn’t the first time she said that about me being too smart,” Jodi whispered. She kept her eyes on Seymour. He was a skinny old tom cat, all pointy bones and sharp angles. She could feel each vertebrae in stark relief along his orange and cream striped back.
The tattooed lady lay down another card.
Jodi didn’t want to look.
“You don’t have to look,” the tattooed lady said softly. “But I wonder … what might happen … if you do?”
It was the kindness in her voice that coaxed Jodi to raise her eyes from the old cat sleeping on her lap to the last card that had been laid on the table.
The illustration showed a lone man. His long robe glowed with the soft golds and yellows. The man himself had sightless white eyes, warm brown skin and black hair that fell the length of his back. In one hand he held a wand, in the other a sword. At his feet, symbols floated in a mystical fire.