"The moment man devoured the fruit of knowledge, he sealed his fate...

Entrusting his future to the cards, man clings to a dim hope.

Yet, the Arcana is the means by which all is revealed...

Beyond the beaten path lies the absolute end.

It matters not who you are…

Death awaits you."

"I'll miss you."

His voice is heavy with sincerity. That isn't anything new. Asra has always meant his words, even when he speaks them in riddles or when he avoids telling me everything—which is all the freaking time. He probably has a hundred secrets hidden in that marvelous mind of his, but he is no liar.

Of that, I am sure of.

The fact that he is leaving again isn't anything new either. He is a wanderer, a free spirit, and nothing can keep him anywhere for long. Not even me.

There was a time when I hoped perhaps I could change that part of him, that I could inspire him into loving me enough to stay, only to quickly realize that people don't change. And that I have no right to wish that he would. Asra is family—the only family I've ever had—and I love him the way he is. I shall keep on loving him; yes, no matter how many times he hurts me with his absence.

It isn't hard being alone. My magic is strong enough now that I no longer wish for sight. I can feel the atmosphere around me and it serves as a true, reliable guide. It no longer feels like everything is a threat, dangers that I should watch out for. I can hold my own even if most of the time I'm wishing I didn't have to.

An owl hoots in the dead of the moonless night. This is the time he usually leaves—he is as much as a night creature as the owl outside—the right time for beginning a journey, never mind the undesirables that could be lurking in the shadows. Asra can hold his own, too, probably better than I think.

"Here…" I feel his hand on mine—his touch feels like clouds caressing my skin. It is such a familiar feeling. I am certain I know every bit of him although I've never actually seen him. I know the temperature of his body, the softness of his skin, the smell of his hair, the sound of his voice—so well, in fact, I suspect I could find him in any crowd. He gently pulls my arm forward, opens my palm and places something there. "Take this. For you to play around with while I'm gone."

Hmmm. A gift. This is definitely not a good sign. If he is giving me something, it means he is trying to appease himself which, in turn, means he feels guilty about something. Is it leaving that gives my young master this heavy feeling? He should know by now that I'll survive without him.

Say what you want about me, I always do what I must.

Surviving… it is just one of these things.

Whatever I hold in my hands pulsates with magic—and not just any magic—his magic. With a simple brush of my fingers, I know what it is before he tells me.

"My tarot deck." Yes. In Asra's little shop of oddities, there is nothing as powerful—and as terrifying perhaps—as this deck of cards. I don't know who it belonged to before it was given to him—his refusal to disclose that makes up one of the many mysteries I am so fond of—but the deck itself carries a strong, eerie presence that makes my hair stand on end every time I feel the cards nearby.

I quirk an eyebrow. "You think I want your creepy deck?" Annoyance is building in my stomach. He can laugh all he wants. Why should he give them away? And to me? I don't want the cards any more than he wants to part with them.

"Scared of them, still?" he muses and I can't help thinking he is pleased by that. "You're really something. I'll hide the cards if you wish. But first…" he brushes my cheek with his thumb, "humor me. Read my fortune, Sol. Just for fun."

There is no such thing as 'just for fun' when it came to Asra. He can be kind and distant, smart and obtuse, perceptive and blind, but never fun when he can be serious. The fact that he is using such a unbelievable article to convince me means he is distracted, nervous.

Should I take advantage of that?

He must see something in my face because he adds, "This isn't a test, Sol. I promise."

Well, if this isn't a test, it means that it positively is.

"No? You think I'm ready? For this amount of… of power?"

There is a moment of silence as he considers that. "I can't tell you that," he says softly. That is his standard answer when he doesn't want to tell me something. Usually, I'm not opposed to secrets. Everyone has the right to them. It is just harder to respect it when they are about me. "You've made incredible progress, but you still won't let go of your doubt."

Doubt. That is a funny word. It carries the weight of the omnipresent feeling that I can't quite shake. The doubt of having heard right. The doubt of what I can identify by smell. The doubt of ever being alone. The doubt of a hundred different things I can't be certain of because I can't see them.

There is never, however, the doubt of feelings.

And that's what makes this so hard. Because I know of my reasons, and of my doubts, even if he doesn't. To accept his magical cards—something he has never parted with before—will be to accept that maybe, this time, he isn't coming back to me. And I can't stand that thought.

"If that is something you truly need an answer for, how about you ask the cards?" Despite my reservations, I hear him pull the curtain which leads to the backroom. "After you," he says, his voice farther away.

I sigh and follow him. I don't need eyes to navigate Asra's shop anymore, and it isn't just the energy that emanates from the many objects that guide me. Every nook and cranny is as familiar to me as their owner. I know how many steps I need to get from anywhere to everywhere.

"It's been a while since we've practiced," Asra is saying as I take a sit across from him. He sounds remorseful which is an unusual mood for him. He'd rather sugar coat his emotions around me whenever he can.

"Because you're never here?" The words come out of me as if they have a life of their own and my tone makes it sound way more accusatory than I feel. It isn't in my nature to point fingers. There is just something off about tonight, something I feel he should be telling me because it is coming whether he likes it or not. He can't protect me from fate any more than I can drink fire.

It takes him a moment to answer and when he does, he sounds more like himself, trying to mask his true feelings. "Maybe. Someday you'll find a real teacher, Sol…" His fingers are scratching the fabric draped over the table. "But since I have a few minutes to spare, let's see how powerful you've become without me."

He is always going on about how 'powerful' and 'gifted' I am, which only reinforces my theory that perhaps Asra is as blind as I am when it comes to certain things. Because if someone as perceptive as he can't see the blubbering, clumsy mess I am then I'm forever safe from mockery and jests.

I hear a low murmur from Asra and then something brushes along my ankle, smooth and cool. "We're not alone," he says, without necessity. Faust's presence is easily identifiable. Her aura tells me she is pleased to see me. The sentiment is mutual. The snake is my constant (and only) companion when Asra is gone. "If we're all here, let's begin." Asra sounds eager, almost as if he has something to prove.

I close my eyes, focusing my energy, and start shuffling the deck, feeling a little hesitant as the cards slip through my fingers. They are so alive in my hands it makes me dizzy. When I'm done, I pull the first card with my right hand and place it over the table, between us, face up. The little voice in my head whispered its name… the High Priestess.

"What is she telling you?" Asra presses me. I can feel him leaning closer, expectant of something. Why is this so important to him? "Is she speaking to you now?"

When the cards speak to me it isn't in any human tongue. The words come like a feeling, call it intuition, from somewhere I can hardly identify, deep in my gut. "You've forsaken her," I say. I'm surprised to notice that my voice is no more than a whisper.

"I have?" Asra asks in the same volume.

"Yes." An image forms in my mind—Asra, in a garden, the smell of pine and wood, and someone there with him, the touch of silk on bare skin, long hair and ringing jewelry. "You've pushed her away and buried her voice. She calls out to you, but you won't listen." The image turns dark and heavy—a warning. "Master, if you don't listen to her…"

A sharp knocking startles the three of us. I feel a shiver down my spine. Whoever it is, so late at night, has arrived at the same time as the warning from the cards.

Asra's breathing turns louder. "I can't stay any longer," he says suddenly, standing up. I stand up as well. The warning still weighs in my mind making me anxious. Someone still knocks on the door and Asra is running away like it is the devil.

"Wait—"

I feel his hand on mine again and then his lips as he presses a kiss to it. "You'll be fine, Sol, dear. You always are."

For a second, I consider grabbing his hand, throwing him on the ground and pinning him there to stop him from leaving. It is silly, but the cards have scared me. Before I can move, however, the moment is over and Asra is gone from my grasp.

"Ah, I almost forgot," he says from somewhere to my left. "You wanted the cards hidden, didn't you?" He moves lightly, footsteps barely making any sound. "There. It's done. You can always find them if you need 'em."

I feel so lonely already.

Asra hesitated, as if he still has something to say, but I know he won't say it. Pragmatic, he doesn't much care about feelings—or tries not to. He has to leave, so he will leave.

"Until we meet again," I hear him say, but it sounds so far away I wonder if I didn't imagine it. I hear him part the curtains and slip out the back door, which means whoever it's knocking on the front door, he wants to avoid at all costs.

The only sound left in the room is that of my own breathing and the insistent visitor. I try to calm myself down. It can't possibly be anyone dangerous or Asra wouldn't have left me alone to deal with it. Still, a feeling of dread lingers above my head. I wonder if this isn't a conversation I, too, should wish to avoid.

Yes, well, if Asra can avoid it, so can I. I walk to the front of the shop, a hand stretched before me, until I find the door and lock it. Whoever it is can come back in working hours.

Or not…

The knocking turns into a pounding so hard I'm surprised it doesn't knock the door down. I back away, slightly, considering what is the right course of action in this situation when a tremulous, feminine voice calls from outside: "I'm not leaving, magician! Open up!"

Something about that voice makes up my mind for me. It sounds so raw and exhausted, bearing on desperation. It isn't a threat. Someone needs my help.

I unlock the door and pull it open to immediately regret it. Whoever it is advances on me, the noise of silk skirts and jewelry making my mouth drop open. It feels just like the vision I had. The High Priestess. The strong smell of rosemary and lemons take over the room even with the draft that comes from the cold night outside.

"I will not suffer another sleepless night," a rich, authoritative voice says to me. "You must read the cards for me. It has to be you."

At the sound of that, my heart leaps to my throat. I know that voice. There has been a public announcement a few days ago, celebrating her awakening from her deep slumbering—the Countess.

Now why would the Countess of Vesuvia want a reading in the middle of the night from a blind apprentice? It makes absolutely no sense.

"I—I think you've come to the wrong place," I stutter.

"Spare your breath, magician," she says poignantly. "This is the place. I know it. I've seen it before." I freeze in place as the Countess walks around me, circling me like a vulture. "These walls… These wares… And you." She stops in front of me again. "Though you were no liar in my dream."

Ouch.

Like a slap in the face. (Trust me, I would know…).

I stumble backwards and would've fallen if the Countess didn't grab me by the wrist. Her touch is hot like fire and it quickly spreads through my skin until it reaches my cheeks. "D—Dream?" I stammer again, trying to escape from the Countess fiery grasp.

"Yes. An unwelcome ability I have come to possess," the woman answers, finally letting go of me. "My dreams are haunted by visions of a future waiting to unfold. But the future I saw, the one that brought me to you…" her voice falters, "...is one I will not allow to pass. Tell me, magician, will you hear my proposal?"

"Proposal?" I know I must look like a fool, repeating the Countess' words like a parrot, but I can't help it. This is a most unexpected conversation.

"Not very talkative, are you?" It sounds like she is enjoying my discomfort. "Nervous, perhaps?" I can't imagine someone that wouldn't be nervous in my position. "I am no stranger to the rumors about me," the Countess says. "That I am a tyrant. That I loathe your type, magician. But know this: I mean you no harm. If you accept my proposal you will be rewarded handsomely." She pauses for a second to gather her thoughts. "I require very little of you. Be my guest at the palace for a short while. You will be afforded every luxury, of course," she adds like that would be the argument to convince me. I instantly know she is referring to whatever 'help' the visually impaired might need. Not very complimentary. "It is as my dream foretold," she goes on. "You need only to bring your skill… and the arcana."

The arcana… where did I hear that before? Fruit of knowledge… fate… to the cards... the Arcana is the means… It sounds like a distant lullaby to my ears, something I should know, but can't quite remember. How did it go?

"I am at a loss, Countess," I say, hoping my ignorance might perhaps change the Countess' mind and she will leave.

I have other reasons, too. The palace is 'forbidden grounds'. It is home to nobles and mysteries alike, a place filled with vile people and corruption and murder. Asra has made me promise a dozen times to never set foot there.

"The arcana," the Countess clarifies, and although I do want to know more about that, it isn't what I referred to. "The cards. You haven't heard their true name? I was told you read them well, but I wonder if you truly know them."

The doubt that floods her voice now reminds me of my earlier musings. It is one thing to doubt yourself. To have an entitled stranger do it is unacceptable.

"Show me, magician," she demands. "I wish to judge with my own two eyes—these rumor talents of yours."

Just like that, a sweat breaks out on my brow. I am angry. It feels like a duty to prove to this woman what I can do it—what Asra's apprentice can do. But at the same time, I'd hoped the Countess wouldn't ask. After all, Asra did hid the cards before he left.

With my chin up, I try to distract her. "And I don't know if I believe these dreams of yours."

The Countess is peeved. "Must we do this? I don't have all night, magician."

So there is no distracting her. I make a mental note of that. What now? I can't possibly go around blindly looking for Asra's deck when I have no idea where—

I feel the weight of something in my trousers' pocket. Oh, Asra, you sly fox. Of course. He has put a spell on the deck so that it would appear when I require. Very clever. Knowing him, I should've anticipated it. I reach into my back pocket and feel the familiar edges greet my fingertips.

"Now, shall we begin?"

Without further ado, the Countess strides past me toward the back room. I'm left with no choice but to follow.

When we are both sitting across from each other, I start to shuffle the cards while the impatient Countess taps her fingernails on the table. I wish she wouldn't do that. It is awfully distracting.

What if I can't do a reading? What then? What will the Countess do to me? Will she just leave? I take a deep breath. I need to remain calm. I can do this. Doubting my power is giving power to my doubts.

I pull the top card and am immediately granted a vision. There is a fox running in an open garden. An owl watches the fox from a tree. There is a fountain, the sound of running water. The sun burns brightly. There is something written on the trunk of a tree, but before I could look at it with my inner eye, the image dissipates.

"...The Magician," I reveal the name of the card to the Countess.

"How very appropriate," she muses and I feel she is studying my face. I flush. "What does he hold for me?"

My mind is clear. The answer comes to me as easily as having someone whisper it in my ear. "You have a plan." I feel the Countess stiffen on her sit. "One that's long in the making. Years upon years. Now you seek to set it in motion."

Something changes in the Countess' voice when she asks, "And? Should I move?" She sounds almost as eager as Asra had during his reading.

I feel the weight of her stare. "Yes," I tell her. "Act now. Everything has fallen into place. You—"

"Say no more." The sharpness is back. She stands up, pushing the chair back abruptly. "Your fortunes are simple. Much the same as the others I've heard. And yet… you are the first to pique my interest."

I let out a breath I didn't know I've been holding. I hear the Countess throw back the curtains, striding purposefully back into the shop proper. By the time I emerge, the Countess has already crossed the threshold into the air of the night.

"May I await you tomorrow, magician?"

She is giving me a choice, I realize. It isn't much of a choice, but it is polite enough to ease any hostile feelings I've been harboring.

I consider what I'm being offered. The palace, the richness, the chance to prove myself as more than Asra's apprentice. This time I would get to be the magician. The idea is exhilarating. There isn't much I can do out in the world. But maybe—just maybe—I'd be just enough for this.

"You may," I breathe.

"You have chosen wisely, magician." I can hear the small hint of a smile in her voice. "I will alert the guards to expect you tomorrow. Until then... Rest well." I am already waving goodbye when the Countess says, "And do try not to pout."

With that she slams the door.

I bit my tongue, crossing my arms over my chest. What an outrageous night. What could the Countess want with me? And why now? How does it fit with the warning I gave Asra?

"How very weird," I mutter to the empty shop. I am convinced nothing else can happen tonight as to surprise me—

"Strange hours for a shop to keep."

A gasp tears from my throat. I circle around myself not sure where the sound has come from. "Who said that?" It's a man's voice, muffled but still loud in the silence of the night. But it isn't a voice I recognize, which means I'm going to have to use my other talents to identify the speaker.

"...Behind you."

I turn. My eyes dart around the shop, chasing shadows they won't get to see. Focusing on his energy, I feel his height, the smell of leather and coffee and wolfsbane, and the gloomy melancholy of his aura. It feels somewhat familiar.

"You…" the voice hesitates. "You can't see."

Very deductive. I fight the urge to roll my eyes.

"Interesting." There is movement, the squeal of leather, and his voice turns clear as he removes something from his face—a mask perhaps. "No need for this, I suppose. Now, sources say this is the witch's lair. So who might you be?"

My heart starts beating really fast. How did he get in? What does he want? Who is he? Until I can think of something, I decide to play for time. "W-Wh-Who's asking?" My words are almost too low to be heard, but they give the stranger pause.

"I'm asking," he says and he sounds amused. "I'd rather not do it again."

Am I being charmingly threatened in my own shop?

"But if it'll make you talk…" he continues, "...Doctor Julian Devorak."

My heart skips a beat. By the stars. Can it really be? It certainly explains why his aura feels familiar and foreign at the same time. I know him—or rather I know of him.

"Well, I can tell by the look on your face—shock—horror—that you know who I am, don't you?"

The whole of Vesuvia does. He has once supposedly been a great physician, before he became the most wanted man in town—a murderer, on the run. What can he possibly be doing here tonight? And why?

I try to keep it together. If he was going to kill me, he would've done it already. No, he has come for answers and while I keep them from him, I am safe. I just need to play my cards right (no pun intended). I let out a shaky breath and try to sound nonchalant. "Of course. Although you're exaggerating your own importance. Shock, yes, definitely. But horror? Unless you plan to set me on fire, I've none to give."

There is a moment of silence and then a burst of laughter. "Haven't heard a good one like that in years," he mutters. Then he is back on business. "Quick now. Where is the witch?"

"I'll never talk." Asra would probably scold me for that one.

"Mm. Where did I hear that one before? Come now, I thought we could keep things civil."

I'm silent. Intimidation will get him nowhere.

"Well, if you won't tell me where he is…" He reaches out and grabs my shoulders.

For future reference—never a good idea.

I jump at the touch. In fact, I almost scream. It feels like a lightning bolt down my spine, raising every single hair on my body. The air around me grows colder and I think my legs will give out from under me. It is pure energy pouring out of his fingertips through the thick leather of his gloves, through the fabric of my shirt. I've never felt anything like this. And apparently, I am the only one who feels it, because he continues his speech as if nothing has happened. "Won't you at least tell my fortune?"

Did I drink crazy leaves? What is up with tonight? Did I even get out of bed at all? It seems more unlikely with every passing moment.

"I… uh… What?"

His hands leave my shoulders and my mind clears. "That is what that room in the back is for, isn't it?" I give him a hesitant nod, unsure of the motives for his odd request. "After you, then." He must have gestured or something. People are always gesticulating around me, forgetting I can't see.

So this is it, I guess. This can very likely be the last reading of my life, if I care to do it. Perchance it will get him to leave? The possibility gives me enough hope to make me move my feet.

The doctor drops himself into the reading chair, looming over the table. "Lovely decor. Reminds me of the good old days."

Hesitantly, I take my sit for what I hope will be the last time tonight. Or ever.

I start to feel a little chilly and I suppose his eyes are to blame. Yes, I can feel his stare and somehow I know it is cold. "Go on," he urges. "No need to be shy."

I shuffle the cards a little too aggressively, eager to get this over with and pull the first one. The vision is different this time. Darker. Heavier. Claustrophobic. The stink of blood in the air. Sweat and blood. A man with red hair. And fire. Fire everywh—

He snatches the card from my hand, breaking the vision, so he can have a look at it. My mind is the one racing now. I can't think of single thing to say. Blood pounds in my ears.

"Death?" His voice is low, incredulous. "Death?" he says again, sneering this time. Then he barks with uncontrollable laughter, sharp as ice. "You've got to be joking."

I jolt as his hands strikes the table.

Devorak rises to his feet. "Death cast her gaze on this wretch and turned away," he snarls. "She has no interest in an abomination like me."

Overcome with confusion, I am frozen on my sit listening to the doctor as he paces around the room, murmuring to himself about death, curses and where the bloody hell the witch is.

"He's gone," I tell him, surprising the both of us. I honestly just want him to leave by now. If telling him the truth will get him out of there, then that's what I'm going to do. The doctor stops pacing and is very likely looking at me, waiting for more. "I don't know where. He didn't tell me."

"Is that so?" He is silent for what feels like an eternity. When he next speaks, he sounds calmer. "You've been hospitable, so I'll let you in on a secret. Your witch friend will be back for you. He's taught you his tricks. You may even say he cares for you. But when he returns..." There is a dramatic pause in which I assume he has put his mask back on because his voice turns muffled again when he completes the thought. "...seek me out. For your own sake. That creature is far more dangerous than you know."

Creature? He can't possibly be talking about Asra… can he? There is nothing dangerous about Asra. There has never been. And yet… Sincerity rings in the doctor's every word, enough to leave the bitter taste of doubt in my mouth.

"Well, then," he says. "The hour is late, and I'm out of time. Don't let him fool you, shopkeep." And with that last warning, he disappears into the night.