It took Maura quite a bit of doing to persuade him to leave the pantry, and even after he’d joined them at the table, he did not look at all like he belonged. Some of that was because he was a man, and some of it was because he was much taller than everyone else. But most of it was because he had dark, permanently worried eyes that indicated he had seen the world and it was too much for him. That earnest fear was entirely at odds with the varying degrees of self-confidence carried by the psychics in the room.
Maura and Calla had known him before Blue had been born and both were thinking that Artemus was ever so much less than he had been then. Well, Maura thought ever so much less. Calla merely thought less, as she hadn’t had a very high opinion of him to begin with. But then, lanky men who appeared out of mystical groves had never been her type.
Jimi poured the whiskey.
Orla closed the doors to the reading room.
The women sat.
“What a cluster,” Calla said, by way of opening (she was not wrong).
“He can’t be saved, can he?” Jimi asked. She meant Gansey. She was a little misty-eyed. It was not that she was intensely fond of Gansey, but she was a very sentimental person, and the idea of any young man being cut down in his youth troubled her.
“Mm,” said Maura.
The women all took a drink. Artemus did not. He shot a nervous look at Gwenllian. Gwenllian, always imposing with a nest of towering hair full of pencils and flowers, glared back at him. The heat in her expression should have ignited any alcohol remaining in her shot glass.
Maura asked, “Do we need to stop it, then?”
Orla, the youngest and loudest in the room, laughed in a youthful and loud way. “How exactly would you stop him?”
“I said it, not him,” Maura replied, rather snottily. “I would not pretend to imagine I have any power to stop that boy from searching Virginia for his own grave. But the others.”
Calla put her glass down with force. “Oh, I could stop him. But that’s not the point. It’s everything already in place.”
(Everything already in place: the retired hit man currently sleeping with Maura; his supernatural-obsessed ex-boss currently sleeping in Boston; the creepy entity buried in rocks beneath the ley line; the unfamiliar creatures crawling out of a cave mouth behind an abandoned farmhouse; the ley line’s growing power; the magical sentient forest on the ley line; one boy’s bargain with the magical forest; one boy’s ability to dream things to life; one dead boy who refused to be laid to rest; one girl who supernaturally amplified 90 per cent of the aforementioned list.)
The women took another drink.
“Should they keep going to that crazy forest?” Orla asked. She did not care for Cabeswater. She had gone with the group once before and had come close enough to the forest to … feel it. Her sort of clairvoyance was best over telephone lines or email; faces only got in the way of the truth. Cabeswater had no face, and the ley line was basically the world’s best telephone line. She had been able to feel it asking her for things. She couldn’t tell what they were, exactly. And she didn’t necessarily think they were bad things. She could just sense the enormity of its requests, the weight of its promises. Life-changing. Orla was just fine with her life, thanks very much, so she’d tipped her hat and got out of there.
“The forest is fine,” Artemus said.
All of the women looked at him.
“Describe ‘fine,’ ” Maura said.
“Cabeswater loves them.” Artemus folded his enormous hands in his lap and pointed his enormous nose at them. His gaze kept jerking back to Gwenllian, as if he feared she might leap at him. Gwenllian meaningfully snuffed one of the candles with her shot glass; the reading room got one tiny fire darker.
“Care to elaborate?” Calla asked.
Artemus did not.
Maura said, “We’ll take that opinion under advisement.”
The women took a drink.
“Is any of us in this room going to die?” Jimi asked. “Did anyone else we know appear at the church watch?”
“Doesn’t apply to any of us,” Maura said. The church watch generally only predicted the deaths of those who had been born in the town or directly on the spirit road (or, in Gansey’s case, reborn), and everyone currently at the table was an import.
“Applies to Blue, though,” Orla pointed out.
Maura aggressively stacked and restacked her cards. “But it’s not a guarantee of safety. There are fates worse than death.”
“Let’s shuffle, then,” said Jimi.
Each woman held her tarot deck to her heart, shuffled, and then selected a single card at random. They placed the cards faceup on the table.