Doomsday Deck Page 3

  “Yes.” Nodding her approval, Justine drew the fourth card. She placed it toward Xander separate from the three cards that were already on the bed. “The Three of Swords. You’ve had some trouble in your romantic affairs lately.”

  Xander didn’t say anything. He stared at the picture of a heart impaled by three swords. The image perfectly described how he felt about the entire Cordelia—Willow episode. He hurt because he hadn’t fallen for Willow until it was too late, but the pain he had inflicted on Cordelia was worse. He saw her again, lying in a heap under the broken warehouse stairs with a metal re-bar driven through her. He was ashamed at his behavior.

  “I guess we touched a nerve, huh?” Justine asked softly.

  “A few.” Xander couldn’t tear his eyes away from the pierced heart.

  “Let’s move on, then. Maybe it’ll get better.” Justine peeled another card off the deck and set it down to the left of the first three cards. “Then again, maybe not.”

  The Hermit? “What does that mean? That I’m destined to be a lonely old fool?”

  Justine shook her head. “Not necessarily. The Hermit indicates that you don’t want to grow up and you don’t listen when people offer good advice. In fact, you’ve fooled yourself and everyone around you into thinking you’re completely unconcerned about your life and fate when you’re actually running away from reality.”

  Xander looked the artist in the eye. “I don’t feel better.”

  Justine shrugged. “The first five cards represent present or past circumstances. Tarot only predicts the future that might be. People have free will. They can change their destinies if they want to.”

  “That’s comforting, I guess,” Xander mumbled.

  Justine’s eyes widened slightly when she turned over the sixth card and placed it over the first three cards. “Ah! This is encouraging.”

  The dark despair pressing in on Xander lifted under the artist’s smile. “I’m afraid to ask.”

  “The High Priestess represents your most probable future. It’s not set in stone, of course, but the perfect woman is part of your destiny.” Justine paused, then looked up at him. “And it seems you may possess psychic ability as well.”

  “I knew it!” Xander grinned. “Finally.”

  “Finally?” Justine frowned, perplexed.

  “Uh—nothing.” Xander struggled to explain his outburst. He certainly couldn’t tell her he was the odd man out among friends who all had supernatural ability. “I, uh—just always thought there was something, you know?”

  “Oh, yes.” Justine nodded and flicked her wrist to flash the Tarot deck. “I know.”

  Xander watched with anticipation as she dealt card number seven. His better mood vanished when she turned up the Hanged Man to the right of the center pile. “Please, tell me this doesn’t mean what it looks like, either.”

  “It doesn’t.” Justine laughed. “How does wisdom and prophetic power sound? And, perhaps, a span of time in the near future when you won’t have to make any decisions.”

  “I’ll take it.” Euphoria seemed to cloud Xander’s head for a moment. Not surprising given the portent of the Tarot reading, he realized. For the past three years he had been the ordinary sidekick to the Slayer and all-around errand boy. Now, at last, he had a paranormal ability he could use to help defeat the Sunnydale demon infestation. “Deal again.”

  Justine turned over the Wheel of Fortune and placed it to the right of the Hanged Man. “And what you fear.”

  Xander nodded and waited. If the card didn’t indicate that his worst fears centered on the legions of undead and other atrocities the Hellmouth spewed out, he wasn’t going to tell Justine. She might pack up and leave.

  “You’re a classic Peter Pan personality type, Xander.” Justine smiled. “Not in a hurry to accept adult responsibility or to change.”

  “And lose my boyish charm?” Xander joked, but he didn’t miss the point. Fate had endowed Buffy with a mission in life as the Slayer. Oz was totally dedicated to his music in spite of his monthly lapses into lupine ferocity, and Willow was determined to develop her magickal powers for good. He wasn’t driven by anything except being accepted as an equal by his friends. Which was a joke until my psychic powers came out of the closet today, Xander thought. Now that I have something extraordinary to contribute, everything will change.

  But Justine didn’t need to know that, either.

  “Change is inevitable,” Justine said. “Perhaps, sooner than you think.”

  “You have no idea.” Xander noted the young woman’s coy smile and had to still a racing heart again. He didn’t know anything about Tarot, but Justine’s reading had been remarkably accurate. Was it possible she used her skills to get to know the men inside the bods she found attractive?

  “The ninth card reveals how your family and friends perceive you.” Justine placed the next card above the Wheel of Fortune.

  “The Fool? My friends think I’m a fool?” Xander glared at the image of a court jester.

  “Foolish in a worldly sense,” Justine explained. “You’re a dreamer and, well—your friends and family think they have a better grip on reality than you do.”

  Justine quickly went on to reveal the Magician, which she put above the Fool. “There is hope for you, though. You will achieve mastery over something and with it, you’ll be able to direct great power.”

  Suddenly spooked, Xander looked up. If he could fine-tune his psychic talent to accurately predict events, he would be using it to direct power. He’d be telling the Slayer what would happen, when and where!

  “And finally—” Justine tensed a bit as she turned over the last card and set it down above the Magician. “The Nine of Pentacles. Excellent.”

  “It is?” Xander held his breath.

  Justine nodded. “In the end, you’ll be wise enough to know where your interest lies and what to do about it. You’ll resolve the dilemma you were struggling with when we started.”

  Xander wasn’t aware of any dilemma except wondering whether to risk shattering his fragile ego by asking Justine to go out. He seized the moment. “Want to go for coffee—or something to eat? The Bronze is loud, but they make a great cappuccino.”

  Justine held him transfixed with liquid brown eyes. “You’re too tired, aren’t you?”

  Xander’s eyelids drooped. “No, not really,” he lied as exhaustion threatened to knock him out on the spot.

  Justine stood up, pulled Xander to his feet, and guided him to the door. “Go home and get some rest. I’ll see you at the art show tomorrow.”

  “Right. It must be later than I realized.” Xander stumbled outside and dragged himself home. He got up the front steps without breaking his neck and collapsed on the worn sofa. He couldn’t stay awake long enough to make it to his bedroom.

  CHAPTER 4

  Giles set his book and tea aside as Buffy, Willow, and Oz barged into the Sunnydale High library.

  “Giles!” Buffy stuck her head in the office door. “Busy?”

  “Actually, no,” Giles said dryly. Although he still advised Buffy, he had much less paperwork to do since his separation from the Watchers Council. Sorting and shelving school library books demanded a hard ten minutes a day, since they were rarely checked out.

  “You’re sure?” Buffy’s glance locked on the book as Giles marked his place. “I mean, you’re reading.”

  “Librarians do that on occasion.” Giles rose and picked up his tea.

  “So whatever it is, it’s nothing I should wonder about?” Buffy asked as she followed him to the large study table.

  “Not unless you’ve recently developed an interest in the works of Charles Dickens,” Giles quipped.

  “Don’t think so.” Buffy frowned. “Didn’t he write “The Christmas Song”?”

  “Mel Torme.” Oz dropped into a chair and propped his feet on the table. Giles casually swept them off as he walked by.

  “Dickens wrote A Christmas Carol.” Willow sat down beside Oz. “You know . . . t
he dastardly Scrooge goes tripping through time with the spirits of Christmas past, present and future?”

  “Oh, yeah!” Buffy brightened. “Great movie—for black and white.”

  Shaking his head, Giles glanced toward the door as Xander rushed in.

  “Sorry I’m late. Overslept.” Xander darted into the office. He emerged again scowling. “I sleep in one lousy morning and no one else can get the doughnuts?”

  Oz looked up. “Didn’t think of it.”

  “Which is too bad because I’m kind of hungry, too,” Willow said.

  “Maybe we should kick the doughnut habit now anyway.” Buffy shrugged as all eyes turned to stare. “Before they pass the fat tax.”

  “Are you all just looking for a handout or is there some sort of emergency?” Giles asked.

  “More like emergency control.” Buffy perched on the edge of the study table. “Mom wants Slayer security at the art festival this weekend.”

  “The whole town is smitten with normalcy because of the art show,” Willow said. “Nobody thought about the PR problems if, well—we have to be realistic, right? If the local vampires pig out and a bunch of artists end up dead—”

  “Or undead,” Oz inserted.

  “Mom will feel responsible,” Buffy finished.

  “Yes, she would,” Giles agreed.

  “Which is why I want to know if something other than the usual horde of fanged guys is planning to pop out of the Hellmouth,” Buffy said.

  “Yes, well . . . that, uh . . . would be rather disruptive.” Giles pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his glasses.

  “I’m not picking up any weird vibes.” Xander sat on the stairs and stretched.

  Giles looked up, squinted. “A post-shock tremor?”

  Buffy shook her head. “That’s aftershock, but Xander’s not talking earthquake.”

  “He thinks he’s psychic—” Willow recoiled when Xander’s head snapped up. “And, well . . . maybe he is . . . maybe.”

  “Do tell.” Replacing his glasses, Giles paused to absorb Willow’s comment about Xander’s prognostication potential. His initial reaction was a silent, but unequivocal “unlikely.”

  “I don’t just think, I know,” Xander insisted. “But obviously, everyone else finds it a little hard to believe. Why? Nobody has a problem with Buffy being the legendary vampire Slayer or Willow making mojo or Oz turning into Dog Man.”

  “Yes, but the evidence regarding Buffy, Willow, and Oz’s . . . unique abilities is beyond dispute,” Giles said. “Did you experience a psychic episode?”

  “Yes.” Xander sat back, arms folded, and launched into a detailed account of yesterday’s events. Giles listened attentively, but was not swayed by what amounted to Xander’s impassioned desire to join the ranks of the extraordinary.

  “But last night was proof positive.” Xander hesitated, his eyes glazing for an instant. When he resumed speaking, he seemed distant and subdued, a jolting switch from his previously impassioned tone. “I didn’t say a word to Justine about being psychic, but she picked up on it right away.”

  “Excuse me?” Giles blinked. “Who’s Justine?”

  “One of the artists,” Buffy explained. “A charming, pretty artist to be exact.”

  “She isn’t just an artist.” Xander leaned forward. “After we set up her display, we went back to her motel—”

  “For a romantic interlude?” Willow asked with an impish smile.

  “Tarot reading,” Xander said. “According to Justine, I radiate psychic energy like a furnace blasts hot air.”

  “No other similarity implied.” The corner of Oz’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t smile.

  “Psychic energy isn’t the same thing as psychic ability,” Giles explained. He didn’t want to damage Xander’s fragile ego, but he couldn’t let the mistaken assumption pass. “Everyone exudes a certain amount of psychic energy—like a psychic signature, which is transferred into the Tarot deck by touching the cards. Thus, each deal is specific to the individual subject.”

  Xander’s brow furrowed over a fleeting, almost vacant stare.

  “Is Tarot reliable?” Buffy scowled, looked at Giles. “Or just complicated fortune cookies?”

  “That depends on the expertise of the person doing the reading. The cards can evoke intellectual and emotional insight from the inner consciousness of an astute reader. To others, it’s nothing more than an amusing parlor game.” Giles refrained from pointing out that Justine might be simply enamored of the occult and an untrained dabbler.

  “So good Tarot takes the guesswork out of destiny?” Buffy asked.

  “Not exactly,” Willow said, brushing her auburn hair behind her ear. “It doesn’t foretell the future. A reading just gives hints of what could be or might be.”

  “Indications,” Giles agreed. “Tarot is used as a tool of enlightenment designed to help people understand themselves and their relationship with the cosmos. Internal rather than external in nature.”

  Willow brightened suddenly. “Maybe you should get a reading done, Buffy! It might help you pick a career.”

  “No thanks.” Buffy shook her head. “My destiny is set in stone.”

  “Well, the future of my internal nature includes psychic abilities.” Xander returned to a defensive posture when he drew everyone’s gaze. “The High Priestess said so.”

  “Justine’s a high priestess, too?” Buffy’s eyes widened. “Of what cult?”

  Giles smiled. “The High Priestess is a card, Buffy. One of the original twenty-two cards in ancient Tarot decks. It’s believed that all earthly emotions and experiences are revealed through the Major Arcana.”

  Willow looked at Xander. “So the High Priestess must have been your crown card.”

  “Beats me.” Xander shifted. “There were a lot of cards. I don’t remember all the details.”

  “Yes, well—the High Priestess as a crown card might also indicate that unknown, hidden forces are at work in your future, Xander.” Giles shrugged. “Rather than psychic ability.”

  Xander’s eyes flashed with challenge. “The hanged guy. Near future. Symbolic of prophetic power.”

  Buffy and Willow exchanged a glance, startled by Xander’s display of temper.

  “Or stagnation,” Giles countered, keeping his tone even. Xander’s angry desperation was unsettling, but he knew that being honest with the boy now might avert more bitter disappointment later. “Every card has a positive and negative meaning.”

  “So naturally, it’s not even remotely possible for yours truly to be positively psychic.” Xander shook his head, then stood up and headed for the large double doors of the library.

  “Xander, wait—” Willow started to rise.

  “What for?” Xander’s jaw flexed as he spun to face them. “You guys haven’t finished pounding me to a psychological pulp yet? Forget it. I’m gone.”

  “But—” Willow sat back down as Xander stormed out, the doors swinging shut behind him.

  Giles flinched, then sighed. “It would seem I muddled that rather too well.”

  “Not your fault, Giles.” Buffy’s gaze lingered on the doors. “Xander’s always had a no-power complex. He’ll get over it.”

  “But what if he doesn’t?” Willow sagged. “I’ve never seen him so . . . so—”

  “Crushed?” Oz offered.

  “Shredded.” Willow sagged.

  Buffy turned her worried gaze on Giles. “Any chance Xander really has suddenly tuned in to the cosmic pipeline?”

  “Possible, perhaps, but I rather suspect he’s simply experiencing normal bursts of intuition,” Giles said.

  “Then how did he know the sawhorses would fall off the truck?” Buffy asked.

  “Easily explained, actually,” Giles said. “The stack of sawhorses may have wobbled as the truck began to turn the corner. Xander’s mind processed that observable information so quickly he wasn’t aware of it. Consequently, it seemed like a flash of psychic insight.”

  “I’ve h
ad that happen,” Oz said. “It’s like ‘something’ tells you not to follow the car ahead too close, and then a few seconds later it blows out a tire.”

  “So what should we do?” Buffy slid off the table and nodded toward the doors. “About Xander.”

  “Nothing.” Giles wasn’t a psychologist, but he was fairly certain Xander’s anger would pass when he calmed down enough to think rationally. “If we’re wrong, we’ll have ample opportunity to beg for his forgiveness after he demonstrates a psychic talent beyond normal parameters. However, since I doubt that will happen, I see no reason to press him about his folly.”

  Willow frowned. “I wonder if the Fool card showed up in his reading.”

  * * *

  Xander’s anger subsided before he hit the courtyard. He sank onto a stone bench and closed his eyes, his thoughts focused on what he hadn’t told his friends about the Tarot reading. Justine had been absolutely certain about his psychic powers, but the cards had revealed other, less positive things about him and his future, too. He didn’t remember the details, but the general gist was hard to forget.

  A loser in love, he was deluding himself, resisting change, and running away from reality.

  “You’re a classic Peter Pan personality . . .” Justine had laughed when she said it, but the words had struck an uncomfortable chord.

  “And she knows I’m unlucky in love,” Xander muttered. The dismal prospect of his un-social life was troubling—file that idea under run-for-your-life—but not as devastating as his friends’ tolerant, patronizing perceptions of him.

  While most of the cards had become a blur, the Fool card mocked him with disturbing clarity. The jester represented the opinion of his peers, and Justine had not pulled the punch. His friends thought he was a foolish, ignorant dreamer.

  Last night he had scoffed at the idea.

  This morning Buffy, Willow, Oz, and Giles had all proved it was true.

  Xander opened his eyes, exhaled, and stared at the cracks in the cement walkway. The clear image of the Fool began to fade.

  When he looked up again, he was walking down a residential street—with no recollection of how he had gotten there.