The Last Card

The Fool

"Tell me that I won't die."

I blinked as I examined the querent sitting across from me. He had a sweet smile on his face and lively blue eyes. His muscular chest was covered by a faded Nirvana T-shirt. The man was so close that I could smell him—he carried the scent of summer.

So it seemed incongruous to hear such a question from this man.

Maybe it was the question. I had this job for seven months and no one ever asked something that morbid.

"Does he love me?"

"Will I get the promotion?"

"Am I going to have a child?"

I was used to questions that didn't have easy answers. But this didn't have a difficult answer―there was only one answer.

"I don't know what you want me to say," I finally answered. "Everyone dies. Are you expecting the cards to tell you that you are immortal?"

He gave a disarming smile. "You're new at this job, aren't you?"

Dick.

I kept a pleasant smile on my face. "I've been reading the cards for years. I..."

Something about the intensity of his dark eyes made me trail off. His gaze seemed to mute the noises of the outside world―it seemed to darken the dimly lit shop.

The querent put his hands on the old wooden table; as he reached forward, his T-shirt sleeve inched up, revealing black markings of a tattoo.

A tattoo with a very familiar image.

"Miss, you are the twelfth reader I've been to this month," he said. "I can tell that you're a rookie."

Twelfth? Was he going to every reader until he got the answer he wanted?

"So save any bullshit explanations about the cards," he said. "I want a three card drawing."

"Past, present..."

"And future."

We gazed at each other for a moment and I began shuffling the cards. I didn't like the way he was watching me. There was this calm expectation. It was throwing me off my game.

"You want to know if you will die?" I asked, trying to regain my serenity.

"No." He held up a finger. "I was very clear. I want to know that I am not going to die."

The first thing that popped into my head was that he must be sick―he didn't look sick. Although that didn't necessarily mean he wasn't sick.

He caught me scrutinizing him and grinned. "I'm not dying―not even sick."

I held out the deck. "Then why..."

The querent pulled out a card. "I want you to tell me that I am not going to die."

I waited for him to pick another card. "I read the cards―I don't have divine powers."

The dick laughed. "Maybe I should make this more clear. I am not dying―but I am going to die."

"How do you know?"

"I had a vision."

I tried not to show any disbelief. He didn't look like someone who had visions―unless he was high.

"You don't believe me?"

I did my best to give an understanding look as he selected another card. "Visions aren't often anymore straightforward than the cards..."