The Variables (9 page)

“Okay. Flambeau?” Lucy stifled a giggle. The picture was of a black woman dancing among tall grass, her arms raised in jubilation. “Where did you get these?” Lucy leaned over and reached for the deck, but Cass drew them back away from her.

“My grandma,” she answered in a soft voice.

“Of all the things you could bring, you brought these?” Lucy saw a flicker of hurt travel across Cass’s face and she recognized her own harshness. “I’m sorry. I forgot that you had more time to prepare...to grab the things that mattered to you,” she backpedaled.

The statement softened Cass, and she smiled. Still holding the unused cards to her chest, Cass looked at Lucy and asked, “Is there anything you would have brought with you? If you’d have known?”

Lucy closed her eyes and let her memory recreate her house. She felt a pang of sadness, thinking of her home now empty, left to the elements. It was unlikely she’d ever get a chance to return. In the attic, her mother had organized a box with her school awards and art projects; there was a baby book filled with her first words and snapshots of growing up. But of all these things, the two items Lucy longed for most did not belong to her.
 

Scott’s Victrola was a family treasure and its scratchy records transported her to a different time, a far-off place. She longed to sit and lose herself in the music. It was a large and lumbering item, impossible to transport, but Lucy still wished that her father had made more of an effort to save it.
 

The other item was her mother’s charm bracelet.

When she was younger, Lucy used to sneak up to her mother’s bedroom and examine the silver bracelet and the accompanying accoutrements with fascination. While the novelty of the charm bracelet had gone out of style when her mother was young, somehow Maxine had still gathered an array of trinkets throughout the years. Charms represented the births of each child, milestones in education, trips to Disneyland. Each one told a story. And Lucy loved to hear the narratives behind the charms.

She cringed to think that the heirloom was left behind, probably still tucked in the jewelry box on her mother’s chest-of-drawers.

“An old record player. And a charm bracelet.”

“Of course, of course. That makes sense. We bring things that have stories,” Cass noted wisely and she nodded toward the cards. “I would not leave these behind.” Then she pointed toward the upturned card in front of them. “The Eruzulie La Flambeau is good. It’s a strong card. For a strong woman.”

Lucy smiled. Flattery could earn Cass some credibility. She leaned closer and ran her finger over the dancing woman’s curves. It was clear to see that this card had confidence. She wished that she could see that trait in herself. “So...I am, in this present moment, strong?”

Cass shook her head. “It’s not just inner strength that the Eruzile sees. It’s all in the timing. You are encountering obstacles and you are determined to succeed...you will not allow your fear to stop you.”

“Like saving Grant!” Lucy said with excitement, feeling for the first time that she could put the pieces of her life into these cards and make it work.

“Ha!” Cass let out a single, punctuated, laugh. “Yes, yes, dear Lucy. Just like that. So, you are converted now? You believe?” She raised her eyebrows and then wagged her finger. “Then let’s see about your future, eh?” With a steady hand, Cass drew the top card off the deck and went to set it down, but she hesitated. There was a flash of uneasiness and the card hovered in her hand for an extra second before she set it down. Staring at it wordlessly, Cass’s features went dark.

“It’s bad,” Lucy stated, unsurprised. She saw the artwork: a dark woman smoking above three red caskets, each filled with a skeleton, buried underground. A forest bloomed behind the woman, but her body language conveyed a certain carelessness. “Of course it’s bad.”
 

“More or less,” was the reply.

“At least it’s not the death card. That would be
too
predictable,” Lucy said, eyeing the word typed at the bottom.
Guedeh
it read.

“At least it’s not that,” Cass repeated. And she went to scoop up the three lone cards, her hand sweeping them off the table and into her palm.

“Hey—” Lucy put her hand on top of Cass’s and stopped her. “I paid my ticket.”

“You don’t believe. It’s just a deck of cards to you. There’s no point...you’ll think it’s for effect. I should just tell you that the card means hope, love, and prosperity.”

“Oh, come on,” Lucy said and she crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s unfair. I’m willing to listen. I’m sorry about before. Tell me...”

Cass eyed Lucy with reluctance and then she sighed. “The Guedeh are the keepers of the dead. They represent what we don’t know about death and the afterlife. But this card...it’s not good. It means that you will have a great heartbreak. That your life will be marred with a separation. And it will be caused by your own actions.”

Lucy raised her eyebrows. “Goodness,” she whispered, resisting the urge to reply with a dismissal. Playing it off would hurt Cass’s feelings, so she swallowed and listened, trying to hide every shred of questioning that she felt bubbling up around her.

“You will do something that will hurt a great number of people. It will reveal truths about yourself and your values.”

“I think I’d rather have death,” Lucy replied, her throat dry. “You’re going to send me back out to play balloon darts after that?” she managed to add with a half-smile.

Cass picked up the cards off the table. Each in turn. “This is just a snapshot. No future is set in stone, Lucy. Even God and the spirits understand that we can take control, we can set a course. Divination is a tool. It’s not...as you say...a science.”

“But—” Lucy reached out as if she was making to take the cards, but Cass intercepted and took Lucy’s hand. She leaned down and kissed it with a loud smack and then set her free.

“Change your path. Change your future.”

“I don’t think the System supports your cute catchphrase.”

“I think the System was built with that
exact
idea in mind,” Cass said matter-of-factly. “It’s not the motto that matters, it’s how you interpret it. Everything walks a fine line between good and evil; just a little,” Cass cupped her hands and blew, as if scattering confetti, “and everything changes.” Then she leaned at squeezed Lucy’s bicep, letting the touch linger for a moment.

The tent rustled behind them and Lucy turned. Two boys and a girl entered holding goodie bags and brandishing tickets. One of the boys laughed and ducked behind the others, covering his mouth with a fist and hitting his male friend playfully in the shoulder, as if he couldn’t believe they had entered the tent. Their mockery was evident; somehow Cass as a fortuneteller gave them ammunition. Lucy went tense.

The girl didn’t crack a smile. She examined Cass, scoffing at the ridiculousness of the set-up. Twinkle lights and tarot cards held no magic for her. She was an unwilling tag-a-long and her body language conveyed a mixture of superiority and unease.

Cass looked over to Lucy and motioned for her to stay, so Lucy stood and ducked back into the shadows of the tent. If the boys cared she was there as a witness, they didn’t let on. Instead the tallest one moved forward and held out a single ticket. He sniffed.

“So, Cassandra Salvant...
fortuneteller
...cute,” he said. Cass stepped forward and took the ticket and put it in her pocket. She tried to smile.

Lucy recognized the kids in the tent. Knew their faces, their backgrounds. Hunter, Noah, and Felicity. They were of the same ilk as the Brikhams—entitled and lost. Back in the old world they had been privileged bullies. Unfortunately, the System disoriented them, so they wandered around without purpose, itching for a fight, and pushing back against the rules out of boredom. It was shocking to Lucy that Huck had not accounted for this group. Everyone underground could see their behavior shifting from calculating to brazen. Power had been redefined. And the rumors about tanking the Brikhams had been the tipping point for a great number of them. Now people saw: The Elektos Board held the keys of power.

Lucy and Cass were the new beneficiaries, the golden children of the underground.
 

And these teens knew it.

“Tell me my future,” the boy named Hunter continued. “I’m sure you know all about the future. Right? That’s your thing.” He collapsed in the empty chair, and Cass sat across from him. She pulled out her deck of cards and hesitated.

“What kind of reading do you desire?” Cass asked. “Is there someone you are hoping to discover? Love? Business? An upcoming challenge?”

Hunter sneered. “You pick,” he said.

With careful deliberation, Cass flipped three cards onto the table facedown. She went through each card, like she had with Lucy, giving him select information. His past was filled with contentment, good fortune. His present was challenging, feeling concerned, worried. When Cass reached the card for his future, she looked up and made eye contact with Lucy for a brief second, and then she launched into all of the shining opportunities headed his way.

“That’s what that says?” Hunter asked as he leaned over and examined the picture—reversed, it showed a woman standing on a box surrounded by smoke, a snake wrapped around her middle. He reached out to grab the card, but Cass moved in and pushed his hand away. “Hey,” he snapped, affronted. “Don’t touch me.”
 

“Don’t touch the cards,” Cass said in an even voice. She peered around him to the lurkers in the doorway of the tent. “Who’s next?”

Felicity cleared her throat and shook her head. “You’re a joke,” she said, her voice as slippery as oil. She said it as if it had been the plan since the beginning, as if they had discussed a word-war before entering the tent. It was a rehearsed barb; planned and plotted and executed with ease.

Cass stood up and put her hands on her hips. She elongated her neck, exuding such confidence and élan that Lucy felt momentarily frozen—her friend was not intimidated. Lucy wished she could say the same thing for herself. Her heart was pumping wildly and all the words she wanted to say to stand up for Cass were tumbling away.
 

“You can leave now,” Cass said and she pointed her finger toward the tent opening. The sidekick, Noah, snickered, a brutish
har-har-har
as he looked around for reinforcements.

“Not without my future,” Hunter said to Cass and in a swift motion he lunged toward the table and swiped up the final tarot card in his hand. Cass watched the scene unfold, but she had been too slow to react. Instead of pitching forward after him, she bowed her head, and let her shoulder’s drop. The boy flipped the card between his fingers. “Zombi,” he read. “You lied. This card is about something else. Life after death, maybe? This card is about prosperity? I’m not an idiot. Maybe it means you and everyone like you are planning on taking more from us. You’ll go after our souls next. Right?” But something in Hunter’s voice wavered, as if he couldn’t understand how Cass’s refiguring of his future positively could hurt him.
 

“It’s not that kind of
zombie
,” Cass said to him. “And if you feel like you’re a better fit to sit in this tent and play-act for tickets, be my guest.” She motioned to the chair. Lucy thought she heard a trembling in her voice, but if so, it was disguised, hidden, buried beneath Cass’s levelheaded charm. She stood firm.

“Playacting,” he repeated. “Sure.”

“So, then, you believe the tarot? You’re confusing me,” Cass said to the group. She pretended to stifle a yawn.

After a quick look to his friends, Hunter turned to Cass and looked her square in the eye. Then in slow motion, he ripped the card he was holding in two and let it float to the floor, its two halves fluttering down and landing inches apart. “No more Zombi,” he said with a wink. And the group turned to leave.

Cass watched them, unmoving.

“How dare you,” Lucy whispered from the shadows. Then she cleared her throat and tried again, “Who do you think you are?” Stepping forward, the group stopped. They assessed her with annoyance rather than fear.

Felicity opened her mouth to respond, but Hunter put his hand up. “Who do I think
I
am?” he asked. “Who do
I
think I am?” He turned and looked at his pals. “
Lucy King
wants to start something.”

“Maybe she’ll get her daddy to poison you,” Noah snickered.

“Cass’s daddy can build a nice big tank for all of us to fit in together,” Hunter added.

Lucy cringed.

Of course they knew. Of course the System’s rumor mill was a well-oiled machine—and while Lucy’s negative energy was directed toward Huck, Gordon, and Blair—for most people there was no difference between the Truman family and Scott King or Claude Salvant. She realized now that the hostility was warranted, even if it was bred from misinformation. For a moment she felt compelled to defend her father; she wanted to say that they didn’t understand, he didn’t have a choice, he was going to do good—he had saved Grant, after all. But before the argument left her mouth, she knew it would be in vain.
 

Lucy took a step toward the trio and bolstered up her strength as best she could.

“Apologize to her,” Lucy said. “Those cards were special. Maybe it’s all a joke to you, but these cards meant something to Cass.”

After a moment, Hunter stepped forward. “Oh yeah?” He turned and gained support from his friends. “They
meant
something to her?”

Lucy nodded and swallowed hard.

“You know what meant something to me?” he asked, taking another step, the distance between him and Lucy shrinking. She resisted the urge to take a step away. “My house. My friends. My
life
. My dad wakes me up and tells me to pack one suitcase because we have to take a little trip. Some car picks us up and takes us to the airport before the sun rises and off we go. You know what’s in my suitcase? Nothing. I don’t have shit. I thought my dad was taking me to boarding school, so I left my bag empty. I don’t have anything that
means
anything to me.”