The Hierophant (Book 1 in The Arcana Series) Read Online Free Page A

—
     
    Later that night, I stretch out on Kyla’s bedroom floor, staring up at the ceiling where a spray of glow-in-the-dark plastic stars cling to the stucco.
    “Four of them?” Kyla asks, sitting on her bed and shuffling my tarot deck. “And they were just hanging around outside the school? Isn’t that unusual?”
    “Yeah. I was under the impression most Sura are nocturnal, but maybe not.” I sit up on my elbow and look at her. “They didn’t do anything though. They just kind of…watched.”
    “But they looked directly at you?” Kyla’s voice is lower this time.
    I think back on the slow-spreading grin of the tall, shadowy demon, and the piercing glow of his pinhole eyes. “Just the tall one.”
    “Shit, that doesn’t sound good. What if they’re watching you?” Kyla’s eyes shine with an internal luminescence, her spirit coming alive at the thought of some kind of intrigue, some kind of adventure, no matter how insane it sounds. Typical Kyla. “What if they’re watching you now?” She climbs down to the floor and places the tarot deck in front of me.
    “They aren’t,” I mutter. “I don’t think. But…” I sit up straight, cut the deck into two piles, and look into her eyes. “I think they might be onto me.”
    Kyla gazes back, considering. She can’t see the Sura on her own. Sometimes when I focus really hard and she’s touching my arm or my hand, she can get a glimpse of a shadow, an approximation of their shape and form, like a hazy memory of what she should be seeing. But for some reason she can’t quite open the door in her mind that lets her see them on her own. For me, that door has been ripped off its hinges.
    She takes the pile of cards on her right and fans them out on the carpet. “You go this time.”
    I cock my head. “I can’t read for myself, you know that.”
    “I know, that’s okay.” Kyla half smiles, tucking a bleached-blond dreadlock behind her ear. “I’ve been practicing.”
    I oblige her by drawing three cards from the spread, and leaving them face down. Kyla flips the first card—past affecting present—Three of Swords. Three swords pierce a large red heart. The meaning is obvious—pain and loss—but Kyla narrows her eyes at the card, squeezing it for information.
    “Okay so, mega-obvious: you’ve experienced pain in the past. But beyond that—you refused to give in to the pain. You didn’t even wince. You let these swords cut you open and rip you apart. In fact, you’ve been so certain of your own ability to withstand the pain that you’ve left the weapon in the wound.” She swallows, glances up at me. “I mean, I’m not judging or anything. That’s really what the card is saying to me.”
    I nod, and try not to look upset. “I understand. I know how it goes.” The cards speak in suggestions, echoes of arcane wisdom, calling out to the reader with specific feelings, words, ideas. The same card a hundred times can mean two hundred different things. It’s all in the moment, the reader, and the querent—the person for whom the cards are being read.
    She flips the second card—present circumstances—The Hermit. A wizened old man leans on a staff, holding out a lantern to light the way. “You’re going inwards,” Kyla tells me. “Relying on intuition, and thinking things over, and searching for some kind of wisdom you don’t trust to find in others. You may even believe you know something, or feel like you have a secret—something you’re ashamed of? Or maybe something that separates you from the rest of the world?” She shakes her head. “But what you really need is to stop trying to be this lone wise-woman, and find someone who has already walked a similar path. Someone who can give you answers, but also give you the tools to find answers on your own.”
    I watch the expression on Kyla’s face as she reads the cards, see the moment when the mysterious and unnamed finds itself in the language of her mind. Her eyes widen and