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“Yeah, at least that much in my life has been fixed. Not that I asked to come here in the first place.” I hiked myself to standing and peered out at the ocean. Staring at Pento’s too-smooth face made me uneasy. “What are those things on the water? Are they boats?”

“Oh, yes. Do you not recognize where you are? Look around.”

I looked to my right. One long staff was staked into the ground. To my left were two more. Me standing on the hill with the staffs, the ocean with boats all added up to the tarot card the Three of Wands: trade, commerce, but what else? Discovery? Self-discovery? My prodigious knowledge of the cards wasn’t working. Dizziness washed over me, and I grabbed one of the wands for support, making myself part of the card’s tableau.

“Nice arrangement, Pento, but I don’t see what this has to do with my real problems.” My socks were collecting bits of the “dirt” that Pento had created. “Why me? Why tarot? You and the High Priestess act as if I should understand everything that happens to me here.”

“You are learning who you are. You are of the line. You are who we must communicate with, and you are the intermediary. This is your destiny, your fulfillment. Without you, the Malignity gains strength. It already has in too many parts of the human world. You are the expert at hindering as you were planned to be. Now you are being called upon because we cannot go where you can. And we cannot give you specific instructions, so we use what you know.”

“I think I’ve already figured that last part out. For some cosmic reason you can’t give me direct orders, just hints. Why? Why not tell me to go redirect someone specifically? I do it, and we’re all happy.”

“You know the rules of earth learning, damsel. Choice. For you humans, in your world, all the lessons are about choice. For us in the Theater we must offer, maybe suggest, choices without interfering. We prefer certain choices over others so that the Malignity does not get too strong or too weak, for that matter. There must be balance. Look there.” Pento pointed behind me, away from the ocean view. Desperate human wailing and keening assailed the air. I felt like maggots squiggled over my skin.

About fifty feet away, two people were turned away from me. They were dressed in rags; their bowed, heaving backs projected utter misery. Their cries and whimpers were of heart-wrenching loss. Far to my left slid a smirking little man. He was clad in rich brocade that was sewn with silver thread glinting in the light of the Theater’s sun. He was confiscating five large swords, pleased with himself for being the source of such devastation. The scene was permeated with gothic grief and terror.

“The Five of Swords. Degradation, infamy, and dishonor in all their forms,” I whispered while I watched the dispiriting scene melt away and disappear, leaving only the imitation dirt and weeds for me to gaze at. “So you are telling me the loss of choice brings sorrow, the Malignity, to humans? Is that what you want me to understand? And does this have anything to do with Laura Bishop and Elizabeth Stratton?”

“As you say, damsel,” Pento said from behind me.

“What does that mean? ‘As you say’?” I turned to him but, as was now his habit, he’d disappeared. “You’re a coward, Pento. Can’t you ignore your asinine rules and give me some answers? We are running out of time here.”

I had turned around and started down the hill toward the ocean when someone grabbed my shoulder from behind. I spun around, and my face was six inches from Laura Bishop’s.

“It’s time to get going, Dev.” Her voice was singsong and muted. We were in my office. I was still on the couch and she was fully dressed in her sweats and shoes. Her silken hair hung loose around her shoulders. Her breath smelled like toothpaste. Instead of moving away, her face, her lips, actually, moved closer to mine and gave me the lightest peck. “That was to wake you up and out of that dream. Did you know you mumble in your sleep?”

Before I could answer, she was heading out the office door saying, “I made coffee. Want some?”

“Uh, did you brew the decaf?”

“Not on your life,” she hollered from down the hall.

Chapter Eleven

Before we left for Tranquility, we had to do something with the scrapbook and voice recorder. I called my bank and reserved a safe deposit box at the branch I planned to take us to. I decided to keep my phone with the photographs with me, but I wasn’t so generous with Laura.

We were standing before Laura’s opened orange bag where it sat on the kitchen counter. “They’ll be watching your bank branches, not mine. In fact, from now on, all our expenses go on my credit card. Your credit card transactions are probably being traced. And give me your phone.” I took the memory card out of Laura’s phone and broke it in half before Laura could figure out what was happening.

“What about all my contacts? My apps?” Laura was livid. I supposed so much of her identity had already been assailed. She couldn’t abide one more indignity.

“All those are replaceable. You, however, are not. Your phone is a giant beacon sent to how many satellites we’ll never know. Sorry, but it’s unavoidable. We can’t afford to underestimate Stratton’s power. She could have this traced.” I scissored the SIM card into miniscule pieces.

“I think breaking it in half did the trick.” Laura watched me dump the twenty teeny pieces of SIM card into the garbage. “Do you think you’re a little obsessive sometimes?”

I threw Laura a glance. “Not any more than someone who collects tchochkes and uses them to record her whole life in scrapbooks.” I rinsed my coffee cup and left in the sink.

“Touché, I guess.” Laura clonked her un-rinsed cup next to mine. “Shall we go to your bank then?”

“First, let me make a few calls to get my house on Lopez Island ready for us. I want to make sure it’s safe there before Stratton’s minions figure out we’re together.” I gathered our few travel bags and some water bottles from the refrigerator.

Laura was fidgeting as if she couldn’t wait to get moving. “Why would they suspect us being together? We only came in contact last night, and I don’t think anyone saw us together, except maybe a nurse’s aide who had no idea who you are.”

“Those kinds of people have ways.” I interrupted myself when I noticed Laura was watching me with mounting anxiety and some distrust. “Oh, hey…really, I’m here for you. I’m committed to doing what it takes to get you out of this safely. Can you believe that?”

She weighed my words. “I will for now. But if you aren’t what you say you are, a friend, then I’ll have your butt in court when all of this is over. When I’m through with you, you’ll be sitting on the street out there trying, without success, to peddle pencils. Okay?”

Her show of force delighted me. She was feeling better. “Whoa, now I see why you’re a hotshot attorney. Even with the bandage and cast, you’ve morphed into Mighty Ms. Litigation.”

“I want you on notice, that’s all. I don’t like doing the intimidating attorney thing, but I can do it when necessary.” She winced and cradled her wrist. “I need another of your codeine pills. I’m only taking half a dose because I don’t want to be knocked out. I have a feeling I’m going to need all my faculties today.” She removed the bottle of codeine from her orange bag and helped herself to one.

I waited until she had swallowed her pill and downed a glass of water. I stepped toward her, and grabbed her hand. “Okay, Laura, I’m on notice. But you don’t have to threaten me. I’ve got a safe place to go and other resources. We’ll get this whole thing worked out so that both of us are satisfied.”

“What do you mean ‘both of us are satisfied’?” Her voice had softened and she looked into my eyes with a tiny glimmer of trust.

I dropped her hand and moved back. “Uh, well, I mean safe. We’ll be safe. Let’s go.”

*

Depositing the scrapbook and voice recorder in a safe deposit box at my bank downtown was uneventful. When we were free of the items, we both remarked at how much better it felt to have them off our hands and in a safe place. Then we took a downtown exit to I-5 north and headed to Anacortes. We were aiming for the ferry that would take us to Lopez Island and our final destination, Tranquility.

The ninety-minute drive gave us an opportunity to talk to each other like two grown-ups who weren’t trying to escape precarious circumstances. Laura was especially interested in my profession.

“Is it a religion with you?” Laura asked.

“Religion? No, I’m Jewish, remember? No, it’s not a religion, it’s a technology.” Laura gave a disbelieving tsk. “It is. It’s a method of contacting the wisdom of the unconscious and something else.”

“Something else?”

“The Others. Those who live outside this realm but care about it…tend it, I guess. They are willing to send information, but only in the language of symbols and numbers. It’s up to the reader of cards to interpret them. Some readers are better than others, but frankly, I’m the best.” I knew that sounded arrogant. It was arrogant, but it was the truth.

She was shaking her head. “Look, Dev, you have to understand the world I come from. I traffic in logical arguments built from an enormous volume of words. I spend my days arranging and interpreting words to win legal battles. There is no room for something like tarot. It’s too squishy for me, not concrete enough. You can’t expect me to understand, nor accept, that access to the other side of existence is possible via a pack of cards comprised of symbols and numbers. The one time I was your client was a gift to me from Margaret. It didn’t mean I bought your paradigm.”

I understood her argument, but I wanted to make my point. “And you think the manipulation of words is not squishy? Isn’t legalese just another form of symbols and numbers?”

A light rain had started and covered the windows in shimmering vertical streaks. The patter on the car was soothing. Both of us remained silent for a few minutes to absorb each other’s viewpoints.

I glanced at her, taking my eyes off the road for a few seconds. I expected her eyes to project derision for my profession. Instead, she was watching me with a fondness that fluttered my heart. “Why are you looking at me like that?” I was getting uneasy under her gaze.

“Well, you have to admit, you are nice to look at. With enough exotic in your looks to make you more than interesting. But that’s not all. I’m impressed with your bravery.”

“My what?” This was going in a direction I hadn’t prepared for.

“Bravery.” She turned more fully toward me. “Look at what I’ve become. An attorney. A safe and respectable profession. But you, you’ve taken on work that’s controversial at best. It’s edgy. You don’t even have ‘Tarot Reader’ on your business cards because it’s not something everyone understands. But that’s what you are.”

“There are plenty of professional tarot readers who are up front about what they do. They don’t have the enhanced services that I offer. I’m the only one. I can afford to be more discreet about my work.” I worried about the direction the rest of the conversation would take.

“Aren’t you worried about the ethics of what you do?” There it was, the scorching conundrum about my work.

“To tell the truth, sometimes I am. Other times, it’s clear that I’m helping someone who really needs and deserves my help. And lately it’s been made clear to me that I’m doing what I was meant to do, no matter how problematic the ethics.” That was the first time I’d acknowledged what Pento had been telling me. I was born to be a meddler, and my meddling was even sanctioned by those in charge, whoever they were.

Laura turned and faced the highway again. “I’m feeling a little woozy. I think I’ll lay my head back and close my eyes for a few minutes. That okay with you?” She pushed the button on the side of her seat, and it hummed her into a more prone position.

“You relax. We’ll be at the ferry in another forty-five minutes.” I was glad she needed to rest. I needed to think without her distracting me.

I was in a mental snarl. I had discussed some aspects of my work with Laura, but I didn’t tell her about the Theater, Pento, or the High Priestess. Somehow, it didn’t feel appropriate yet. What was worse, though, was that I didn’t say a word about my connection to Elizabeth Stratton. That was a piece of information I didn’t want to share, not only because of the $125,000 check still in the drawer at Tranquility, but because I didn’t want to lose Laura’s trust. I was beginning to feel her trust was more important than any promise I’d made Stratton. So how could I manage Stratton and retain Laura’s belief in me? She’d said I was brave. Nobody had ever said that about me. I didn’t want to disillusion her. She was beginning to mean something to me. That was dangerous.

I pondered the meeting I’d had with Stratton only a few days previously. She didn’t seem threatening, not in the physical sense anyway. However, her people were running a rampage on Laura. My guess is they were out of Stratton’s control. Maybe they were answering to Jerry Greenfield, because I couldn’t see a presidential contender using blatant thugs to win the office. That would be dynamite in the hands of her political foes. No, Stratton hadn’t hired the skinheads.

My guess was whoever had hired the cutthroats had lost control of them. Trying to kill an old lesbian lover was way over the top. It didn’t warrant murder. Discrediting anything Laura said was an effective political response that would quell the Stratton as lesbian questions. Then what did warrant murder? What was I missing?

I looked at Laura sleeping in the seat next to me. Her mouth barely open, facial muscles relaxed, golden hair spread against the headrest. What do you know, Laura Bishop, I thought. What are you not telling me?

*

I was puzzling over all that when we pulled into the ferry line. I woke Laura, who sat up and fiddled with her arm splint for a moment. She didn’t say a word as we sat in the car while waiting in the boarding line. When the ferry personnel finally directed our car to its parking spot aboard the ferry, I turned off the ignition. As soon as I did, Laura reached across her casted hand and clutched mine.

“He’s here,” Laura said.

“What? Who?” My danger instinct ignited.

“The skinhead guy. The one in my office. I saw him. On the upper deck, but he wasn’t looking at us. He was doing something with his phone.” Laura was whispering.

I looked around. Nobody. “Get out of the car. Now.” She didn’t move; she just looked at me in hopeless fear. “Laura, you can’t seize up on me. We have to be a team or we’re in big trouble. Grab your purse. Are the pain pills in there?” She nodded. “Good, we might have to abandon the car. But I can get us help on the other side if we need it.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Well, they know we’re together. They possibly know about my house on Lopez.” Guilt nagged me because I hadn’t told her Stratton had already been to Tranquility, escorted by the marauding skinheads who terrorized Fitch. “I hope they don’t know how much I invested in security there. I have a priceless collection of mystical items, from books to goblets to amulets. They’re of great value to some collectors. I’m a collector too, and my collection is extensive and well-guarded.”

The other drivers and passengers were leaving their cars to climb to the upper decks and enjoy their scenic ferry ride to the San Juan Islands. The fragrance of ocean and car fumes filled our car. The plum bruise on Laura’s cheek looked like it was impossibly darker under the bandage.

“So we have to become a part of your collection. Guarded and scared,” Laura said. “I don’t like it, Dev. Being trapped on an island. We should just go back to Seattle, get the scrapbook and tape recorder, and call the press. It’s the only safe way out.”

“No!” My adamancy surprised her. “I mean, listen, there’s more…uh.”

“More? What?” The grip of her hand on my arm was probably leaving marks.

“Hey, let go. That hurts. Okay?” She loosened her grasp on my arm. “There has to be more that they’re afraid of. Something you have will expose more than Stratton’s affair with you. I’m beginning to think Stratton might be a puppet, whether she knows it or not. And they are extremely invested in keeping her under their control. And part of that is information control.”

Laura was panting from her mounting fear. It wasn’t clear to me if she could hear what I was saying. I had to calm her, or we’d never get out of that ferry alive.

“Laura, look at me. Look. At. Me.” She forced herself to look into my eyes, and I forced myself not to project the lava of fear that was coursing through me. “If we stay calm and focused, we can get out of here safely. I need for you to follow me. I know this ferry. I ride it all the time. That’s our advantage along with this.” I reached under my seat and pulled out the tire iron I’d hidden there earlier. I hadn’t wanted Laura to know I was preparing for danger. Besides, if I had told her about the tire iron, my fear would be as obvious as hers. One frightened chicken is annoying; two frightened chickens will topple the henhouse.

Laura nodded and worked at controlling her breathing. “What should we do?”

“I’ll put the iron up my sleeve. Then we’ll exit the car and do the one thing he will least expect.”

“And that is?” Her voice shook.

“We’ll go after him.”

“And do what?” She was squeezing my wrist again.

“I…I guess we’ll have to take him out.” When I saw her astonished face, I said, “I don’t mean kill him, exactly, I guess. We’ll just incapacitate him somehow. Laura, he’s the guy who attacked you. You saw him, remember? You have every right now to protect yourself. Don’t get all doubtful here. We have to go for it.”

“Okay, okay. Your logic makes sense, sort of. But first I think we need to isolate him, you know, so it doesn’t look like we attacked him.” Now she was getting into it. She had no idea how relieved I was to have her agreement. I heard the bubbling rumble of the engines and felt the ferry sway as it left the dock.

We made our plan within a few minutes. Given the lack of time to think things through, I’m sure Laura felt as unconfident as I did. But we both crawled out of the car like a couple of cocky butches that we weren’t. We wound our way through the empty cars to the stairway. The wind tunneling through the car deck carried enough sea chill that we were grateful to open the weighty door leading to the warmer upper decks.