Brave the Tempest (Cassandra Palmer #9) - Karen Chance Page 0,41

but a Pythia, fierce and capable and—

“You’re not gonna cry, are you?” Fred asked, looking at me worriedly.

“No.”

“Liar.”

He put an arm around me while I shivered through a second epiphany in the space of an hour.

We stood like that for a long time, staring at the pictures. I couldn’t take it all in; I just couldn’t. Not right now. But it felt like something had changed in that moment. Something big.

“Cassie?”

“Hm?” I looked at Fred, who was looking back earnestly.

“You’ve had an emotional day, I can tell—”

“Yeah.”

“—so I’m gonna do you a solid—”

“Yeah?”

“—and eat your pie.”

He grabbed it.

“What?”

“Well, you’re obviously too upset to enjoy it—”

“Fred!”

“I’m only trying to help!” he said, sprinting for the door.

“Come back here!”

“Gonna have to catch me!”

Son of a bitch!

* * *

* * *

Fred did not eat my pie. Of course, I didn’t, either, at least not right away. By the time I’d hunted him down and made it back to the living room, the coffee table was already in use—by my tarot cards.

I’d taken the soaked pack out of my purse, but had only tossed it on the counter in the kitchen. I’d meant to get to it later, but someone had beaten me to it, laying them out in neat little rows to dry. Not that it seemed to be helping.

“I think they may be broken,” Rhea said. She was sitting on the sofa, poking at them and looking worried.

I put the pie I’d retrieved from Fred on a side table, where I could keep an eye on it, and bent closer. Weird little sounds were coming from some of the cards: discontented mutterings, some stuff that sounded like sneezes or hiccups, and one little trooper that was just managing to get some words out, although I could barely hear what it was saying. Until I held it to my ear, where it sounded like it had a run-down battery.

“Streeeeeennnnnnnthhhhh,” it moaned at me. “Streeeeeennnnnnnthhhhh.”

“Okay, that’s not creepy at all,” I said, putting it back down.

But I’d forgotten that showing interest in one of the cards tended to cause it to rev up. “Streeeeeennnnnnnthhhhh,” it said, suddenly louder. “Streeeeeennnnnnnthhhhh!”

“Will it . . . stop that . . . eventually?” Rhea asked.

“No.” I glanced around. “The only thing that shuts them up is being put back in the pack. Have you seen it?”

“I left it in the kitchen. I’ll go get it.” She ran off, looking relieved.

I hoped she’d hurry. The voice kept getting louder and louder, but it seemed stuck on that one word. Until it was practically screaming it at me: “Streeeeeennnnnnnthhhhh! Streeeeeennnnnnnthhhhh! Streeeeeennnnnnnthhhhh!”

“Shut up!” I snapped, but it didn’t shut up.

So I slammed Tami’s food dome over top of it, which helped a little.

“Streeeeeennnnnnnthhhhh!” it said peevishly, the word still coming through fairly audibly. “Streeeeeennnnnnnthhhhh!”

I regarded the dome for a moment, then went back to my bathroom, picked up my hair dryer, and came back in.

“Streeeeeennnnnnnthhhhh!” it yelled at me, as I lifted up the cover again. “Streeeeee—EEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

The last was because I’d grabbed the card and turned the dryer on, and the little thing was flapping in the breeze.

“Stren-stren-stren-stren—” it said, as I rotated it this way and that. Rhea came back in, saw what I was doing, and left again.

“Stren-stren-stren-stren—”

“I have an idea,” she said, running back in, holding one of the extra pillowcases that had come with my gigantic bed.

“Good idea!” It was easily twice the size of a regular pillowcase, because the pillows were twice the size of regular pillows. They had to be, or they’d have looked ridiculous on that thing.

I glanced back at the bedroom worriedly. Under the assumption that the consul had prepped this place for me, what, exactly, had she thought a hundred-and-fifteen-pound woman needed with a bed that big? Was it a status thing? Was it done to fit the size of the room? Was I supposed to be holding orgies? What?

“Lady?” Rhea said, and I turned to find her holding up the case, now full of waterlogged cards.

“Stren-stren-stren-stren—”

I tossed my card in with the others. And then blasted the lot of them on high, while Rhea held the other end of the case and fluffed it around so that the hot air would reach them all equally.

“We could use the clothes dryer!” she yelled, because more of them were talking now.

“But it wouldn’t be as much fun!” I yelled back, laughing.

Because it was. And I guess Rhea thought so, too. Because for a minute, she looked like the kid she’d never gotten to