VISION QUEST BY SARAH ZOLTON ARTHUR
☆ Cassandra ☆
I’ve been on my own for my entire life–passed along from one great-aunt to some distant friend of the family as the last woman, old and withered, died in her bed. This continued until I’d exhausted every option and found myself alone, living on the street.
It’s not like they’d left me without any skills. Each of those women added to my education and my ability to tap into the other side.
I’m a psychic.
I use the tarot, palmistry, and tea readings to see what the future has in store.
I make money giving readings. Though, sometimes I’m drawn to read someone who doesn’t seek out my guidance. This is exactly what happens when I step inside a coffee shop to get out of the cold and grab a latte.
There is a man in a suit at a table texting angrily on his phone. I slide in across from him. “You don’t have to pay me, but I’m drawn to read you.”
“Will it get you out of here without causing a scene?”
When I nod, he allows me to spread out my cards. His future is grim. I warn him of people out to hurt him. He needs to keep his eyes open at all times. The man thanks me and as promised, I get up to leave.
Before I move back into the line, I hear him sigh and turn when he grabs my arm. He hands me a tip, a generous one. The cards tell me he’s a good man. I’m not sure why anyone would want to hurt him.
The next week, I see reports that multimillionaire philanthropist Grant Cambridge harrowingly escaped a kidnapping attempt and is recovering from his injuries. Grant Cambridge is the man from the coffee shop. The man I gave the reading to.
I break out the cards to see what they have to say because it doesn’t feel like this is over for him. The cards tell me it’s not. Someone is out to kill him.
I try to get close to him to warn his family but I’m stopped by his son Carter. Carter threatens me with the police if I ever try to contact his father again. Still, I give Carter my warning and tell him to keep a close eye on his father before I leave.
Two days later, while sitting at a table in the coffee shop, I’m approached by Carter Cambridge. Someone tried to hurt his father while he’s been recovering.
“How did you know?”
“The cards told me.”
Carter tells her he’s never been a believer, but he needs to protect his father and somehow I know things. He accuses me of overhearing the plan. Or, he concedes, maybe there is something to this tarot stuff. He offers to set me up, to get me off the streets if I agree to help him find the persons trying to kill his father.
It’s an offer I can’t refuses.
