“They protect you.” I slide the worn cards out of their velvet bag, the colors beautifully muted, the images iconic, archaic.

“From, like, evil spirits?”

I shake my head. “From yourself. They show the truth about the world, other people, your life—and so it protects you from going down the wrong path.” I roll my eyes. “If you listen, of course. Obviously I ignore them on the regular.”

Just this morning I pulled the Devil: temptation. Addiction.

I shuffle the cards, pushing my energy into them.

“So how does this work?” he asks. “You gonna tell me my future?”

“No, it’s not like that. My mom always said tarot is basically just a friend who tells it to you straight about your life. No predictions—it’s not magic in that way. It’s magic because it helps you get what the fuck is going on. So.” I shuffle again. “Think of a question. You don’t have to tell me what it is. A question about something in your life you need some clarity on. How and What questions are best.”

“So not Will I be rich someday?”

“No. It’s not a Magic 8 Ball. Like, okay. How can I expand my entrepreneurial skills outside the pharmaceutical industry?”

He laughs. “Got it. Okay, I have a question in mind. It’s kind of … private.”

“You can keep it to yourself. The cards know all.”

“So it is magic.”

“It’s Something Else.” He’s something else, too, but I don’t say that. “Okay, keep thinking the question as I shuffle.”

He closes his eyes and gets this very serious expression on his face, which is so cute.

I shuffle, trying to focus, breathing deep like Mom as I channel my energy, my Something Else, into the paper between my palms. After three shuffles—I don’t know why, this feels like the right number—I divide the cards into three little piles.

“Okay. Pick one.”

Drew opens his eyes and, for a second, we just look at each other. When my face goes Karalis on me, making it look like I’ve been a little too heavy-handed with the blush brush, his lips twitch and he looks away.

Drew points to the center deck. “That one.”

I pick it up, and my fingers are shaking a little. I shouldn’t like how he looks at me—Micah, Micah—but I do.

“Okay, I’m going to lay out three cards: past, present, future. So we look at how your whole life is in conversation with this question you have.”

This is my favorite part—the story the cards tell, how it’s all connected.

I lay the top three cards from the center pile facedown in front of me, then, one at a time, turn them over.

“Ten of Wands for the past,” I say. “Page of Wands for the present. The Chariot for the future.”