“Is he family?”

“Sort of. Like common law family. I’ve known him since I was sixteen. His oldest son is one of my two lovers.”

Mercedes picked up one of her tarot decks and found a card with quick fingers. The Knight of Cups.

“Yes, that’s him,” Nora said. “Nico. He owns a winery in the south of France.”

“He’s good,” Mercedes said. “Good for you. Protects you. Respects you. Serves you. A wine-maker…he’ll believe in earth magic, whether he’s ever said it aloud or not. His love for you is simple and powerful, like a sword. But not a sword for battle. He uses it to cut through the thorny vines in your heart. He’s where you go when you want to be safe.”

“All that’s true.”

“That one I don’t worry about,” Mercedes said as she flipped through the deck. “If it was just him, you’d never have to lose a wink of sleep in your life. It’s this one that worries me.”

She flipped through the deck again and pulled out another card, The Hierophant, otherwise known as The High Priest, and set it on the table between them.

Nora stared at the card and said nothing.

“What is this card to you?” Mercedes asked.

“You tell me.”

“The cards aren’t books full of answers,” Mercedes said. “They’re doors. They tell us what doors we need to open in our lives. But only you can open that door and walk through. All I can say is that this card, it’s male. Male power. Male energy. Male power and men in power. I would guess you have a male authority in your life who has great power over you. Too much power. Power that influences you and leads you astray.”

“I can’t believe that. Not of him.”

“Him?”

“Him,” Nora said. “My him.”

“Might not be a him. Might be an it. The cards have people on them but they don’t always represent actual people. This could be a force in your life, not necessarily a person.”

“The High Priest,” Nora said, “is a person to me.”

“Who is he then?”

“Someone I will never leave.” Nora met Mercedes’s eyes.

“Someone you love.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me, Mistress Nora. I can’t help you if you don’t let me.”

“I don’t believe in any of this.” Nora waved her hand, as if to knock it all aside.

“You believe in all of it,” Mercedes said sharply. “You’re Catholic. You believe in prayers, which we call spells. You believe in blessing, which we call charging. You believe in God. We call that force the Goddess. You believe in magic, except you don’t call it that. But it is magic, all the same. Magic words, magic songs, magic spells. Light a candle, whisper a name, summon him home to your bed. That’s a love spell. You cast one and it came to pass.”

“I decorate for Christmas, too. I don’t believe in Santa Claus.”

“But you believe in Jesus.”

Nora couldn’t look at Mercedes and her dark waiting eyes anymore. She glanced away, stared at a painting on the wall, a painting of a white stag in a field of snow.