That she expects more annoys me. Like every teacher who ever said there’s no right answer and then handed you a low grade because the answer you gave wasn’t good enough. “No.”

The light goes out of her face like a shot bulb.

“It’s only lines on paper.” The hum in my bones goes still.

She pulls the cards away and tucks them back in her bag. It’s obvious she thought we were getting somewhere.

“I’m just tired,” I tell her, feeling contrite for bursting her bubble. “I told you I never really learned to read them. You’ll have to give me a lesson.”

She eyes me, uncertain.

“A quick one,” I add.

She nods, shuffles her deck, and lays out a few cards. “There is the major arcana and the minor arcana,” she begins. She points to an image of a guy carrying a bunch of swords—the Seven of Swords. “The minor arcana is made up of four suits—swords, pentacles, cups, and wands. They make up the majority of the deck. Each suit has its own flavor, if you will. And every number carries its own meaning. So this card, for example, is a combination of the symbol of swords and the numerology of seven. It goes deeper than that, but you get the idea.”

I study the cards she’s turned over. “What about the major arcana? What’s their deal?”

She grins and points to an image of a man and a woman holding hands before a rising sun. I recognize them instantly as the Lovers. “Think of the cards like a cast in a cosmic play. The minor arcana are the supporting cast, the extras. But the major arcana…they’re the stars of the show.”

I recognize the gravity of the major arcana instinctively, always have. “So what does that mean in a reading?” I ask.

She laughs and looks up at me with half-lidded eyes. “When a major arcana character shows up, you better pay attention.”

I think of the boy and his wolf in my dream, the egg-yolk yellow of his waistcoat, and my arms break out in goose bumps, as if we are talking about more than just cards. I quickly swipe the cards off the table and hand them back to her. “Lesson over,” I pronounce.

Her smile grows unsteady, like a wall being propped up with toothpicks. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” she says, gathering the cards.

I didn’t expect to come. “So this is it? Your office, so to speak.”

She looks around with a satisfied grin. “This is it, the beautiful square. Of course, I work out of the apartment most days, and a lot by phone. But this is where I come on weekends to find new clients.”

I lean my head back until the dark spires of the cathedral come into view. When I sit back up, I feel dizzy.