But as we near the door, I turn back with one more question. “Just so we’re clear, the Death card—it’s symbolic? Right? I mean, the cards aren’t meant to be literal.” Did Moony believe my mom was in danger of dying?

“Mostly,” she says, leaning across the counter on her elbows. “But sometimes, on rare occasions”—she casts her eyes at the deck in my hand again—“the truth is as plain as their faces.”

I shudder as the skeletons from my dream the night Moony died march coldly across my memory.

XVI.

WE ARE TRYING TO FIND ONE LAST SHOP—AN OBSCURE occult goods store in Mid-City listed as Fortune’s Gate on Google. It has an address but no phone number, and absolutely no reviews.

Daniel has borrowed his cousin’s Pontiac for this. He comes from one of those big families where everybody shares everything and is in everybody’s business—the Mathis clan. Even though he’s a Walker like his dad. He’s been regaling me with stories. They have their dysfunctional points, but overall they sound loving and happy. Who am I to judge? Daniel’s version of dysfunctional—his older sister and cousin fighting over the same guy and an uncle who consistently drinks too much at family gatherings—may as well be the perfect family to me.

“It says it should be right here. I don’t understand.” I stare out the window at the convenience store and barbecue joint sandwiched together. According to Google maps, it should be right in this strip. “Maybe there’s a back entrance?”

“Maybe,” Daniel concedes. “Let’s get lunch and regroup. I’m starving. I thought we were gonna eat after the last place.”

We were. But something about Fortune’s Gate—the striped awning in the picture or the grand name—made me press for one last stop. “Okay. We tried.”

I agree to a little diner that’s just around the corner for lunch. The menu is full of homecooked favorites like fried chicken and half a dozen kinds of pie. I load up on potato salad and cornbread and let Daniel eat the chicken I can’t finish. We decide to split a slice of lemon meringue. Daniel insists lunch is on him.

It’s over pie and coffee that we decide to ask around about Fortune’s Gate. I don’t know when I’ll get this chance again, and if I don’t start filling in the gaps, I’ll never be able to see the full picture.

Our waitress brings the check around and smiles. I can’t help but notice how she eyes Daniel, and I can’t blame her. She looks like she’s only about five years older than we are, and Daniel is to the eyes what meringue is to the tongue. I click my teeth in irritation.

Daniel grins. “Can we ask you something?”