***
FORTUNATELY, HADLEY DOESN'T crash to his death. One can of beer isn't enough to slow down his mental processing to the point where his motor skills don't function the way he'd like them to, but it certainly is enough to make him a little tipsy. He's sober enough to drive, but not sober enough to think of anything beyond finding a parking spot.
Which isn't that hard, either. There are very few people around. Weird.
It doesn't take him long to find curse club again. The cold doesn't even bother him. He finds the door, by himself. No David. Just him.
"Wow," he says, under his breath. "Thanks, Molly."
The door creaks. It opens by itself.
"Thank you, Molly." He pets the handle of the door affectionately. "You're the only one I trust. I hope you know that."
Molly creaks in response.
Hadley lets himself in. He's a little surprised to see that there's nobody inside. Molly feels much more intimidating when there's no one else around. The room is empty, just as normal as the last time he'd seen it. Normal being books and papers all strewn about, pizza boxes littering the floor and the coffee table overflowing with all of the above.
He hears voices from the ceiling. Voices that are arguing. He doesn't recall Molly having the ability to mimic human speech, but he does recall Molly having a second floor.
He goes upstairs. Sure enough, there are people inside. Three people, to be precise. And if he's being more precise, three people being Shani, Francis and Vic.
He doesn't waste a moment, and ushers himself inside.
Francis and Shani are in earnest argument about something, looking like the only thing that's stopping them from throttling each other's throats is the table that separates them. They don't even bother greeting Hadley. Vic, on the other hand, manages a weak 'hi' and goes back to massaging her temples. Hadley takes a seat next to her. On the table are folders and papers that Hadley's not bothered to get a good look at when he can be looking at Vic.
"I don't get it," Francis is saying, "David can bring James-whatsit-Hadley over here, but the moment I mention bringing a friend—"
"He's not your friend, he's your crush, and you just want to show off this dump of a place," Shani says. She adds, as an afterthought, "No hard feelings, Molly."
"First of all, he has a name," says Francis. "It's Ryan. Second of all, I just want to show him the where I hang out all the time. What's the problem with that?"
"The problem is that he has no reason to be here!"
"You're being homophobic!"
"I'm a lesbian!"
"Can you guys please not yell so early in the morning?" Vic says, massaging her temples. "How long's David going to take?"
"I was going to ask the same question," Hadley says. "But I guess you read my mind, huh?"
Vic squints at Hadley. "Are you drunk?"
"What makes you think that? I'm as sober as a saint." Hadley crosses his heart. "See, I crossed my heart and everything."
"You're not normally this talkative," Vic says, a faint smile on her plump lips.
"Maybe it's because I'm around you," says Hadley. He's not sure if he's grinning or not.
Vic laughs, a one-two chime of laughter.
"So I can't bring Ryan around?" Francis asks.
Shani gives off the impression of sighing without actually sighing. "No, for the last time, you cannot bring your crush to Molly. I won't allow it. David won't allow it. Vic won't allow it. You wouldn't allow it, would you? Vic?"
Vic shrugs her shoulders non-committedly.
"Yes! See, that's a yes. I'm bringing Ryan tomorrow. I don't care what you think."
They start arguing again. Vic keeps massaging her temples. Hadley watches Vic with fascination.
"Oh, I just remembered," Vic says, abruptly. "Charlie's coming back in a week."
Shani and Francis halt in their argument. Both of them stare at Vic like she's grown an extra head.
"We have to tell David," Shani says.
"No, we don't," says Francis.
"Who's Charlie?" asks Hadley.
"None of your business," says Shani. "Curse club talk, sorry. You have to be a member to know our secrets."
Hadley doesn't roll his eyes, but he comes perilously close to doing so.
"Charlie is a sore spot for David," says Francis, vaguely gesturing at the air. "If you want to be friends with David, you don't talk about Charlie."
"What'd he do?" Hadley says. "Hurt David's little feelings?"
"Ha, I wish," says Francis. "No, he didn't hurt David's feelings. David just thinks that Charlie's the one who—"
Shani interrupts Francis with a swift kick under the table.
"Say one more word about Charlie," she says, "and I'll make sure Ryan won't come anywhere near Molly."
Francis glares balefully at her, but he says nothing.
"God, I'm starving," Victoria says, in an obvious attempt at changing the conversation. "Can't you go down the street and buy something for us?" She nudges Hadley with her elbow, and it's pathetic how Hadley's pulse quickens from something as small as a split-second touch.
"I'd get you anything you wanted," Hadley says. He's still feeling a little tipsy from that one can of beer. "Just say the word."
Francis makes a gagging sound. Shani makes a face at Hadley.
The door slams open, startling all of them.
"I have donuts!" David declares, with pride in his voice. "Good donuts! Who wants donuts?"
Vic brightens up at the mention of donuts. Hadley wishes he were a donut, so long as he could make Vic smile like that.
"Hey, you're here!" David says to Hadley, as he walks over to their table. He sets the box of donuts right on top of some important looking files. "Want a donut?"
"Dave, you're a lifesaver." Vic grabs a donut from the box. "Are you sure we can't date again?"
"I'm sorry, I really am, but relationships just don't do it for me anymore."
"I bet I could change that real fast," Vic says, with a leer.
Francis gags again.
"I think I'm going to throw up," Shani says. "If I have to sit through all of this bad flirting."
Are they flirting? Hadley thinks. Are they seriously flirting?
"Hey, Dave? Can I bring Ryan over?" Francis says.
David chews on his donut, pretends to think it over. "Why not?"
Francis pumps his fist in triumph. Shani lets out a groan.
"My shift's starting in a few hours," Vic announces, standing up. "Thanks for the donuts. And let me know how everything goes."
"You're leaving?" Hadley says, tone bordering on simpering.
"Yes, I am. I have a job. People have jobs, you know. Oh and—" she reaches into her pocket, fishing for something, and pulls out a folded up piece of paper—"call me."
She throws it onto the table, right in front of Hadley. Shani, Francis and David look at the paper, then at Vic, then at Hadley.
He suddenly feels so much more sober. "Uh, thank you? Wow. That was—"
"Easy? I know. I like to cut to the chase. Call me at—" she glances at her watch—"eight. Is eight fine?"
"It's perfect," Hadley says. He's still feeling a little shell-shocked. He doesn't know what to do, except watch Vic as she leaves the room, and stare at the paper on the table.
Francis bursts out in laughter. Even Shani manages to smile. David has his eyebrows raised.
"It's perfect," Francis mimics, then bursts into laughter again.
"How smooth," Shani says. "I can't believe I had to watch that."
"Wait," Hadley says. "What time is it?"
"You don't know the time?" David asks. "Seriously?"
"Shani, Shani, please let Ryan inside Molly," Francis says, in an annoying sing-song voice, "Shani, Shani, that sounded kind of dirty."
"It's half past seven, now," Shani says, "and no, rhyme all you want. We're not letting Ryan inside. I won't stand for it."
"You called me at seven in the morning," Hadley says, looking at David, "for what?"
"I'm glad you brought that up," says David, pointing his donut at Hadley. "I'm taking you to the Duchess."
Hadley stares at David.
"The Duchess isn't actually a Duchess. It's just a title."
Hadley keeps staring at David. Francis is yelling at Shani about how good of a person Ryan is.
"The Duchess," David explains, enunciating every word carefully, "is going to help us."
Francis mentions Ryan again. Shani starts telling Francis why Ryan can't come to Molly. They start bickering again, largely ignoring David and Hadley.
"And how, exactly," says Hadley, "are we going to get to Duchess?"
"Molly's going to help us," says David.
"How is your sentient building going to help us get to your Duchess?"
David smiles at him, like he's not going to tell him anything.
"Would it ever kill you to answer any of my questions?" Hadley asks.
"Yes. It ruins the surprise."
"Let me guess," Hadley says, "we're going to walk through one of Molly's doors and we're going to show up wherever Duchess is."
"That's—" David points his donut at Hadley— "that's exactly it. You're finally catching on. Good for you."
"Wait, seriously?"
"Yep," David says, seriously. He finishes off the rest of his donut in one bite. "We could go now, if you wanna."
Hadley looks around the room. Shani and Francis are still fighting. Francis sticks his fingers in his ears and starts going la-la-la. Shani is practically tearing her hair out.
No time like the present.
"Okay," Hadley says. "Okay, let's go."
David wipes his hands on his jacket and stands up.
"So long, amigos," David says, to Shani and Francis. "Me and James—or is it Hadley?—are gonna skedaddle outta here."
Francis and Shani barely glance at David.
"For the last goddamn time," Shani says, her tone as brittle as ice, "just because you think his eyes are beautiful—"
"I don't think his eyes are beautiful! They are beautiful!" Francis bangs the table with his fist. "And hey, what about that girl you brought to Molly? Huh?"
Shani gasps dramatically, clutching her heart. "You did not go there!"
David stands at the wall opposite to the table, next to a door. He motions at Hadley to come over, before opening the door, and stepping through.
Hadley follows.
It's like every time Hadley crosses a door without knowing what the hell's going to be on the other side, he's always surprised. Not this time. This time he's prepared.
And disappointed.
It's just a house. A normal house, with wooden floorboards that creak with every step and threadbare rugs. The light that filters through the windows is dusty mid-afternoon light, spilling onto the floor like honey. Outside, snow falls noiselessly and onto the windowpanes, as light as cotton.
David stands next to him, glancing around the hallway they both stand in.
"Is this Molly's third floor?" Hadley asks, looking at the window.
"No, this is Duchess's house." David shrugs off his jacket and hangs it on a nearby coat hanger. He's wearing a hideous Christmas sweater underneath it, one that manages to look comfortable and ugly at the same time. It's a monstrosity of green and red and ribbons on the elbows. "What are you staring at?"
Hadley hadn't been aware that he'd been staring. "Sorry," he says, looking away from David's ugly sweater with some difficulty.
"It's the sweater, isn't it?" David smiles sardonically. "I know it's ugly. My mom made it."
Hadley gets hit with a pang of envy so strong he feels it like a stab to the heart. Suddenly, David's ugly sweater ceases to look ugly. It looks like something Hadley can't ever have. Hadley wants to reach out and touch the sweater, to feel every ounce of affection in the folds and in the creases, to wring out every promise of love caught in the knitting.
"I think Duchess is home," says David, wrenching Hadley out of his thoughts.
David walks into a room to the right. Hadley lingers in the hallway, taking in everything—musty smell, mirrors and chimes hanging off of the walls, slightly browned over wallpaper—before walking after him.
"Duchess!" David exclaims, with warmth. "You're looking gorgeous, as usual."
The room is large, airy, warm. It's a living room that looks, smells and feels like a living room should. And right at the center of the room sits a woman in a large armchair, a shawl wrapped around her broad shoulders.
Duchess, apparently, isn't what her name suggests her to be. Duchess, in Hadley's mind, conjures up images of long gone royalty—powdered cheeks, glittering pearls, pale hands, diamond brooches—like something out of his mother's family album, the one with the long dead Hungarian grand-aunts and grand-uncles. This woman is very much alive.
This Duchess is old, certainly, but she's the most present old woman he's ever seen. Hadley's not even sure if she's an old woman. She looks like she could be anywhere from forty to seventy. Her russet brown skin is dotted with sunspots and small scars, but her eyes are clear. They're looking straight at Hadley.
"Who is this frightened child you've brought to me, David?" she says. Her voice sounds like it was tailored for her—strong and solid. Her question sounds more like a demand.
"Duchess, this is James Bishop Hadley," says David. "James Bishop Hadley, this is Duchess."
Duchess reclines in her seat. The manner in which she does it somehow manages to convey power and authority. Hadley can't help but bow his head.
"Ah, what a gem of a boy," says Duchess, her voice lilting with a smile. "A little rough, but nothing you can't smooth out."
"A gem, huh?" says David. He mirrors Duchess's smile. "I'd have to disagree."
Hadley's a little offended, but he says nothing.
"Have a seat, both of you," Duchess says, waving her bejewelled hand at them. With every motion she makes, Hadley hears the metallic clink of bracelets and bangles jangling against each other.
Hadley sits down on the plush couch opposite Duchess. David sits next to him, throwing himself onto the couch.
"Salome asks about you," she says to David. "She misses you."
"I miss her too," says David. "But I can't always come here."
Duchess casts a glance at Hadley's direction. "Busy with your latest adventure?" she asks.
"Oh, I'd hardly call him an adventure." David slings an arm around Hadley's shoulders, like he does this often. "More like a friend."
"So, this is the fool with the curse?" Duchess says. "Nice enough to look at. Can't say I'm impressed. Now, that old woman, the one you brought last time? What was her name? Min? Yes, her. Now, she had character."
"Min nearly fainted on her way here." David thwacks Hadley's back. "He's made of tougher stuff."
"Thanks," Hadley mutters
"Awfully silent, isn't he?" says Duchess. "He's only said a word. Now, Min. Min never shut up."
"He only speaks when he needs to," David says, giving Hadley's shoulders a squeeze. "Isn't that right?"
"I can speak for myself," Hadley says.
"There we go," says the Duchess. "God gave you a voice. Better make use of it."
"I save my voice for more important things," Hadley says. "Important being a matter of perspective, I suppose."
"Clever boy," she says. She leans forward and looks at Hadley's face. "Such a shame about your mother."
Hadley's blood runs cold.
"Duchess," says David, his tone suddenly wary. "Don't."
"Don't tell me what to do," says Duchess. She narrows her watery brown eyes at Hadley. "Ah, you think she's ruined you."
"Ma'am, with all due respect," Hadley says, his hand gripping the edge of his seat, "shut up."
Duchess stares right at Hadley. She looks like a statue, unmoving and unbelievably calm. Even David's gone silent. Hadley feels like the entire room's been put under a spell.
Then, a door creaks, Hadley hears footsteps, and the illusion is shattered. Duchess leans back in her chair. David shifts around in his seat. The room breathes again.
A little girl walks into the middle of the room, with sleep in her step. Her eyes are half-shut. There's a spot of dried drool on the corner of her chin. She's wearing one of those old-fashioned white nightgowns. These are all after-details. What Hadley's really looking at is her hair. It's long, longer than any girl's hair Hadley's ever seen. It's the shiny black of a beetle's carapace, shiny and glossy from scalp to tip, and it ends abruptly at her knees.
She looks around the room, sleepily. Her gaze lands on Hadley.
"A scared little boy," she says, "and—" she turns her head and looks at the spot next to Hadley—"David?"
There's an immediate transformation. All of her sleepiness just vanishes at sight of David. She makes a sound and throws herself onto him, flinging her scrawny arms around his neck.
"David!" she says, burrowing her face into the crook of his neck. "You're here!"
He pats her head, and looks at Hadley helplessly.
"I didn't see you since forever!" she says, pulling away from David. She settles herself into the space between Hadley and David. "What were you doing?"
"I was just busy doing—" David glances at Hadley—"stuff."
The little girl turns to look at Hadley. "Who's he?"
"A friend I'm helping."
"Like the last one?" she says, her eyes widening at David's words. "Like the old lady?"
"Do I look like an old lady?" Hadley asks.
She laughs, shyly and quickly, like she's afraid she might draw too much attention to herself. David's face breaks into a smile as he looks at her and Hadley realizes that every smile on David's face he'd seen so far hadn't been a genuine one. This is nothing like anything expression he'd show Hadley. There's nothing sardonic, or self-deprecating, or mocking or amusing about this smile. It reaches his eyes, crinkling up the corners and softening his features. It's a smile so bright it hurts to look at.
Hadley looks away.
"So how do I help you?" Duchess asks. "Dreams? Guts? Birds?"
Hadley's startled. "What are you talking about?"
"All methods of telling you your fortune, boy," Duchess answers. "Isn't that why you're here?"
"You brought me here," Hadley says to David, "to tell me my future?"
"No," David says, stroking the little girl's hair, "I brought you here to tell you your fortune."
"That's the same thing. How is this going to help break my curse?"
"Duchess isn't just going to tell you your fortune," David says, trying to tie up the girl's hair. "She's going to divine the nature of it."
"What."
"Good god. Alright. Listen. When Duchess tells you your future, she—how do I say this without sounding stupid—she touches your, your, your, uh—essence! Yes! That's the word. She touches your essence."
"My essence," Hadley repeats.
"You're thinking dirty," Duchess says.
"I am not thinking dirty. This just doesn't make any sense."
"It doesn't have to make sense. You just have to go with it." David rubs the back of his neck. "The curse corrupted some part of you. You saw, right? Back in limbo? The black stuff?"
"Is that my—" Hadley does air quotes with his fingers—"essence?"
"No. That's the curse's essence."
Hadley pinches the bridge of his nose. "This is all so confusing."
"It's not confusing," David says, earnestly. "You just don't understand it."
"God, I don't want to." He sighs. "Let's just get this over with. What do I do?"
"Pick a method of divination," says Duchess. "Guts, birds or dreams?"
"Haruspicy, augury or oneiromancy?" translates David.
"I don't know what any of that is," Hadley says. "And no, I definitely don't want guts. Or dreams. Or birds."
"Well, you're going to have to choose something," Duchess says. "I don't have all day."
He thinks of Morgan and the psychic, of the eerie darkness of the psychic's room, of the tarot cards with their flat colors and their thick lines, the two-dimensionality of it. It feels like that happened lifetimes ago, when Hadley maintained a healthy skepticism of psychics and magic and breakers, when none of this had ever been put into motion.
"A tarot reading," Hadley says. "Could you do a tarot reading?"
"Tarot reading?" the Duchess repeats, with something akin to disbelief. "You want a tarot reading?"
"Why a tarot reading?" asks David.
"Tarot readings are accurate," answers Hadley. He doesn't really believe himself.
"They're accurate. But they're not precise. You sure?"
"What's the difference between accuracy and precision?" Hadley says. "It doesn't matter. How does this work?"
The Duchess looks from Hadley to David, then from David to Hadley, and again at David. David nods, almost imperceptibly.
"Well," Duchess says, her face turned away from Hadley, "you already know how it works. It's why you want a reading, don't you?"
"I don't care if you think I'm familiar with how this works. I just want to know if you'll do it or not."
The Duchess lets out a long and exaggerated sigh. "Salome," she says, to the little girl, "go up to the attic. There's a vanity near the window and—ah, you know where it is? Good girl. Go get my deck."
Salome leaves the room, as obedient as a mother's dream child.
"Sweet girl, isn't she?" the Duchess says, more to herself than anyone else.
"What happened to her parents?" Hadley asks.
"Nothing happened to them. What does it matter? Parents don't matter as much as we think they do. Get that into your head." Duchess looks at David. "Why are you still here?"
David shrugs. "I wanna watch."
"Something you've already seen a hundred times? Leave, boy, before I force you."
David holds up his hands. "Okay, okay, I'm leaving."
"And no eavesdropping!" Duchess calls after him, but David's already upstairs.
Not a minute later, Salome bounces down the stairs, holding a small wooden box in her hand. She looks practically ecstatic.
"David said that he's going to come back today," she says, as she hands the case to Duchess, "and that we're gonna make snowmen and snow forts and he's going to make a special kind of hot chocolate just for me and—wait, where'd he go?"
Duchess doesn't answer. There's a faint expression of distaste on her face as she opens the case and coughs.
"Sweet lord," she says, still coughing, "I haven't used this since forever."
Duchess sighs. She narrows her eyes at Hadley. "Before we begin, there are a few things you must understand. There are no good cards. There are no bad cards. Don't let these define you." Duchess's tone is patient, almost sweet. "Do you understand?"
Hadley nods.
"There's a good boy. How many readings do you want?" Duchess asks.
"Just one. No, wait—" he thinks of Victoria, her laugh, her glittering eyes—"two readings. I'd like two readings. Please."
"Two? One for love and one for life?"
Hadley nods again.
"You're in love?" She's smiling.
"I don't know. Can't you find out?"
She puts a hand to her chin. She smiles again. "No."
"What? I thought I could—"
"I won't waste my energy on some child's notion of what he thinks may or may not be love. I'll give you just the one reading. That's more readings than I've given the past ten years."
Salome laughs, silently.
"This is such bullshit," says Hadley. "Why'd you ask how many readings I wanted in the first place?"
Salome's eyes go wide. "You said a bad word."
"You will not swear in my house," Duchess says. "Or I will throw you outside. Show some gratitude. Now, let's start." She takes the deck out of the case and shakes it, once, twice. Dust falls to the floor like snow.
Hadley's rapidly declining confidence in the woman's abilities has reached an all-time low. If she hasn't touched a deck in the past ten years, if she refuses to give another reading to Hadley, how closely can she gauge Hadley's future?
"Shuffle these for me, will you, dear girl?" Duchess says to Salome. "There's a good girl."
Salome shuffles the deck somewhat clumsily. Her lack of experience does nothing but increase Hadley's skepticism. After she's done, she sits next to Hadley, the same spot where David had been sitting.
She hands the deck back to Duchess, who shuffles the deck again with such rapidity her hands are almost a blur. In one practised motion, she puts the deck of cards on the table, and spreads it out such that each card is barely visible.
He expects something. A chill, goosebumps, a feeling that this is somehow important. Nothing happens. This is nothing like the reading he'd gone to, the one with Morgan.
"Go on," Duchess says. "Pick a card which you feel is right."
Hadley leans over the table, and hovers his hand over the cards uncertainly.
"What are you waiting for?" The Duchess prods at him. "Pick one."
He puts two fingers to a card. Duchess slides it to him.
"Pick two more," the Duchess instructs.
He picks two at random. Duchess slides those towards him, too.
"Good. Now, remember what I said about there not being any good or bad cards?"
"Yes."
"Tarot cards do not deal in specifics. You will not get angry when you feel that I am being too vague. You understand?"
Hadley bites his lower lip. "Yes."
"Good, good. Let's see what you've picked. Turn the first card over."
Hadley turns over the first card.
Death.
It's the clearest part of the entire card, written in a loud and clear font, in a no-nonsense black. The picture drawn on the card is faded—skeleton riding a horse with a sickle in hand, people dying at the bottom—but the name of the card itself is more than enough to draw Hadley's attention.
"No bad cards, boy," Duchess says. "Death doesn't mean literal death."
Hadley can't help but let out a laugh of disbelief. "What does it mean, then?"
"A transformation. A change. A big change in your life."
"The change being death?" Hadley laughs again. His throat is dry. He swallows his breath. "I'm going to die, aren't I?"
"I swear to the lord, if you start crying, I'll..." Duchess looks at Hadley, with resignation. "Don't dwell on it. Turn over the other card."
Hadley turns over the second card.
It's a wheel, with some flying rams and other vague scribbles of animals. He can't tell, really. The card is upside down.
"The wheel of fortune," Salome reads, her voice awfully small.
"The wheel of fortune," says the Duchess. "But reversed."
"Is that good?" Hadley asks.
"There are no good cards." She taps the table with her finger. "But this isn't very good. Bad luck's coming. Misfortune, too."
Hadley nearly laughs out loud again. "Don't I know it."
Salome watches the entire exchange with wide eyes. Her gaze is curious, innocent. Something about her reminds him of David, though Hadley can't quite put his finger on what it is, exactly.
"Last card," Duchess says. "Go on."
Hadley reaches a hand over to the table, right above the final card. Salome pats his back. When he looks at her, she gives him a quick and shy smile, before patting his back again.
He thinks that's her way of comforting others. It's adorable, actually.
Hadley turns over the last card.
It's a picture of a man whose calm, almost serene expression is at odds with the seven swords that impale him. He kneels on the ground, head lowered not in defeat, but in deference. But to what? Hadley doesn't know.
"The seven of swords," the Duchess whispers. Her watery eyes flit to Hadley's face. "This is bad."
Hadley doesn't take his eyes off the card. Looking at it makes his chest feel tight.
"What does it mean?" Hadley asks, his voice barely a whisper.
"It means," Salome says, her breath hitting Hadley's cheek, "someone is out to betray you."
***
a/n: :)