The Spinster’s Swindle
1
Heka
primordial god, patron of magic
Lydia Weaver had received many pleas for help during her tenure as spiritualist Madame Xyla, but never before had a client been desperate enough to offer their first-born child.
She allowed herself a few seconds to study the panicked young man standing in her foyer. His handsome face featured a long, straight nose and a strong chin with a deep cleft in the center. The lamplight above revealed hints of auburn in his tousled brown locks. Wide eyes the color of a bronze halfpenny were rimmed with red, and a shadow of stubble covered his jaw. This was a man who hadn’t been sleeping well.
Lydia waved her troubled client into the front parlor of her townhouse, where she now conducted the majority of her spiritualist sessions. Gone were the airy lace curtains and delicate pastel furnishings of the previous occupant. Instead, Lydia had covered the walls with sumptuous fabrics. Chairs made of dark wood and upholstered with bright velvets ringed a carpet so plush it felt as though one sank into it with every step. In the very center of the space stood an antique table, each thick leg carved into a different mythological beast. A glass orb, a tarot deck, and a teacup sat atop it.
Her client paused, his eyes taking in the decor. A curious man. Good to know. Some clients simply walked in, paying little attention to their surroundings. His gaze swept over everything, lingering long enough to absorb what he saw.
Lydia closed the door and walked regally to her seat behind the table. She motioned for the client to take a chair across from her.
He did, turning his attention to the objects on the tabletop. “Pretty teacup,” he observed. “Limoges?” He picked it up and turned it over to peer at the maker’s stamp. “Ah, indeed. The Allund factory. Lovely.” He set the cup down. “I’m sorry. I talk too much sometimes.”
“Communication, both on earth and with the spiritual realm takes many forms,” Lydia intoned, inflecting her voice with a matriarchal air. Her spiritualist sessions relied on three basic principles. Exude confidence. Make the client comfortable. Lead them to their own conclusions.
“I’m sorry about the outburst in the hall,” the man continued, shifting in his chair. “My family always says I have a tendency toward melodrama.”
Lydia inclined her chin, keeping her laughter bottled up inside. Yes, saying, “I’ll give you anything! My pocket watch! My books! My first-born child!” was a trifle melodramatic. But most importantly, it gave her clues about the speaker. He’d offered no money or jewels, so he wasn’t excessively wealthy. And he considered books to be of great value.
This fit with the ink stains on his fingers and the faint scent of pipe tobacco around him. A scholar, perhaps. His suit was clean, relatively new, and well-fitting, so he was a man of comfortable means.
“Tell me what brings you here…” Lydia let her voice lift and trail off at the end of the sentence. She never insisted that clients give their names, but prompting them in this way revealed more about them, whatever the answer or lack thereof.
“Mr. Millerson,” he replied immediately. “Maxwell Millerson.”
Lydia flinched. Not something noticeable to most people, perhaps, but her left hand twitched in an involuntary reaction only true surprise could cause. Rarely was Madame Xyla surprised by anything.
“A pleasure, Mr. Millerson,” she said. “What can I do for you?”
Millerson. The name rolled about in her brain. He could be no relation, this young man, but if he were…
If he is, you should send him away. Helping that family is the last thing you want.
Highly unprofessional, though. And if this man did have a connection to Adolphus Millerson, he might be the path to retribution.
Lydia’s thoughts so preoccupied her that she nearly missed his reply, something she hadn’t done since the earliest days of her career. She snapped her focus back to her work.
“Nowhere to turn,” he was saying. “No one I could ask for help. But a friend highly recommended you, and I was at my wit’s end, as I’m sure you can tell.”
She gave him another small nod.
“I’m in something of a… situation,” he went on. “Family troubles.” He paused. “Do you need details? I’ve never consulted a spiritualist before.”
Lydia gambled based on what she’d seen of him. “Your reading relies on focus. Speak as little or as much as you like, in whatever manner will lead you to center on your true question.”
“Ah. Right.” He paused a moment, then went on, as if to himself, “An Egyptian theme. Why? The club was making a steady profit. It didn’t need an update. And now there’s nothing. Less than nothing. And I don’t know what to do.” Millerson blew out a long breath. “There. I’m focused. Now what?”
Beneath her layers of satin and velvet, Lydia’s pulse began to accelerate. The Curiosity Club. Reported to have undergone a stylish redecoration. He was one of those Millersons! Lydia picked up her tarot deck and began to shuffle. She wanted that club. She wanted it either in her possession or burned to the ground. Both were acceptable. And this chatty young scholar was her entrance ticket.
“Let your body relax,” Lydia counseled. “Breathe deep. The cards will speak to your situation, and reveal a path forward.”
Millerson closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. “I’m willing to try anything, at the moment.”
Lydia forced her desired card into the fourth position at the top of the deck. “Let us begin.”
Millerson straightened his shoulders and laid both hands flat on the table. “I’m ready.”
Lydia turned over the top card. The nine of swords.
“Oh, swords,” her client said. “Is that bad?”
She allowed herself a small smile. “You are feeling the conflict. You are coming from a place of stress and anxiety.”
“Undoubtedly,” he replied.
“These feelings have long haunted you. Swords, though, have a double edge. You fear the worst. Yet you have clung to a glimmer of hope. All is not lost.” She flipped a second card. “The ace of coins.”
A card of opportunity. A satisfaction grew inside her as she gazed down upon it—in an upright position from her vantage point. This meeting today would be her opportunity to seize her chance for revenge long sought.
“It’s upside down,” Millerson observed.
“A reversed position,” Lydia confirmed. “This second card speaks to your present troubles. A poor investment has been made, resources squandered.”
“My father,” he muttered.
Lydia added this new piece of information into her reading. “He places these troubles on you.”
Millerson’s eyes lifted to stare into hers, the bronze color gleaming with intensity. “So what can be done about it?”
“Your third card. The future.” She turned it over. “The knight of wands. Change is coming. A new adventure. If you are fearless, it could lead to great things.”
“Fearless.” He rocked back in his chair. “That’s not especially helpful, unfortunately.”
Lydia’s mouth turned up slightly at the corners. “Then let us see what advice the cards give us as you seek this future.”
Setting the remainder of the deck aside, she presented him with the card she had chosen. The Lovers.
“Ah.” His dark eyebrows arched. “So I’m to distract myself from all my worries by indulging in pleasures of the flesh? A time-honored tradition.”
Lydia’s smile grew. Millerson’s irreverent sense of humor meshed well with her own. Too bad he was an enemy.
“The card speaks of a partnership, not necessarily of a romantic nature. To find the peace you seek, you must be open to cooperation. Look for the one who will join you.”
His expression turned serious, his lips compressing. “Where and when will I meet this partner?”
“The cards do not speak so directly. But fear not. You will know your partner when the time comes.”
“Well.” He mulled over her words for a moment. “Thank you, Madame Xyla. If nothing else, you have given me a few moments of distraction and entertainment, and I find myself feeling far better than when I entered your home. This is all very interesting, this spiritualism business.” He waved a hand over her desk. “Perhaps we will meet again.”
“If the fates so choose.”
Fate had nothing to do with it. They would meet again, and soon. And one way or another, the Curiosity Club would be hers.