The Cabin Is Always Hungry
Arc 4 | Last Resort (16)

LAST RESORT

Part 16

Planning a heist didn’t look like the movies.

Far from it.

At least that’s what I’ve gathered from watching Kevin, Lope, and the others plan and bicker with their little theft.

It wasn’t their first time either. This heist on the Last Resort would be their third? Fourth? Not on the resort itself, but at other places. They stole from a funeral home once, if you can believe it. I didn’t bother delving deeper into their memories with [ Fractal Omniscience ] and get lost in their whining about how they were the victims of an unfair society (when half of the stuff they claimed to be a victim of was partially, indirectly, and directly their fault to begin with), it gets tiring.

Humans whined A LOT.

I get it. Humans were complicated, and sometimes can be decent people.

But they were also selfish, contradictory, volatile little monsters.

They were unbearable to listen to, but that didn’t mean their thoughts and memories weren’t useful. Spying on their private thoughts—dreams, regrets, twisted urges—everyone within my vicinity were walking confessional booths and I’m the unfortunate priest. There’s a reason evolution didn’t hand out telepathy like candy. If you knew what the person across from you was really thinking? You’d start digging your own damn grave.

Do you know how many times a person lies in a day? To other people AND themselves? I’ll be a millionaire by the end of the week.

Kevin and his crew were definitely no saints, not by a long shot, and they were driven by the cliche sin of all to men like them: greed and gluttony. It was almost charming in its simplicity. Hey, at least Catholic Sunday school my parents sent me when I was young finally paid off learning all those seven deadly sins, right? Humanity’s vices boiled down into seven basic bitches.

Which made the vault beneath The Last Resort exactly what you'd expect: A seductress. A gleaming, high-security whorehouse of temptation locked inside a gilded mansion.

And Kevin?

Well, Kevin was already halfway to unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants.

Like I said, planning heists wasn’t like the movies. It’s not a quick montage. It actually took a total of three weeks to get the others on-board with Kevin’s plan to steal from Duke Henry. At first, they were horrified that he even suggested it and quickly shut it down. Although Ray was more than happy to go along with the heist right off the bat. Out of everyone, he didn’t have a lot of future prospects and easy money was easy money.

The others, however, were cautious. They’d made a reputation by punching down; targeting rundown strip joints, pawn shops, and other small-time crooks. You know? Just casual town bully shit. They prided themselves with not getting caught all these years. The most important part was that they never picked fights with anyone who had reach.

And, boy, did Duke Henry had reach.

In such a short time, Henry had already gained the reputation of being the richest man in Point Hope ever since he moved in six weeks ago that would make Terry Warrick, the mayor, jealous from the stolen spotlight. And Henry, without waiting for a beat, had started “supporting” local businesses with donations, sponsorships, and charities since his arrival. Not a lot of them, but it was enough to get the attention of the local politicians eager to suck off his golden balls.

All part of the plan, of course.

Henry wanted to build his reputation organically within Point Hope, Brighton, and Groveland, the three towns that bordered my dungeon. We didn’t want to abuse the Rumors, fearing we might introduce complications down the road. I’ve learned that not everyone affected by it remembered a Rumor the same way, so I’m only saving that for special occasions.

With Oracle’s help, I sent Kevin and his crew “gentle” reminders of their reality.

Past due invoices. Future car payments. Late mortgage. Rent increases. Threats of repossession. A few repairs on their cars or houses that required shilling out an exuberant amount of money. All the invisible knives that hang over a person’s life, waiting to drop and make them bleed.

I wanted to tempt them further into this abyss. If they still refused Kevin’s offer after all that? Well... then maybe they deserved to walk away. Bravo to them.

But I knew better.

Humans rarely turn down the Devil when he shows up dressed as a golden ticket.

While they trimmed hedges, moved in trees, and mowed lawns at The Last Resort, I revealed the vault to them two more times. I let it gleam in their periphery like a polished apple hanging low on the tree. A forbidden fruit, in plain sight. Every time Jessica or Roy would invite them inside to cool off or eat their free lunch courtesy of the Duke’s private chef (aka ME), they get glimpsed of that fruit. And no one refused free meals.

“What does the Duke do?” Kevin asked Jessica one time during these lunch breaks.

“Philanthropy, among other things,” Jessica said. “But he is a collector, mostly in the Arts space. But he also helped a couple of tech startups at Silicon Valley. Ever heard of Uber? He helped them expand nationwide when he was just twenty-one.”

Kevin was more and more determined to steal whatever was inside, looping Ray with his “toxic enthusiasm.” The more they learned about Duke Henry, his noble heritage, and the fake stories of how he made his money enticed them further into the abyss. Only Lope was still adamant not to make a move at the duke.

“Something feels off, boss,” Lope said.

“Lope, when we finish this, we’re not going to work any longer,” Kevin said. “The higher the risk, the higher the reward, remember? Chin up. This is easy. To me, it sounds like the boss ain’t around the house much. Only the assistant and Roy. We can take ‘em.”

“With a man of his status, I half-expected a dozen or so guards crawling around the property.”

“He’s a dumb sock of rocks then. He probably thought he’s isolated enough that no one’s gonna steal from him, or maybe he thought this manor wasn’t a good target. Plus, he only has cameras for security. That’s why we need Nina and her magic keyboards to make this work.”

“We need more hands than that.”

“Like I told you, I’ve already had a back up after I fired Jared. He’s not answering my calls, so his loss.”

“He’s not at his house,” Lope said. “It’s not like him to disappear like that.”

“Fuck him. We’re doing this with or without him. If he doesn’t want to associate with us because I have the Yates name, then he’s good as dead to me.”

With Jared fired after not showing up for several days, Xavier Yates came in as an extra hand to help around the property. I tempted him with the vault, too, but it wasn’t until Kevin proposed to him about stealing from the duke that made Xavier pause.

His sister, Vivian, still had a year left in school, but Xavier was graduating soon. No sports scout was going to accept him into their football or baseball programs with a full-ride scholarship given his history. His grades wasn’t going to send him to a good college. Vivian could kiss her Ivy-league dreams goodbye. A quick background check would reveal that their parents were part of a cult that murdered a bunch of people, and the news was still fresh in everyone’s mind. From now on, he believed that this was all life could offer them. But whatever was inside that vault could bring both of them a new start.

Xavier needed to think about their future—him and his sister. The fantasy of restarting their lives, away from the judgmental eyes of everyone in town was so tempting it was almost euphoric.

That was what Kevin also felt. And so did Ray and Sheila. And eventually, so did Lope, Nina, and Daryl.

After almost three weeks of back and forth, and the landscaping project at the manor almost finished: they devised a plan.

As predicted, no one refused the golden ticket.

“I don’t think you should do this, Sheila. And screw you for dragging me into it,” Kate snapped, pacing the length of the living room like a caged animal.

I smiled. With the heist drawing closer, I’d decided to tighten the screws. A little pressure here. A complication there. So I nudged the schedule up and messed with it. Duke Henry would not be away that day, as Kevin had assumed. Instead, he’d be in town courtesy of Mayor Warrick, who was slobbering for a donation. The tour would parade Henry to the mayor’s obscenely rich friends and through every business the mayor had his claws in. I hoped this slight pressure would push them into making bigger mistakes when in a time crunch.

For the past three weeks, Henry had been spotted more and more around Point Hope. Partly to make him recognizable figure in town. But wherever he went, Kate Lewis was always by his side. The local paper ran a full-page spread in Page Four: “The Duke and Cinderella,” after a candlelit dinner at that overpriced Italian place downtown. Then came the private evening wine tour at the vineyard. The whispers became headlines. Kate had become someone in Point Hope.

As an archetype, I couldn’t read Henry’s mind, but Kate’s inner monologue was pure Bridgerton fanfic. Henry, tall, handsome, and refined, London royalty with a mysterious past. She’d already imagined the wedding, the manor house, the twin boys with old-money names. The dogs they’d adopt. She already saw herself in the manor.

She liked him.

Which made her circumstance and relationship with the duke useful to Kevin as a distraction. So, he pressured Sheila into recruiting her sister.

“I know,” Sheila said. “I’m sorry, okay? But this could be our only shot. Don’t you want out? Don’t you want to leave this town and finally live the life we always dreamed of?”

Kate stopped pacing. Her hands were fists. “But stealing, Sheila? From him? Are you out of your goddamn mind? This is Kevin’s idea, isn’t it? I swear, that man is such a dick to you! Why are you still with him?”

“That’s not fair. You don’t know him like I do.”

“Isn’t it? You think this is what I imagined for my life? For yours?”

“Of course not,” Sheila said. “But look around. We’re stuck, Kate. You scraping tips while I scrounge for rent. You think I don’t want to be somewhere else? L.A., New York—hell, even Boise if it meant a clean slate. I wanted you with me. My sister. But we’re here. Still. And this… this could be our way out.”

Kate’s voice cracked. “He’s kind, Sheila. He’s not like the other guys in this town. He listens. He remembers things. He’s good.”

Sheila’s laugh was sharp. “You mean he’s rich.”

“That’s a low blow. You know me better than that.”

“Fine. Then let’s be real. Do you actually think he’s going to marry you? A waitress from bumfuck nowhere? His family lives in a castle, Kate. He’s a duke. He actually has a reputation that is far more important than bumping uglies with you. You think they’re gonna welcome you with open arms at the next royal christening given your background?”

“He’s different,” Kate whispered. “And you are being an idiot.”

“How do you know that? You’ve known him what—four weeks? You don’t even love him.”

“I might,” she said. But even she didn’t believe it. “Look, we don’t have to steal. He might help us,” Kate added after a beat.

Sheila stepped forward and cupped her sister’s face, gently but firmly. The room was quiet now. “Kate,” she said softly, “men like him don’t marry girls like us. I know you want the fairytale. But he’ll smile, he’ll flatter, he’ll unzip your dress—and then he’ll vanish. That’s the story. That’s always the story.”

“I don’t know…this is all too much.”

Sheila stepped back, her hands falling to her sides. Her voice was tight. “I’m doing this—with or without you.”

Kate looked up, startled.

“You can tell Henry if you want,” Sheila continued. “If he matters more than me, then go ahead. I’ll go to jail. That’s fine. But if we pull this off… and we get even a piece of what’s inside that vault…” She paused. Her voice cracked, just slightly. “I’m leaving, Kate. I’m driving past that exit sign and I’m never looking back. But I want you with me when I go.”

Kate’s throat tightened. “What about Wendy?” she asked. “She’s still in L.A., but she’ll be back soon.”

“She can come with us,” Sheila said, almost pleading. “We don’t have to tell her where the money came from.”

Kate didn’t answer right away. Her thoughts were spiraling.

Henry.

The heist.

Her sister.

Kevin.

The weight of it all made her feel like she was sinking.

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“What does Kevin want me to do?” she finally asked.

Sheila exhaled, relieved. “Are you and Henry doing anything this week?”

Kate nodded slowly. “Yeah. We’re going to a concert in Brighton. Some alt-rock bands we both liked are playing there.”

“Perfect,” Sheila said. “That’ll give us a few hours. All you need to do is keep him busy. Charm him. Distract him. Keep him away from the manor until the job’s done. If it goes right, we’re golden.”

Kate stared at her. “You don’t think he’ll put it together? That it’s us? He’s not stupid, Sheila. He has connections. He’s not just some rich tourist looking for a quick fuck.”

“The moment he starts asking questions and roping in the police, we’ll already be gone,” Sheila said. “And by the time he realizes the truth, we’ll be so far out of Point Hope he won’t be able to touch us.”

Kate was quiet. Then, almost in a whisper, “I’ll hate you for this.”

Sheila smiled sadly. “You’ll thank me for it.” Then she stepped closer again, lowering her voice. “So… what’s it gonna be, sis? In or out?”

Kate’s heart felt like it was trying to punch its way out of her chest. She didn’t say anything for a long moment. And then…

“Tell me the plan.”

Sheila blinked. “What?”

“I’m in,” Kate said, softly. “Just tell me what to do, how the plan works, and who’s involved. Everything. Don’t leave anything out.”

She hated herself for saying it, even as she said it. Part of her still clung to the fantasy, the idea that maybe things would be different. Maybe Henry would forgive her, someday, if he ever found out, and they could rekindle whatever they have between them. That maybe this was all just a temporary setback in a grand romantic story. Kate had tried to live a clean life, away from all of this bullshit, and she thought she raised Sheila better than that. But this was her reality. This was the now, and there’s no changing it.

The world had made its rules very clear.

Vivian Yates finally found something to distract herself from everything: Working for Madame Dallaire.

Lauren Toomes, as she was known legally, was in need of an assistant. Her last one quit a few weeks back to become an accountant in Portland, and she needed a little help with running her business: doing palm readings, fortune-tellings, and speaking with dead loved ones, like where grandma hid the secret stash of cash before she keeled over in the shower. That sort of thing.

Ever since Madame Dallaire drove Vivian home that one night, and knowing that the woman only lived a few houses down the road, Vivian had found herself hanging out with her a lot. Xavier didn’t get why she was hanging out with a middle-aged weirdo when the answer was already staring him on the face (no one wanted to hang out with the Yates kids anymore). Sometimes she’d offer to clean Lauren’s garden or her car for a few extra bucks, feed her cats when she was out of town, or just hang out with her by watching old reruns of The Golden Girls, Friends, and Brooklyn Nine-Nine on TV.

It was a pleasant change of pace. It certainly beat having to avoid people at the grocery store before they made a snide remark or directly spit at her face. Plus, it got her out of the house a lot, and she knew grandma had been worried about that. Xavier was off busy working with Uncle Kevin, so that left her to be the only one cooked up inside the house.

Well, not anymore, she thought.

Lauren didn’t ask about the cult. She didn’t flinch at the Yates name. And if the topic ever did come up, Vivian had a speech locked and loaded about how her parents weren’t murderers—but it never came to that.

Lauren simply didn’t care.

About two a week ago, Lauren finally hired her to be her part-time assistant.

“I’ll teach you the tricks behind the curtain,” she said, waving her cigarette like a conductor’s baton. “The show’s the important part. You help me sell the mystery, the magic, the atmosphere. It’s not hard. Even a baboon could do it.”

Vivian raised a brow. “This isn’t like…a scam or a con, is it? I’m not gonna get arrested?”

Lauren snorted. “A scam? Honey, please. I sell entertainment. People want to believe. They walk through that door hoping to feel something—closure, catharsis, even a good scare. That’s what we give them. I see my job as sort of a…”

“—a therapist?”

“Yes. An unconventional one, sure. Except I make it more entertaining rather than letting them sit on a chair for God knows how long talking about their problems. You know I hate boring and life is too short for mediocrity. You’ll learn it in no time. Maybe you can aid me in some of the magics, too.”

“Oh, I don’t believe in that kind of stuff.”

“That…stuff?”

“You know. Magic. They’re not real.”

Lauren laughed. “Oh. Magic is real, sweetheart. It just takes a special person to tap into its raw energy and utilize it into our world. Such things are hidden to most people, so I won’t fault you for not seeing it. Takes time and discipline.”

“But not you?”

Lauren sipped her tea. “Eh. Sometimes. It comes and goes. When it shows up, it’s like breathing fire, and just as exhausting. My mother had it. And her mother before that. And her before that…welp, you know the gist. We come from a long line of women who were either blessed or cursed, depending who you ask. There’s a Scottish witch somewhere in our tree. She had colorful opinions.”

The money was decent, at least, Vivian thought.

It wasn’t something to write home about, but it gave her enough cash to save up for a new phone or a laptop before college, or a few new clothes and the latest fantasy books release. At least she found a job that didn’t involve flipping burgers or stuck waiting tables from rude customers.

On Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, she worked a four-hour shift at Lauren’s house, where the living room and study had been transformed into a spooky little witchy sanctum. During séances, Vivian sat behind the walls, pushing buttons and tugging strings to create knocks, creaks, flickers of light.

What did confuse her was the readings. Those didn’t require a ton of practical effects. She surmised that the woman was very good, scarily a master at reading people. Or she did a ton of research on their social media about their lives so that she could use it during a reading. But Madame Dallaire refused to do reservations. You could just walk through the door: first come, first served.

Vivian would listen to Madame Dallaire telling the clients about their past, earning enough shocked gasps from across the table. That always get a giggle out of her. Madame Dallaire would then tell them about their lives as if she lived it herself. She’d tell them glimpses of what the near future would bring, although Vivian had no way of knowing if those were coming true or not. But the clients seemed to be pleased once the session was over.

“It’s entertaining,” Lauren said. “It scratches that part of their brain, and they couldn’t get enough of it.”

Lauren could only do these types of sessions once or twice in a day, and she’d sent Vivian home because she was tired. But the pay remained the same, though Lauren never told Vivian how she did it.

“An excellent chef never shares their secret recipes,” Lauren said.

But something was different the next Thursday night.

Vivian had finished her online coursework early and walked over, expecting the usual evening shift. But the “CLOSED” sign was hanging in the front window. She used the spare key, like always, and found Lauren bundled in blankets on the back porch, cradling a steaming mug and nursing a headache. A space heater hummed at her feet.

“I think I might have caught the flu,” Lauren groaned, sniffling.

“I saw the closed sign out front. You okay?”

Lauren nodded. “Yes, yes. Well, I can’t be sniffling and sneezing in front of our clients now, can we? Come. Sit. The tea is fresh and still hot if you want some.”

Vivian sat down and poured herself a cup. “So, how long have you been doing this?” She asked, just to get rid of the silence.

“Oh, long enough, I’m afraid. Long enough to do it in my sleep. I’ve been in the business since someone gifted me a tarot deck. Knew several good but weird people in the community.”

“The magical community? Is there a council of wizards and witches? Hogwarts?”

Lauren shook her head. “No, no. That’s a different club, of which I’m not invited in just because they hated my casserole. No, its those who do astrology, card readings, and palmistry like me as a business. Someone made a whole scene of sorts up in Seattle about it in May. Created a convention. All sorts of people come around with their gimmicks and sometimes share their gifts. I collect pretty rocks, get a booth during the convention, and sell them for a quick buck. But I’m known to be quite popular in card readings and fortune-telling, so I get a long line of people wanting to know themselves.”

“Not their future?”

“Knowing your future is just knowing who you are in the inside. Finding yourself can almost feel like providence.”

“So you just read people very well? Is that the secret sauce behind Madame Dallaire?”

“That…and then some.”

Vivian tilted her head, wanting to know more.

Lauren chuckled. “You may not believe in magic, Vivian, but I do. Yes, there’s a little magic involved. That’s why I’m always tired by the end of the day. I may be able to read people like an open book, but there are things you cannot see that requires a little push from a different source.”

Vivian took a sip of the tea. “If you say so, Lauren.”

“It’s true, it’s true, girlie. Believe or don’t believe it all you want. It’s still true. It exists.” Then, Lauren gave Vivian a long look. “Although we can see and harness this magic, it does make us sensitive to other forces.”

“Like what?”

Lauren stared out at the trees, quiet for a moment. “Forces that turn this world around just like you have science of gravity, space, and time. This…well, these types of forces cannot be explained,” Lauren answered. “There is a force at work here in Point Hope. It simmers in the periphery, always out of my sight, but it’s there.”

“Like a ghost or a spirit?”

Lauren shook her head. “I don’t know. And that’s what scares me. Not knowing.”

“I guess.”

They sat in silence for a beat longer. Then Lauren turned to her with a sudden brightness. “Want a tarot reading? A real one this time. Not like the one I did at Prom for you and your classmates. That’s just a whole lot of bullshit.”

“Do I have to pay?”

“This one’s on the house.”

Vivian smiled and shrugged. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

Lauren stood, slow and creaky. “Come on then, my skeptical apprentice. Let’s see what the cards say about you.”

Lauren and Vivian stepped into the dimly lit house. The scent of dried herbs clung to the air. Vivian shut the door behind them as Lauren moved slowly, bundled in her thick shawl, toward the sanctum with an unsettling number of mirrors. The table had been set with an embroidered cloth, and in the center sat a thick tarot deck. Vivian had seen it many times, usually when Lauren was putting on a show for someone else. Tonight, though, the room felt different. Vivian was now the client.

“Sit down,” Lauren said, her voice more hoarse than usual. “The spirits are tugging on my sleeves tonight. Might as well listen.”

Vivian hesitated. “Is this going to be one of those ‘don’t fall in love with a Scorpio’ thing?”

Lauren gave a raspy laugh. “Heh. You wish, girl. Sit.”

They sat. The candlelight glimmered in Lauren’s dark eyes as she shuffled the deck, slow and practiced. She didn’t say a word. Her hands moved like she’d done this a thousand times in a thousand lives.

“I’m not promising answers,” Lauren finally said, “but maybe a little clarity. Treat this as just something fun, okay? Now, close your eyes.”

Vivian did.

“Take a deep breath and…exhale. Yes. Take another. Good. Think about what lies ahead, sweetie. What you fear. What you hope to find. What you want to know.”

There was silence, broken only by the shuffling of cards and the faint ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.

“Okay,” Lauren whispered as she spread the tarot deck across the table in a semi-circle. “Open your eyes.”

“Feels weird.”

“Don’t invite that feeling in. Believe, Vivian, okay? Now, Pick a card. You’ll pick five, but we’ll do it one by one. Pick the first.”

Vivian did.

Lauren flipped it over and set it to the left.

A crooked moon hung low and yellow, sickly like a bruise, it hovered over a narrow path carved through dead, dense forest. The trees leaned in on both sides, black bark gleaming like wet skin; gnarled and skeletal, their branches resembling grasping fingers. Two wolves stood at the edge of the trail, unfinished shapes with eyes like cigarette burns. The trail wound into the fog and then… stopped. Like it never meant to go anywhere at all.

THE MOON.

“That’s pretty,” Vivian said, chuckling nervously. “Are those wolves? They look cuddly.”

Lauren frowned at her, a curt gaze that read shut up. She quickly recovered her composure and be in character. “Uncertainty. Deception. Hidden dangers. There’s something waiting ahead of you, kiddo. A new truth. Something not entirely of this world and under your control. You’re walking into illusions. A dense, expanding fog of doubt. Things that aren’t what they seem—but also things that are, even when you don’t want them to be. You won’t know the difference right away. Watch out for that.”

Vivian’s throat tightened. She didn’t speak. She picked another card.

Lauren turned second card over.

A black stone tower erupted in flames, its top struck by a jagged bolt of lightning from a storm-wracked sky. The tower tilted as it broke apart, and two faceless figures were shown falling from the shattered windows: one reaching for salvation, the other limped in surrender. Below, the earth fractured, as if something buried beneath was waking up. Ash and embers float down like snow.

THE TOWER.

“Oh, sweetheart…” Lauren murmured. Lauren’s breath caught for just a second when she turned this card over. “Okay,” she said carefully, “this is the one everyone gets scared of. The Tower. But it's not evil, Viv. It just means upheaval. A loud, sudden change. The kind that rips the roof off your life and forces you to look at what was underneath.”

She met Vivian’s eyes. “Something big is coming. Something that’ll shake the foundation of who you think you are. And it won’t be subtle. It’s gonna feel like the end of the world. But sometimes, that’s how new ones start. You rebuild stronger. You can survive.”

“I kinda like that,” Vivian said. “Almost comforting, really. But the pictures? Not a fan, Lauren.”

"While I'm on this table, It's Madame Dallaire, thank you very much. "

"Oops. Sorry. Madame Dallaire."

Lauren smirked. "Okay. Pick the next one."

Vivian leaned over and picked the third card.

A grotesque horned figure loomed above two humanoid silhouettes—one male, one female—bound by loose chains around their necks. The Devil’s grin stretched unnaturally wide, and its eyes were hollowed husks, like burned-out stars. The figures below were pale, expressionless, and unaware of the fact that their chains were easily removable. Behind them, twelve doors line a stone wall, each marked with an unknowable symbol.

THE DEVIL.

Vivian leaned back. “Well, He’s a handsome fella,” she said sarcastically.

Lauren nodded. “Gotta be honest, this is the one that worries me,” Lauren said, voice low. “You’ll be tempted in the future. Might even be lied to. Maybe even by yourself. You’ll be given the illusion of choice, but it’s a trap. If you open a door… you invite what’s behind it.”

Vivian tensed. Her mouth was dry. “I don’t understand,” she whispered. “What doors?”

“You’ll know them when you see them.”

Lauren turned the fourth card.

A veiled woman sat between two ancient pillars, one black and one white, etched with runes. Her eyes were partially closed, as if half-asleep. She held a crescent moon in one hand and a sealed scroll in the other. The space behind her is not a temple, but an endless forest path covered in snow. A key dangled from her waist, but no lock was visible. The wind tugged at her veil, but it never lifted.

THE HIGH PRIESTESS.

“This is your card,” Lauren said with a smile. “A good card.”

“My card?”

“Your compass. You’re going to walk into something ancient, something thick with rules and riddles. Go with your gut, and you will feel what’s right. But that doesn’t mean you’ll like it. Pay attention to the signs and symbols, telling you which way you should go. Listen and observe carefully, and you’ll make it out with whatever calamity you’ll face. Be yourself.”

“But watch out for what?”

But Lauren, again, did not answer her. “Last card. Go.”

Vivian hesitated but pulled a card from the very middle. Lauren flipped it over.

A skeletal rider in dark armor rode a gaunt black horse through a battlefield shrouded in fog. The rider’s flag bore a white rose, pure but blood-streaked. Around him, kings and beggars alike lie fallen. Yet in the distance, where the fog parted, a small sun was rising behind bare trees. A child in the foreground watched Death passed by, clutching a wilted flower. The card was edged in faint gold—but cracked, as if it had been drawn too many times.

DEATH.

“Oh no. Now that doesn’t look good,” Vivian said. “Am I gonna die?”

“Don’t freak out—it doesn’t mean dying, not literally.”

“But it does sometimes.”

“Yes, well, the card represents transformation. The end of a chapter. The beginning of something new.” She gave a small smile, not quite comforting. “It means you’re not coming back the same. The person who enters the path won’t be the same person who leaves it, if you leave it. Something’s going to end so something else can begin, but it comes with a price. A toll. You have no choice but to let it happen.”

“What does this all mean?” Vivian asked, staring at the five cards laid down on the table.

Lauren leaned back, letting the weight of the reading settle between them like dust in the air. “I gotta say, you’ve got a storm coming, Viv. But you’ve also got a compass. Just don’t forget who you are when everything starts to fall apart.” She paused. “And don’t open any doors you can’t close again.”

Vivian visibly shuddered. “Now I know what the clients are feeling. You’re really good at this.” She let out a nervous laugh.

Lauren chuckled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Maybe with my parents dying, it did fuck my life.”

“That’s the past, dearie,” Lauren said. “All of these cards tell me what’s ahead of you.”

“Ahead of me? Great. I guess I’ll get into more shit.”

“Don’t go into the forest,” Lauren said suddenly.

“Um, what?”

“I don’t know how and why, but I see you in those woods up in the mountains just near town. You and your brother. Something is inside there, an evil presence, something I’ve never felt before.”

“What mountains?”

“You know what mountain I speak of, Viv. Where the cabin is. For your sake, don’t ever step foot in it. Though my vision is just a very blurry image, it does not bode well for you.”

“Well, I’m not an avid hiker. Believe me, you won’t find my ass stepping into those woods, so you can stop worrying. And please, don’t mention the cabin again.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Lauren said, turning to change the subject. “But Margie, your grandmother, I ran into her last night at the grocery store. She told me that Xavier recently got a job for your uncle.”

“He did. That was three weeks ago. They’re working at the old asylum. Someone converted it into a mansion.”

Lauren paused, letting the silence linger between them. “…Up in the mountains?”

Vivian’s blood went cold. “Yeah. In the mountains.”