Shuffle. Shuffle. Shuffle. Cut. Shuffle. Shuffle. Shuffle. Cut. Shuffle. Shuffle. Shuffle. Cut. The movement was monotonous and soothing, and as I sat there shuffling my cards, infusing them with intention with each movement, I weighed what it was that I actually wanted. Yes, on a physical level I wanted Dimitri, but was I content to step over that line with a client? Was I content to dabble with the Bratva?
You’re already dabbling with the Bratva, my inner voice whispered to me.
My hands moved mindlessly, of their own accord, and I allowed my mind to settle on that one question - Should I do it? Should I take the leap? Should I plunge myself into Dimitri’s personal world? There would be no coming back from this decision because once this assignment was done, I would never be able to read for the Bratva again. Would that anger Charl? I didn’t know. Worse still, I wasn’t sure if it mattered, not after seeing Isis, not after experiencing Olek’s death first hand. I would probably have nightmares for months after this entire experience was over, or perhaps I was so emotionally detached that these experiences wouldn’t affect me past this assignment. I doubted it though. Many of the girls in the Club experienced different levels of PTSD often from their connected experiences - it was impossible not to. And despite all our divine abilities, we were still human - still prone to all the mental weights that bared down on so many others.
A million questions remained: Should I dabble with Dimitri? Should I take him up on his offer? Did it matter that after this I would never see him again?
I fell into the memory of what it felt like when his hands were thrumming against my thighs at the Charity dinner - of the unexpected weight of him when he pushed me against the wall in the alley. The possessive way on which he parted my legs with his knee, and how his breath touched my ear.
Heat unfurled itself in my core, leaving me breathy at just the memory of him. I didn’t want to be a pathetic girl pining for him, dreaming about what he was like, when I could experience him first hand - experience all he had to offer. And, with no strings. Some might balk from such an offer, but honestly, it couldn’t be more perfect - we were from two different worlds entirely, which meant that I had the unique opportunity of tangling with Dimitri and it never creeping back into my world. My stomach tightened at the thought and half of me knew that was a lie because even if I spent only one night with him, I would be unequivocally changed.
Working on autopilot, I flipped a card for myself. The King of Pentacles. Dimitri’s card. He was a King - even if he was playing the role of Prince in lieu of Arlo, he ran the whole organisation. I didn’t need my guides to show me what was right in front of me, well, not this time anyway. But drawing this card brought a sense of foreboding with it. I knew what kind of man Dimitri was. I knew that he was building an empire, and what I had seen had only been the tip of the iceberg. I knew that he was corrupt and greedy, cold and ruthless. But I also knew that greed was easily flipped into wealth. And being corrupt had served to build a successful empire. And he thrived when he was in absolute control. Would I willingly give up control for him? Would I willingly be submissive to him? I didn’t know myself well enough when it came to what I enjoyed in the bedroom and what I didn’t, but I knew that if I did this - even for a short time -I needed to trust him - at least with this.
I wasn’t one of those naive girls who didn’t know anything about sex - who would fall into the hands of a man based on pure infatuation as he muddied my integrity and repution. I had enough ‘friends’ who had experienced that kind of humiliation first hand - I’d read enough books, watched enough movies. I knew what this was - I knew that if I went this route it would be temporary, but isn’t living life fully - even temporarily - not still better than living at all?
But trusting Dimitri was a terrifying prospect - even if it was just in terms of sex.
In the deck that I had, the traditional pentacles were replaced by coins, and as I stared at Dimitri’s card, I found it fitting that he was a King alone, surrounded by perceived wealth and success. Although, I suppose a similar argument could have been made for my card - The Empress.
The second card fell out of the deck, unbidden. A sign, if ever I needed one. The Ace of Swords.
Not traditionally associated with romantic entanglements, the sword in this context represented balance between two parties. And with balance came the belief that the two parties saw each other as equals. The sword also represented challenge, often depicting a powerplay between them, the role of the ‘challenger’ constantly shifted between the two. Can’t argue with that. The sword could also represent a successful battle, the very essence of winning or conquering. Was I the thing that Dimitri needed to conquer? Or was it something else?
Trepidation settled over me as I realised that my guides - and perhaps even Isis herself - were encouraging this… entanglement. Before I could unravel my thoughts further, I felt a cold tap at the base of my spine - the same tap that I had felt my first night here.
I knew he would return - knew it, and still I hadn't prepared any sort of additional protection for myself to prevent this from happening. With everything that was going on, I just sort of forgot. Which sounds insane, even to my own ears - because, hello - when a historical figure somehow appears as a spirit, bartering with you, dealing with said spirit shouldn’t be something that just slipped your mind.
Shit. I was a mess.
“You’re not afraid this time,” the voice whispered in my mind, and he was right. Due to the last few days, I seemed to be numb from feeling - or at the very least, feeling fear. “That’s good,” he chuckled, “because I am here to do your bidding.”
“Did Isis send you?” I asked, a mixture of excitement and wariness at war with one another.
A hand glided down the curve of my spine, and what should have been a loving - or even lust filled gesture, left me feeling nothing but revulsion.
Solomon chuckled darkly, “You have discovered who I am.”
He sounded delighted, joyous in my reaction towards him, not at all like the great King all the biblical retellings had cast him as.
“You summon Demons,” I stated flatly, speaking aloud within the silence of my room.
“Used to summon Demons,” his words were soft as he dragged every s he pronounced, “Now I control them.”
In a breath, he was back to sounding bored again.
“I’m here to tell you a story,” he whispered softly - almost sensual in its nature.
“Did Isis send you?” I demanded of the entity. If I was forced to endure his banter, I needed to know that it was with purpose.
“She did not send me, but she did not deny me this access,” he crooned, sounding amused.
What the hell did that mean?
His laughter filled me with dread as he whispered, “I’m going to tell you a story.”
Unbidden images flowed through my mind’s eye creating a kaleidoscopic tale.
A young tanned man with honey coloured eyes and a strong jawline stood tall next to his father, awaiting for the reins of power to be transferred. Even I could see the appeal of him. Despite being the next in line, he still seemed to exude power.