Nine of diamonds

Always, ha. That is a very big request. But, yes, always remove the left one before the right. The tradition was as long as the snot trails blown from Raven's considerable nostrils. Ambriana took her time undoing the laces binding old leather the color of the Trickster's inky self. The transformation was swift once the left boot was heeled off.

" Oh how lovely is the curiosity waiting for the first and then the next clue. Where is the cloth, girlie of the boot? Bring on the smell of honey bees and waxy memories, we clamber for the next bit ..." The voices of the leather-bound Lace People were somewhere between the deep low of cattle and the chortle of Ravens when playing. Not easy to imagine if the ears hearing had not known either, but, Bri was a girl familiar with both. She laughed her own deep low and chortle in response to the miniature line up of Nine Lace People. They headed straight for the tin laid in Ambriana's generous lap, and without much deliberation, there was no need for that after all. They knew just what needed doing and knew as well, there wasn't much time to dally.

Tiny calf creatures no larger than thumbs on a girl surrounded the shoe box size tin and pushed up the lid from all sides. The smell of beeswax rose like bread rising in a warm kitchen. Ahhhh ... woman and lace people were in chorus.

Ambriana smiled and continued with her part of the ritual: she started to undo the laces from the right boot while the Nine Lace People waited and inhaled, waited and inhaled. Three of the taupe shaded calves carefully laid the tin's lid onto one of the brightly patched cases covering a wall of pillows lining Ambriana's bed. They lingered only briefly, the tiny calves chatting among themselves as they took in the sight of the colorful cat eyed glass doors where plant medicine hummed with music as old as sound itself. And just what would tiny calf people talk about? Well what would you and your chums speak of if you only had the opportunity when the Black Leather Lace-ups were undone?

Ponder that for awhile.

The right boot required more attention once unlaced. There was no left boot to push on the heel, and her lace stocked foot was reserved for finer acrobatics. Bri reached down without crushing the Lace People and pulled the boot free.

"Wheww .... click, cluck, gallump ... cluck." In exactly the same number as tiny calves from the left, a flock of perfectly imperfect and irreverent miniature Ravens unfolded from the tongue of the right boot. On their foreheads between marble smooth black eyes was a red diamond ... a fine and truly red gem. It matched the smooth red diamond on the calves though on the beasties the shape was a pattern of hide .

Her work done for the time being, Ambriana stretched her feet and toes as eighteen pieces of magic went about the cleaning of boots with soft muslin saturated with beeswax.

A bit more, here.

Eight of Spades

Bri found a parking space in the lot across the street, stepped on the manual brake and undid her seat belt.

I won't be coming with you, but the bacon ...

"The bacon'll be crispy. I know." Bri slid from her seat and headed for the back of the van where a sliding door opened to her home. Shelves filled with large amber bottles and small vial glass jars labeled with their contents lined one side of the the wall upon entering. These were the tinctures, the plant medicines arranged in her own sort of alphabetical order, like her floppy script. She kept just a few of the most necessary: St. Joan's Wort for managing the heat, soothing aches, and keeping viruses in check; Mother Wort for heart strength and heart ache; Echinacea for colds and infection; Yarrow flower tips for soothing sore throats and calming inflammation especially in the mouth; Sweet Violet in an oil of the olive of course for keeping her channels clear so she would always hear the trees. It was the Violet that originally spoke to Ambriana when the experts were giving her guardian the diagnosis -- tinnitus. "Ringing in the ears so loud she becomes addled ..." But really it was the conversation of the Trees wanting access to the tiny girl. Ambriana knew she would always be as tall as they.

The adjoining wall was shelved with intricately patterned colored glass doors -- kaleidoscopes of shapes that changed dependent upon the young witch's temperament. Folded lengths and scraps of cloth, old cloth of natural fibers, cloth as old and older than the step van itself filled the cubby holes. Each length of fabric was layered with a gauze of paper so thin it could have been spider's silk. Well, in fact, it was the silk of very particular spiders who fed on the musk or dust mites that would set off the young Ambriana's allergies. There was a ritual of cleaning both the spider silk and the old cloth. In four nights the dark moon would require the month ceremony, the cleaning.

Only one cubby contained a thin metal box of soft muslin at the bottom of the shelving. These scraps were for cleaning and caring for the black leather lace-up boots. The young woman sat on her bed, pulled the box of muslin onto her lap. It was a small flat tin box the size of a shoe box.

"Clean the boots before you climb down," Ambriana repeated the instructions to herself. She had heard it many times in her life and when she finished the simple mantra Bri untied the laces on the black boots and slipped them off in turn starting with the left one.


The 1956 van was originally a bakery van. When bread was delivered fresh and long johns were still filled with real custard Wila B. was a tiny girl of eight with a delight for making sweets. The girl was small for her age but that made her passion for baking that much grander. Wila's daddy Ambrose Bolinas was a baker and the van was an investment in a dream. "This is big magic," he told his only daughter. "To see our sweet bread and long johns going out into the early morning darkness, just like the milk man. It's a beautiful thing, Sweet Patootie. Something special. 5 cents for long john, 10 cents for hand-size poa doce. We not going get rich, but we going make plenty people happy."

If Wila Bolinas's mother had lived she would have corrected her beloved Ambrose for she knew between them, the pair would become rich beyond her husband's wildest dream. The small and beautiful cubby holes of kaleidescopic glass would watch those things she could not see in person. They were the eyes of cats long the friends and familiars of women who delighted in making life sweet.

"I am not solid, but I am not gone."

Seven of hearts

It makes some sense, not a lot but a bit, the argument was an old one the kind two people who have a long history rewind. Corn was a very old witch's cat, a Familiar. His side of the argument niggled at Bri.

"How often do I really get to just play at being in love? It isn't as if I'd hurt the man much. He's been around is savvy about lots of things ... life seems easy for him. Give me that," Ambriana Chu only looked twenty one years old when she wasn't in high octave argumentative. As the step van climbed the bridge to West Seattle the amazon behind the wheel was the accumulated legacy of women and witches. She was messing with relationships. Yes, she was young, but things add up. Too many past lives heated up in the name of lust. Playing with love Corn said this to himself deliberate in his parry.

Not a proper use of your juice Ambriana. This debate straddled the edge of soul development. It mattered to the Familiar this outcome. He was entrusted with not just the girl. Corn Silk was the guardian of those black leather lace-ups and that was big. From the warmth of his carrier his turquoise blue eyes glazed over when he thought of the women before Ambriana who grew up in those boots. The love and the heart break they inflicted and the equivalent breakage they endured. Corn felt a hair ball creating chaos in his gullet. Like owl pellets the furry wad projected. Spitting out the remnant white yellow ball, he said as gently as an old grandfather Slow down enough to clean them boots before you climb down, girl. If nothing else the cat's sideways caution made Bri disengage from the energy she knew was more than her own. She exhaled and eased up on the gas as she came to the red light.

"Okay, but I really do like the way he makes me feel. Like I'm made for being with him for adventures and education. I could use some wise company. No offense. Your wisdom is unquestionable it's just the human sort that is uncommon in my generation. Lane Baker is interesting." Bri felt the rumble inside her burble. It was pancake hunger with attitude.

Lane Baker is complicated, and, he is still in love with his ex-wife!

Six of Clubs

Battered Beats held the record for tasty breakfasts that didn't break you. For less than ten dollars two eggs pancakes served with real maple syrup and a cup of coffee could keep a girl fed well into the night. Ambriana Chu filled her black leather lace-ups with the curvy body of her Poly roots. "If I didn't start drinking coffee, I'd be seven feet tall." It was a joke that sat well with her friends who marveled at the bronze-skinned goddess who never drank alcohol, could keep drinking coffee for dinner and be snoring before her room mate Katy finished brushing her teeth. It was Katy who knew all about Battered Beats. Born and raised not far from the music and eats place, Katy worked the cafe side waiting tables five mornings a week. At sixteen Katy Collins started washing dishes on the weekends. It was this kind of work ethic and a facility to pick up on the nuances of energy left when she handled dirty dishes that gave the pert red-head her first clues about Bri.

The women were nearly the same age, twenty-one, born a month apart they couldn't have been less alike in physical appearance. Ambriana Chu was nearly seven feet tall, "Six feet six inches." Always ready with the specifics it was Katy who wasn't shy about asking for heritage. But that sort of conversation didn't happen right away. It's just that an amazon wasn't easy to miss even when you're in the back room doing dishes. If she was in the mood for elevation Katy stood a mighty five feet and three inches. Freckles spattered her creme and roses sort of complexion making her elfin innards glow. From her angle and with her feet anchored in those black leather lace-ups Bri saw the light shining like a crystal out the top of her soon-to-be-best girl friend's red haired head.

"I like the six because you can divide them in three pairs or set the triangles on their tips for a balance if you're keen." It was the first long sentence Katy Collins spoke while she bused the bin of dishes behind the table where Bri finished her last pancake swimming in real maple syrup. Ambriana had a deck of cards spread into a game of Solitaire. She didn't own an iphone then and would always prefer the feel of a real deck of cards to the virtual.

"I'm partial to Clubs" Katy said almost under her breath.
"I prefer the reds, Diamonds in particular. My name's Ambriana, my friends call me Bri."
Katy set the big plastic bin filled with breakfast dishes down, wiped her hands on her apron, extending her left-hand, "Katy Collins. Everyone calls me Katy Collins." They laughed, Bri sputtered pancake out her nose as she reached with her left hand as well. That sealed the deal right there. Fast friends with a love of the six.

Five of Diamonds

5 of Diamonds Happiness and success. A change for the better. A birth, or good news for a child. A good time to start new projects.- Fortune Telling Playing Cards

The van was painted brilliant yellow. An enamel finish specially mixed with properties of chemistry and alchemy, the former food truck shone with its own glow of sunshine and was home to a Traveller and storyteller. Stencils of the five of diamonds playing card danced across the hood and sides of the twenty foot step van. It was a gift, the van that is, for the storyteller's seventieth birthday. In all there were fourteen cards.

"Only one of them leads to the treasure," the welder and creator confided when he placed the keys to the ignition and gas tank in the storyteller's palm. The keys dangled from an old fishing lure, his lucky lure sans the sharp barbed hook. He was talking about the lay of the cards and the puzzle all but invisible to the unseasoned.

"You are the teller of old stories, stories that the young will understand before the Old Cousins. One of these cards will turn up a particularly luminous child. Pay close attention to any children you meet along the way." That would not be difficult as the new owner of the van was keen on children with especially soft spots for children that could hear in color.

The Five of Diamonds Van as it became known withstood decades of wear, nearly 70,000 miles of road travel still vibrant as Summer Solstice noon and only once in all those years did a young child, a little girl, listen with ears that could hear in color.


The story continues.

Four of Spades

Corn relaxed as the old cat felt Ambriana loosening her grip on the wheel. Thanks Bri, this feels a lot better. He was getting sleepy and the thought of crispy bacon sent him into a series of short stories and dreams. You might want to let him know you're coming, he's not real good with surprises. 

"Stop telling me how to live my life." A cat with facility for magic and a deep affection for witches was hard pressed to keep from interfering. This girl was clever and her dimples concealed her power to ferret solutions. But, she was disaster when it came to love affairs. Uranus conjunct Venus, revolution and love hard gig to manage especially when you're young. Corn wanted this to work out, he liked Baker. Liked that the man lacked sleaze and had a lovely deep baritone signature. Just saying, Bri. Just saying. 

Ambriana Chu was having too much fun testing the stretch in her attraction for Baker Lang. He was way too old for her; old enough to be her father. Forty-two. Baker Lang was six foot three inches tall, with wavy salt and pepper black hair, hazel eyes that mostly looked green on a sunny day, and on cool days he dressed in layers -- long underwear close to his skin, the flannel lined Raven vest over that, a tee shirt next and fleece hoodie wrapped with his burlap-looking scarf. The man was lean and strong from decades of work. Managing a new and used music store, and co-owning it with his ex made life a whole lot of interesting. If there was something Uranus loved, it was interesting.

Pushing on the arrow to skip over the scratches, the young woman slid into her own zone of dreams and listened to the music of Rachel Portman. Vianne painting her shop that shade of blue somewhere this side of turquoise ... the color of chocolate, texture fluid over heat ... the power of magic in sound. The combination was Ambriana's favorite expression of magic. She reached into her vest pocket and pulled a card. Four of Spades. Pair of pairs. That's what I'm talking about.

"You're supposed to be asleep."

Who said I'm not.


Next.

Three of Hearts

"Faith don't have no edges." - Willa B.

The music was the soundtrack from Chocolat.

You have got to get a new disc. "The scratches and divots are part of the whole," Ambriana laughed at the sulking coming from her cat. "How important is it to have perfect music? A million other things more important than Chocolat without the halting strings."

Name one thing more important. Corn was in a challenging mood, and he would be asleep if the sound track actually flowed.

"Chicken livers. Raw for you, sauteed in butter for me."

Ha, you have a point there. Those would be nice. 

Traffic was pointlessly intense. Drivers seemed in a rush to be somewhere else, and though there were small glamours possible to calm attitudes the effort would connect the witch to everyone of those drivers. For no more than a few minutes, true. But even that wasn't worth the expense. Ambriana calculated her options. She had five days to be in Vancouver. A couple hours on the back roads would calm them both, and there was Battered Beats the used record and c.d. store and best breakfast in West Seattle.

"Corn, your wish is my command old friend," checking her mirrors on the step van she saw her gap and took a right in time to take the next exit leaving the frenzy of I-5. "We're taking a little detour. A new copy of Chocolat and pancakes with a side of bacon and eggs over easy." Corn smiled to himself satisfied that his brand of magic still worked with the girl. She wasn't a girl anymore. He knew that. And the magic that passed between them was simple today. A small manipulation for the good. Ambrianna felt the pull of that record store. Corn knew it was more than Chocolat and pancakes.

Corn purred as he remembered Ambriana as a girl. There couldn't have been a pair of eyes more beautifully shaped nor browner than those of the little girl who came with the yellow corn painted van. It was a coincidence ... a word and a condition witches and their cohorts snicker at. But all the same, there was little to the connection between the yellow van and the silky almost white long haired cat. Corn was named for the silk on ripening corn. It was the stuff his people, his women people collected before the silk turned reddish brown. Corn was a kitten when Willa found him, picked me out from the litter of FREE PLEASE TAKE ONE HOME kittens. Willa. Thinking about her made the old cat sad, and at his age, sad took as much or more energy than casting traffic glamour. "I'm not gone, Corn Silk. Just not solid. Keep the faith sugar. Faith don't have no edges."

I know.

Here's a little more ... 

Two of Clubs

Given the changes that led her to believe there was no other choice, Ambriana settled into the long drive pressed the arrow on her c.d. player and lost herself in the familiarity of the music. The day was cool but not cold for early December, the squalls had calmed and by the looks of it the fog would lift before noon. The Dream was clear. Sort the past with an easy hand. Be fog. Apple pie is nice for breakfast. How accommodating can dreams be? Well, sometimes they are and sometimes they aren't. Ambriana had asked for some direction, a little help with deciding where to spend the winter. She was hoping for a visit from one of the old ones, the Cousins who were always full of good advice. At twenty-one Ambriana Chu was still far from being a seasoned witch though she was patient and good-natured about the long period of training. She was also very good at hope. Easy hand, fog and apple pie for breakfast made sense to her.

"We're heading south Corn, two days and an overnight stop in Lacey to visit the girls." Nestled into his traveling carrier, the sleek old companion blinked to clear his eyes. The cataracts were a nuisance but there was nothing wrong with his hearing. I like the girls, not so much the dog. I approve. Carry on Bri we are onto it. Ambriana stretched her fingers through the top of the carrier, scratched between Corn's ears happy to know there were two of them. It was always better to have company when you're on an adventure.


Link here for the next bit.