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.


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Introduction

She didn't mind the noise if the wind accompanied the roar. The diagnosis helped, for awhile-- soothing her guardian's anxiety, but when the dreams came with different names the girl preferred them instead. Always, always the difference between what came from experts and the Dream sorted choices in a left-facing direction. Ambriana wrote with her left hand in beautifully floppy script. Floppy Script being one of those Dream phrases she heard when Miss McBride so earnestly attempted training Ambriana to use her right hand. "In the long run," Miss McBride coaxed through her pencil-thin lips, "using your right-hand will present less conflict."  The words were fuzzy as she spoke them. Fuzzy like cotton balls pulled ferociously by her cat. The well-meaning teacher's fuzzy words collected at Ambriana's right ear but never found entrance into her brain nor her spacious cave of imagination where the Dreams were already mapping the girl's destiny.

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