The Circe Spell

by Joe Andriano

104.






16. The Queen of Wands

 New Orleans, February 2000

 
      "Okay, Marc, this is impossible." Lauren held the cat in her arms. "I'm a scientist, a card-carrying skeptic."

Marc walked around turning on his floor lamps, as the sun had set. "We need to document this somehow. She seems to teleport! She somehow manages to find doors, space-time portals or something. Poe said she was always good at opening doors."

"What did you say?" She put Circe down on the glass coffee table. "Did you say Poe?"

Nodding, he sat on the sofa and started stroking and scratching the cat with both hands. Totally substantial. Physically here. "I've been dreaming about him a lot lately. In the dreams he claims that Circe is, or was, his cat. I started having the dreams after I bought that book, the day we met."

"And the day we met Circe." Still standing, she picked the book up from the coffee table, thumbed through it. "Poe's tales translated into Italian? Nothing much to go on here." She put it down, then shrugged. "Obviously the book triggered your dreams."

"She did sort of pick it out. I mean, she pulled it down with her paw, which I thought got stuck in it." He picked it up now. "Maybe that wasn't an accident."

"Oh come on, Marc." Eyebrows furrowed. "It had to be."

"There must be a reason she wanted me to have this book. I need to have it translated. Maybe there's more to it than just the Poe tales."

She shook her head. "I don't believe she wants you to do anything—except pet her. Okay, let's do this. Tomorrow morning I'll take her back, put her in a room with food and litter box, make sure she can't get out, and we'll record her every move. I have a good camcorder—and I can borrow another from the station."

"It's worth a try, I suppose." He sat on the couch.

"Are you all right, Marc? You seem a little rundown, you look worn out."

"Busy week at the restaurant. The tourists grind me down."

"Did you make that appointment?"

"I did. Monday afternoon I report to the sleep clinic at Tulane."

      "Great." She joined him on the sofa, took his hand. "I didn't say anything about not having sex, you know. Just not sleeping with you. Literally. Until you're on your meds." She was suddenly all over him with caressing arms, her legs crossing to his lap, quickly straddling him in her tight stretchy jeans, which she unzipped. Even as she unbuttoned them and started to pull them down he could not get aroused. Vivica was still there, in the corner of his mind's eye, two trails of brown drool like unclean vampire fangs.


105.

I turned her into a vampire, and now she will drain my life away unless I end it first, or turn myself in. "I'm so sorry, Lauren. You were right, I'm worn out. We still have the date for Sunday, right? I made a rez. By Sunday I'll be rejuvenated."

She zipped up and climbed off him. "It's just as well, what was I thinking? I have to do the early-morning show tomorrow. I better get going." She kissed him quickly on the lips. "Of course the date's still on. Commander’s Palace, I wouldn't miss it for the world!" She practically ran out the door.

 He worked all day and much of the night Friday. After closing time, when a few customers lingered but the kitchen was closed, he went to his office and sat at the desk feeling like a zombie. He had worked hard in the kitchen with Louis, together creating the night's specials. Cooking worked better than anything else to get his mind off the horror of last Monday night. He had to concentrate on simmering and glazing, sautéing and flambéing, he had to synch his creations with Louis'; he couldn't think of anything else. But now, alone in his office, the vampire was back. He put his head down on his desk.

A knock on his door. "Hey Marc, it's Charlene. Can I come in?"

He sat up. "Sure thing, Charley."

She came through the threshold, stunning in her slinky hostess dress, same shiny material as the skimpier dress Vivica wore. "I haven't seen you work that hard in years. Not just the cooking. Visiting customers." She sat on the chair next to his desk, facing him, tossing her tight black curls back over her shoulders.

As she crossed her legs he thought he should be aroused. "Just the regulars and the natives," he said. "I still avoid the tourists."

"But they're our bread and butter. We did really well all week, even Ash Wednesday."

"Excellent."

"Something bothering you? You seem . . . preoccupied. Look, I'm sorry if you feel Lauren and I ganged up on you, but at least it worked, right? She told me you made an appointment."

"I did, yes."

"She also told me about her cat, or rather your cat."

"Then you know about our little experiment tomorrow?"

"I do. And I have another suggestion. Even if you don't get the cat on tape. I can do a reading."

"I thought you gave that up."

"I still dabble in it. Just not for money."

"I doubt if Lauren will go for it. She's a scientist, you know."

"I already talked to her about it. She's game. How about Sunday afternoon, here? It'll be slow, say around three?"

"You already—? She and I have a date for brunch."

"I know. She told me. This will be after your date." She grinned.

"Is there anything she hasn't told you?"

"I'm sure they're must be. What the hell is bothering you, Marc? You look like you haven't slept in a week—it's your sleep disorder, isn't it? You're afraid to go to sleep!"

He had to laugh. "What do you think this is, Charley? Invasion of the Body Snatchers? I've been sleeping fine. In fact, I think I'll go home and do just that."

            She uncrossed her legs and got up. "See you Sunday, then."



106.


Saturday morning, a perusal of the newspaper at P.J.'s over a cup of strong Guatemalan. Still nothing about a strangled young woman. That's because I didn't strangle her, I'm sure of it now. By the time Lauren called around eleven he was totally wired from the coffee and actually in good spirits. He pushed Circe into the carrier and drove to the Marigny, finding a parking spot about a block from Lauren's apartment. As he walked, Circe seemed so light in the carrier he kept checking to make sure she was still there.  Lauren held the door open for him. When he put the carrier down she gave him a hug and a kiss. She had already changed out of her weather-lady dress into faded jeans and a long-sleeve tee with a spiral galaxy and a hurricane juxtaposed on the front.

"So I hear you're okay with Charley doing a tarot reading tomorrow?"

"Sure, it'll be fun, Marc. Want some coffee?"

His heart was still fluttering from the Guatemalan, but he said Okay. He let Circe out of the carrier and sat on the sofa. Of course she jumped up to sit on his lap.

"I was just looking at Charlene's website," said Lauren as she handed him his coffee. She sat next to him with her laptop on her lap. "Check it out."

The portal consisted of two graphic links, one for palmistry displaying a black palm with all the lines in white, labeled in an occult-looking font; and one for tarot displaying Charlene's brown eyes superimposed over what she identified as the Universal Waite tarot's Two of Pentacles, which had an infinity-symbol on its face. Each half of the figure had one of her eyeballs in it. Lauren clicked on this image, and a text appeared in a stately cursive font explaining why Charlene refused to do readings over the Internet, an activity she claimed was completely bogus, since the only way to get an accurate reading was for the "querent" to actually handle the cards. Randomization of cybercards was no substitute, she claimed, for a person actually shuffling the real cards. A physical link, she called it a vinculum, must be made between the querent and the cards. And also between the reader and the querent. The site was filled with information and advice for people she called "novice cartomancers." She invited prospective querents to email her for an appointment.

Marc noticed a copy of the magazine Skeptical Inquirer on Lauren's coffee table. He pointed to it. "That's what I expect from you, Lauren, science and reason, not this." He touched the computer screen.

"I wanted to show you something in that magazine. Have you ever heard of the Amazing Randi?"

"A magician, isn't he?"

     "Yes, and a well-known skeptic." She put the computer down and picked up the magazine. "He loves to expose hoaxes, you know, psychic quacks, spoon-benders, that sort of thing. He has offered a million dollars to anyone who can demonstrate paranormal power or activity beyond any doubt." She flipped to a dog-eared page.
            "Here, read this, from the James Randi Educational Foundation. The Randi Challenge."

At JREF, we offer a one‑million‑dollar prize to anyone who can show, under proper observing conditions, evidence of any paranormal, supernatural, or occult power or event. The JREF does not involve itself in the testing procedure, other than helping to design the protocol and approving the conditions under which a test will take place. All tests are designed with the participation and approval of the applicant. In most cases, the applicant will be asked to perform a relatively simple preliminary test of the claim, which if successful, will be followed by the formal test. Preliminary tests are usually conducted by associates of the JREF at the site where the applicant lives. Upon success in the preliminary testing process, the "applicant" becomes a "claimant."

             To date, no one has ever passed the preliminary tests.



107.

"I'm thinking, if we manage to get some evidence today of her . . . ability, we should contact them, set up a preliminary test. "

"Well Circe," Marc said as he stroked her spine. "Maybe you'll be the first claimant."

"It's certainly worth a shot, but it has to be really clear and compelling. I don’t want them thinking I’m a lunatic."

"You got that, Circe?" Stroking her from tip of nose to tip of tail.

"So you seem to be feeling a little better today, Marc."

"I am. A good night's sleep, followed by plenty of caffeine." He grinned.

          "Okay, let's do this. Come on, Circe. I've got a nice little room set up for you, plenty of food, litter box, there's even a window. And of course two camcorders. I borrowed one from work."

"Do they cover the whole room?"

"Come see." She had the cameras on tripods in opposite corners and two cheval mirrors set up at clever angles so that most of the room was in one of the cameras' field of vision. "I tested them. She'd have to be on the ceiling for them not to capture her."

 "Then we’d need the Exorcist, not the Randi skeptics."

She laughed. "You are feeling better."

"Which is why I have to go to work. Let me know when she does her vanishing act. Or whatever it is that she does." He kissed her and left.

 
          At the restaurant, he spent over an hour with Charlene in his office going over the books, trying to sound happy that they were very much in the black, but the caffeine had worn off and his spirits were sinking again. If only he would hear or read something about Vivica. Did I imagine the whole thing? Maybe it was a dream, all of it from the moment we fell asleep together to the moment I got in my car?

"Hello? Marc? Did you hear what I said? This is the best week we've had since I've been working here."

"That's wonderful. Shall we celebrate, Charley? Have a drink with me. Let's go to the bar."

"It's too early for me, Marc. What's up with you? You don't usually drink before five. And you don't really look like you want to celebrate."

      "All right, if you must know, I'm starting to freak out about the cat. The way she always finds me. It's getting a little creepy. Listen, I'm going home for lunch, okay? I want to see if she got out of that locked room Lauren set up."

"What?"

"I'll explain later. I'll be back by five. How do we look tonight?"

"Over twenty reservations. Not bad."

He drove home. No sign of Circe. He called Lauren. "She still there?"

"Yes, sitting on the window sill looking out and occasionally howling. I don't think she can get out of there, Marc."

"Okay, try taking her to the park. See if she climbs that oak tree. She's disappeared from there twice, right?"

"It will be harder to capture her in the act. Maybe impossible."

"It's worth a try." Fifteen minutes later he heard scratching at his door. He opened it and there she was, meowing like What's the big idea locking me in a room? He took out his phone. "She's here, Lauren! Did you get her on video?"

"I'm playing it back now. I see her going up the tree, but she gets lost in the leaves and shadows. The date and time are displayed on my screen. Now you need to take a picture of her to show that she is at your house only fifteen minutes or so later. I know it's not conclusive, but it may pique their interest."

"It piques more than my interest! It's freaking me out now, Lauren."

"There's got to be an explanation. I refuse to believe she's a bad omen."

            "What else can she be?"


108.

"I have no idea, Marc. But when you talk that way you create a self-fulfilling prophecy, that's all." She waited for a reply, got none. "Just don't hurt her, that's all I ask."

"Give me a break, Lauren. You know I wouldn't hurt her."

"I know you wouldn’t willingly. Just keep her off your bed at night.  I've got to get to work."

"Me too." He hung up, got his camera, and took several pictures of Circe. He didn't really care about the million dollars. He just wanted them to come up with an explanation, a natural explanation. Even if it involved a shared hallucination. Lauren and I can go nuts together. Maybe we already have. No, she's perfectly sane. I may not be, but I know she is. He picked Circe up and sat with her on the sofa. Soon he was lying down, with her purring on his stomach. It wasn't long before he was drifting off. She senses death, she can smell it all over you. . . .

The phone woke him up. As he struggled to get vertical, Circe jumped off and away. "Hello?"

"Where are you, Marc?" Charlene, annoyed. "We kinda need you. I thought you said you'd be back by five."

"Shit. I fell asleep. I'll be there."

Again, a busy night kept his mind off his troubles. But that night he dreamt of Vivica's corpse lying on top of him and smothering him. It wasn't Circe, for he had closed his bedroom door. Sunday morning he was nauseous and weak, as though this vampiric incubus of conscience had been sucking his blood all night. He called Lauren and told her he was too sick to go to brunch, apologizing profusely and repeatedly until she said she would take a rain check. He said he thought he would be better in time for Charlene's reading. Then he called Commander's Palace and cancelled the reservation.

Sunday afternoon at DiCaso's, Marc, Charlene and Lauren sitting at a corner table for four. Louis came from the kitchen, removed his toque, revealing well-trimmed short silver hair that matched his mustache. He was lank and tall, showing little sign of eating too much of his own cooking.

"Y'all want something to nibble on?"

"It's up to the women, Louis," said Marc. "I'm not hungry." Still nauseous, in fact.

"Nothing buttery or oily, okay Pop?" said Charlene as she removed from her purse a black velvet bag, bulging with what was obviously a very large deck of cards.

        "Ah oui, your precious cards." He sat with them. "She takes after her great-great grandmother. Everybody always talking about Marie Laveau, but she didn't hold a candle to Maria Montanet."

"A family legend," said Charlene.

"A legend filled with truth. She didn't practice voodoo and she didn't need a bunch of informants like that charlatan Madame Laveau had. Palms and cards, all she needed."

"She worked as a maid for a Sicilian family, didn’t she, Pop?"

He nodded. "They wanted to show they were rich like the Americans, they could afford a maid. Doubt she made much, though."

"What family was it?" Marc asked.

"I wanna say Coletti? Colutto?" said Louis.

"Culotta," said Charlene.

"Seriously?" Marc asked, glancing at Lauren. "I recently bought a book, a collection of Poe tales translated into Italian by a Paolo Culotta."

"Ah, that name Paolo I remember," said Louis. "He's one of the stories that my grandmother told, getting it from hers. The black sheep of that family. Gay before gay meant what it means today. He didn't live here, though, he came to visit and ended up getting himself killed. Maria tried to warn his brothers many times that he should not come. She saw his death in the cards. They didn't listen, they fired her instead. Did her a favor really, she ended up making a good living as a fortune teller."

            "So how did he die?" asked Marc.


109.

"Don’t recall. Not sure if grand-maman knew. All I know is he died here, in New Orleans."

"Anyway, the Culottas either died out or moved away," said Marc. "There are none in the phone book, I checked. I was hoping to find out more about that book."

"I wonder," said Charlene, "what my ancestor saw in those cards."

"I have no idea," said her father, "but that's only one of many examples of her predictions coming true. My grandmother had a whole list of 'em." He got up and stood over his daughter, his hand on her shoulder. "It's not the cards. It's in her blood." He headed for the kitchen, toque in hand.

Charlene removed the deck, which was wrapped in a black velvet cloth, from her bag.  She handed Marc the giant cards. "It's the Thoth deck," she said. "Not one my ancestor was familiar with." They were too large to shuffle like normal cards; she had him mix them face down all over the table. As he mixed, he studied the backs of the cards. Each sported a multicolored Rosicrucian cross, fat with triple clover-curved edges. The crosses were tumbling together as he shuffled.

"Think about Circe now, Marc, keep picturing her as you mix."

"I've been getting déjà-vu feelings a lot lately. I'm getting one now."

"Good," said Charlene. "We're going to start with a very simple three-card spread, then build on it. Ask your question now, Marc, as you gather the cards back into a deck. No simple yes-or-no."

He clumsily gathered up the huge cards. "Why does Circe follow me, and how does she find me?"

Charlene held out her hand for the deck. "Good," she said, taking it. "So let the first card be Marc, the second Circe, and the third the connection." She dealt the first two cards face down and apart so the third would fit between them. Then she turned over the first card.

"The Fool," said Marc. "Okay, Charley, no fair, you rigged the deck."

Lauren laughed but Charlene was not amused. "The Fool isn't just a fool," she said. A horned man, wearing clown shoes and green jester clothes, was framed by lasso-like loops of water, which he was either twirling or tangled up in, or both. He was being bitten by a tiger, and totally ignored by a green crocodilian creature.

"That's you, Marc," said Charlene, "tangled up in your dreams." She turned over the card that she'd designated as Circe. "The Queen of Wands!" The lady's long red hair merged with the flames that seemed to make up her gown. In one hand a long scepter with a pine-cone head, her other hand scratching the head of a leopard. "In some decks she has a black cat."

"Well," said Lauren. "A leopard is a cat, I'll grant you that."

"Leopard and tiger," said Charlene. "Beautiful but fearsome creatures. I think Marc is beginning to see Circe as a bad omen. You may be misinterpreting her devotion as stalking, her presence as a threat. The tiger clearly is taking a chunk out of the Fool's leg, while the leopard seems content to be scratched by the Queen. Still, its expression remains fierce—an ambiguous creature. This card in the middle will tell us the real nature of the binding force between Marc and Circe." She turned it over. The two of cups. "The love card." Now she smiled.

            The card depicted two overflowing chalices floating on the sea. Against the bright blue sky, fresh water flowed into them from a lotus held up by the tails of two intertwining fish, out of whose mouths water gushed into another lotus floating on the sea.



110.



Marc/Connection/Circe


                                                   

"This card should suggest harmony," Charlene said, pointing. "But wands and cups don't mix, fire and water, you see."

"So how do you read this spread?" asked Marc.

            "The ambiguity of the fool and the leopard collapses here into a simple fact: Circe follows you out of love; you are rejecting her out of fear, an ill-founded, foolish, superstitious fear."

"So she follows me because she loves me? That's all you've got? How does she do it?"

"Well, the Queen of Wands certainly suggests magic."

"That's not much to go on, Charlene," said Lauren. "Can't you get more specific?"

"Certainly. The next three cards should help. I learned this trinity from my grandmother, who got it from hers. Body, soul, and spirit."

She dealt the cards face-down below the first three. She touched the middle card. "Defining soul as the source of the body's psychic energy," she looked at Lauren, "the way a star's nuclear core is the source of its brightness."

"I like the science metaphor," Lauren admitted.

Touching the "spirit" card, Charlene said, "This is the energy itself, the form it takes." She turned over the first card. "Marc's body is the seven of disks. The failure card. Enfeeblement and blight. Not good."

"Thanks loads, Charley. You see," he said to Lauren, "she's still pissed at me. That's what this is all about."

"Not true," said Charlene, still studying the cards and looking worried.

            The blue-black card was scary-looking. Seven gray disks were hanging from the claw-like branches of a plant that kept forming itself into vague figures of horror, an owlish face and a couple of globe spiders.

"It looks like an Escher," said Lauren, "the symmetry in those morphing branches."

Charlene turned over the spirit card. The eight of cups. "Oh dear," she said. "Things are not looking up." Unlike the two of cups diagonally above it, the sky pictured here was black, the sea was dark, the cups were mostly empty. "This card often suggests delusion, illusions mistaken for reality. Lying below the two of cups doesn't help matters at all. A love-life blighted."

"Let's hope not twice," said Lauren, putting her hand on his.

Charlene turned over the next card. "Interesting. Your soul is the Magus."

"A wizard?" asked Lauren, sounding incredulous.

            "It is an image of Hermes, I think," said Charlene.




111.


Body/Soul/Spirit                                               

"It almost looks like a crucifixion," said Marc. The naked, smiling man was bound by his feet to what could have been a cross, but his hands were free, and he was juggling a sword, a disk, a wand, and a cup. He was suspended in space that he himself appeared to be creating, using the power of the serpent that wound around the top of the cross and crowned him. A green ape, with tail and scales like a dragon, attended him, with a look suggesting menace. "The magus is caught between failure and indolence." Touching the cards. "A soul with so much potential, trapped between a dying, dysfunctional body and a sagging spirit."

"All right, that's enough" said Marc. "I see what you’re really doing here."

      "This isn't fun," said Lauren.

"Just tell me what you think I’m really doing, Marc."

 "I want to know what all this has to do with Circe," he said, "with my question."

"The Queen's wand points diagonally down to the Magus, see? The leopard is Circe." Her eyes widened and she smiled. "There are two wizards, a man and a woman. They are using Circe somehow."

"Still too vague," said Lauren.

Marc agreed. "That's all you've got?"

         "No. I've got one more triad to try." She dealt three more cards down, this time above the first three. "Past, present, future." She turned over the cards. The five of swords, the five of cups, the seven of swords. On the first card, the swords were all damaged and bent, their five tips met in the center so that they formed a star. The five of cups also formed a star—out of the stalks of a drooping lotus on which the empty chalices were arranged. "These stars are inverted pentagrams," said Charlene, pointing. "Magic gone awry." Touching the five of swords, "literal magic. And," she touched the five of cups, "the magic of love." The last card, the seven, depicted one large sword in the middle that was totally guarded and immobilized by six smaller swords.




112.

Past/Present/Future

   

Marc read the words printed on the cards: "Defeat . . . Disappointment . . . Futility. . . I swear you stacked the deck! And you don't think Circe is a bad omen?" He took another drink, and missed a little, almost spilling coffee on the cards.

"All right," said Charlene, "get the drink away from the table." Marc took his coffee, got up and stepped back, then hovered over Lauren, one hand on her shoulder. After several minutes of scrutiny of the whole nine-card spread, Charlene said, "Well, swords and cups are dominant. Your brain and heart conspiring to destroy you, but you do have a chance. You just have to take it. Take charge of your fate. Nothing is predetermined. These swords suggest a disordered intellect, one you need to overcome. But I have to be honest. It also shows that the future of your soul is bleak. I've never seen a more ominous spread in my life, Marc. You're not being honest with us. You're keeping something from us, you must be, to be dealt such a miserable spread."

"You're the one not being honest, Charley. You're vindictive. You rigged this whole reading, making up shit to make me look bad. Still trying to get back at me. If it wasn't for Louis, I'd fire your ass." The resentment was building up like bile.

"I read them as I see them, Marc."

"And who the hell are these wizards, anyway, supposedly working this magic and fucking up my life?" He poked at the Magus and the Queen of Wands.

"I have no idea," Charlene admitted.




113.

Fortunately, Louis came out of the kitchen accompanied by a waiter with a tray. He put it on the table adjacent to theirs and went back to the kitchen. "Something to hold y'all over," said Louis. "And nothing oily. No bruschetta." There were crawfish pies, cold shrimp with cocktail sauce, crab fingers and plenty of Louis's trademark baguette.

"Oily would be fine now, Pop, we’re done with the cards."

"Your daughter says I'm doomed, Louis."

"Uh-oh. I never seen her wrong." He turned to Charlene. "Is there something he can do?"

"All is definitely not lost. You just need to tell us everything."

"I agree with Charlene," said Lauren. "Something happened to you Monday night. You haven't been right since."

"Listen to the ladies, podnah," said Louis as he turned to go back to the kitchen.

"What does it even mean," asked Marc, studying the cards, "to have futility in the future position? Are you sending me to hell, now, Charley, is there no end to your spite? I said I was sorry for punching you in my sleep. It was a fucking accident. What more do you want from me?" He started eating nervously fast, ignoring the lingering nausea.

"I knew this wasn't a good idea," said Lauren.

Charlene shook her head. "This isn't spite, Marc. And it’s not about what you did to me. These are the cards you shuffled. These are your cards. Your soul's fate will remain futile until you overcome whatever karma caused it to flounder." She carefully picked up the cards and stacked them, turning them over into a neat pile, which she then placed on top of the complete deck. Next, she wrapped the deck carefully into the black silk cloth from which she had removed it, and put it back in its box.

"If you do the whole spread over again," said Lauren, "I bet you'll get a totally different result."

"Different cards, sure. But they'll tell the same sad story."

"Of course," Marc said, returning to his seat. "Because you make them tell it."

"So you can't get any more specific about Circe?" asked Lauren.

"All I can say is, whoever those two figures are, or were, the Queen of Wands and the Magus, they're the ones who gave her the power to . . . move as she does."

Marc forced himself to grin at Lauren. "She moves through time as well as space! She's Poe's black cat!"

"I'm not buying that for a second," said Lauren. "But I think we ought to try our little Circe experiment again. This time we'll station someone in the tree with a camera. I know a kid at work who'll do it. We still may be able to catch her in the act."


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