“That would be great,” I said, still shaken.

Fatima observed me curiously. “Is everything okay?” she asked.

Seeing her gave me an idea. Farouk had told me how she could see things. She could even sense something different about Michael and seemed to know Damiel meant me some kind of harm. Maybe I could talk to her.

“Yeah,” I replied a little hesitantly. “Can I…uh…talk to you about something?”

“Of course,” she said, motioning to the car as she started walking again. I followed.

I couldn’t believe I was going to ask for her help with a demon. How much could I tell her? How much could she see by merely looking at me? I only hoped that because the subject was otherworldly that her psychic experience would help. Besides, she was the only person I knew who might not think I was nuts. Without Michael or Arielle around, I didn’t know where else to go.

As soon as we arrived at the car, she said, “You’re not wearing the necklace.”

I touched my throat self-consciously. “Something happened to it; it buzzed like crazy, then broke and fell off. I’m sorry.”

“When?” It had just begun to drizzle, so she climbed into the back seat of Farouk’s car.

“Last night.”

Farouk got into the driver’s seat and suggested, “Let’s go somewhere warm and dry so you two can talk.”

Shaking droplets of rain out of her thick curly hair, Fatima said, “Let’s go to our place. Everyone’s at the store tonight. Farouk, would you take Mia home afterwards?”

“Of course.”

Fatima was remarkably calm and composed. “I’ve never heard of a Hamsa breaking before. You must have been in real danger.”

“I think I was.”

“At least you’re still alive.”

Did she know I was dealing with a demon? I tried to follow what she might have meant. “It’s just meant to block bad energy, right? That wouldn’t actually kill me?”

“You tell me,” she replied.

I sighed. Why can’t people give me straight answers?

“I know you can see things too. Farouk told me. People who aren’t really there.”

He’d told her about that? I glanced sideways at Farouk. He focused on the road as though he was trying to avoid the conversation. His face flushed slightly under my scrutiny, but he didn’t speak.

“It’s all really new,” I said finally. “I don’t understand it yet. I need your help.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

They lived in a big old-fashioned wood frame house with a large porch overlooking the bay. I followed them inside to the kitchen. Fatima excused herself for a moment to take her things to her room, and Farouk disappeared, muttering something about leaving us alone to talk.

Like the house itself, the kitchen was quite old-fashioned and tastefully decorated with white painted cupboards and a blue-tiled backsplash. In the corner by the windows was an antique oak dining table. A blue vase filled with sunflowers sat at its center.

Dark wooden furniture and a comfortable-looking sofa over a red Persian rug filled the living room. At one end of the room hung an ornate wood-framed mirror, and at the other stood a dresser. Resting on velvet cloth sat a book bound in red leather covered with ornate gold scrollwork. It looked so important I was almost afraid to touch it.

“It’s the Qu’ran,” Fatima said from behind, startling me. I was more nervous that I thought. “It’s the Muslim Bible.”

Not knowing what to say, I nodded. I did know that much.

“My parents are kind of religious,” she said, leading me back to the kitchen, “but Farouk and I are far more liberal in our practice.”

Under her right arm she carried a small wooden box, which she placed on the kitchen table. I took a seat across from her.

“Now, what did you want to know?” she asked, her face calm, impassive.

Unsure where to begin, I pulled out the note from Damiel and showed it to her. When she read it, her forehead crinkled with concern.

“When did you get this?”

“Today.”

“And he hasn’t been at school all week?”

I shook my head. “Do you think he put it in my locker before last week and I just found it now?”

“Let’s see, shall we?” She opened the box on the table. Inside was an object wrapped in blue silk. She carefully unfolded it to reveal a deck of ornately designed tarot cards.

“How long have you been doing this?” I asked.

“Since I was twelve,” she replied. “Don’t tell people, okay? My parents don’t even know about it. Tarot isn’t very Muslim of me. Farouk doesn’t even approve. He’s been turning a blind eye to it for years.”

Admiring how she’d managed to keep her gift a secret, I raised my hand as though I was making an oath. “Your secret’s safe with me.” As I hope mine is safe with you.

She smiled, holding the cards up to me. “Shuffle,” she said, then demonstrated what she meant, “keeping your question in mind.”

I took the large cards in my hands. They were cool to the touch and slightly worn around the edges. I shuffled and thought about the note from Damiel, but thoughts of Michael quickly interfered. I struggled to focus. When I had finished shuffling, I handed them back to her.

She pulled the top card and placed it on the table facing me.

“Seven of swords,” she said plainly. Her eyes glazed over, unfocused—or focused somewhere I couldn’t see. “It usually means someone with cunning and confidence: things are not as they appear, some kind of trickery. Someone is taking from you.”

Cunning and confidence—that was most certainly Damiel. And Michael had said once that Damiel was taking from me. “How does this relate to the note?”

“It means he only seems to be away. He will be back, and he wants more than he’s asking for.”

A prickle ran across my skin. It was the truth. “What can I do about it?”

She pulled the next card and put it on the table. On it was a naked couple with an angel in the clouds above them, its arms outstretched.

“The Lovers,” she said.

Heat rose to my face in spite of myself. If only Michael and I could be lovers! When Fatima looked past me again, her brow furrowed. I wondered what she was seeing.

“You have been given a gift of love, and for it you must love beyond anything you’ve ever imagined before,” she said.

Well, that seemed easy enough. I had never loved anyone or anything as much as I loved Michael. But how could love possibly be the answer? In some ways it was the problem.

She pulled another card and frowned. “The Devil.”

Before I could stop myself, I shivered. “What’s that about?”

“It’s the outcome card,” she said plainly.

“The Devil is the outcome?” My heart caught in my throat. “What does that mean?”

She picked up the card thoughtfully. “It’s one of the most difficult cards to read. It can mean someone you’re bound to. Someone who has power over you in some way, who has enslaved you. It can also mean someone who is caught or enslaved by a belief.”

“That’s the outcome?”

“As far as I can tell.”

My mind whirled with all the possible ways this could go wrong. Suddenly, all concerns about Damiel’s note left me. This reading was about me and Michael. Things not being as they seemed: that was about how happy I was with him. How in spite of everything, all his warnings, I held onto the belief that we could be together somehow. Fatima didn’t know Michael’s history, that our being lovers in the first place had had disastrous results. She didn’t know how much I longed to be with him again. Even if it meant we could never be physical with each other.

I tried to hide how depressed I was. From the looks of the cards, it would happen again. Michael would be faced with temptation and if he caved, he would fall again.

I stood up. “Thanks.”

“It doesn’t have to be bad,” she said, her eyes becoming more focused, clear.

I fought the urge to cry. “How can it not be bad?”

“The Devil challenges where we’re caught. If we can surpass the blocks, it can lead to true transformation, or even ascension.”