Night of the Assassin: Assassin Series Prequel by Russell Blake (latest ebook reader .txt) 📕

and he pretended polite interest in the ambiguous generalities about his possible future. Of course, with Jasmine sitting there listening, love would be early and intense and genuine, which held an element of truth. When he was with Jasmine, he felt like an eagle soaring above the clouds. The intensity of his feelings for her were almost scary. It gave her power over him, which his training advised him to recoil from. Still, hormones were not to be denied, and he was smitten, no doubt.

The palm reading finished, the old woman trundled over to a cabinet and withdrew an ancient deck of cards, placing it on the table after shuffling them for several minutes.

“This is the tarot. It knows all, and tells all. Nobody can hide the truth from the tarot, and its words possess the wisdom of the ages.”

Sure they do, he thought. Two hundred pesos worth, to be exact. Including the cheesy canned tunes and the gypsy act. He wished she’d get on with it. He could think of a dozen different things he’d rather be doing with Jasmine just now, all of them involving nudity and absent an old crone’s ramblings.

The woman began her reading, and paused at the end after she’d revealed all the cards. The boy was absently studying the photos on the stained wall behind her, his attention caught by a photograph of a raven, or crow, perched on a barbed-wire fence. Something about it chilled his blood, but he didn’t know why. He’d tuned out her prattle in favor of making productive use of his time, thinking thoughts worthy of his energy rather than listening to superstitious mumbo-jumbo.

His awareness grudgingly returned to the table, pulled from the photo of the crow, as the putative Madame contemplated the meaning of the cards. She pointed at several, with a trembling finger.

“This is Death. It’s placement in the reading is ominous. It can signal many things, but in this sequence, it hints that you will be constantly surrounded by death.” The woman continued droning, but the boy was zoning out again. Gee, good guess. Living in Culiacan, with Don Miguel as your protector and benefactor, you’re going to be surrounded by death. What a stretch, and a surprise to one and all. The nonstop weapons and survival training that Jasmine had no doubt chatted with the woman about couldn’t have been a tipoff or anything. Hell, all he had to do was close his eyes and he could bring death to the surface, fresh as though it had only occurred just yesterday. Incredibly insightful so far. He was getting his money’s worth. What was next? Danger? Uncertainty?

“And this, the defining card, is the King of Swords. But it’s inverted. Which is a negative sign. It can mean many things, most of which involve destruction and selfish consequences…”

“Inverted?” the boy asked, finally interested in something she’d said.

“It’s upside down,” the medium explained in a tremulous voice.

“Not to me,” the boy observed. He was sitting opposite her.

They were both correct.

The reading drew to an uncomfortable close, the woman seeming suddenly anxious to be rid of them. No doubt she’d done her shtick for the two hundred pesos and was hoping for more revenue for the day. The boy couldn’t believe anyone would buy this hackneyed song and dance and he was annoyed when Jasmine lingered, murmuring with the old biddy, as they both flicked furtive glances at him.

Once they had ridden their bicycles back home, Jasmine seemed withdrawn and distant, showing no interest in a romantic interlude. She hadn’t responded well to the boy’s mockery of the reading, taking it as a personal affront to her sacred beliefs. In retrospect, he could have chosen his few words with more kindness. ‘Baffling bullshit’ could be misinterpreted, as could ‘superstitious idiocy’.

Whatever the woman’s ability to divine the future, one thing changed forever from that afternoon on. Jasmine and he were never the same, which he directly attributed to the vicious old witch’s black predictions. She had the ability to foretell the future, all right, in that she had initiated a subtle campaign to undermine their relationship, for who knew what reason. But he learned quickly that the power of superstition could be significant – a lesson he would carry forward with him into life. And he vividly remembered the final card that seemed to have such an effect on the old faker – the oldest of the tarot face cards, the reversed King of Swords.

The previous months had passed with the topic of how to deal with the romantic fait-accompli aired often among the elders. It was a constant sticking point between Emilio and the ladies. Emilio was of the opinion that if the boy was going to be sampling his precious hothouse flower’s bounty, he should plan on getting married, the sooner the better. The ladies argued against any sort of confrontation, partially because of who he was, as well as mitigating their youth. Neither Jasmine nor the boy had been aware of the seething disagreement their tryst caused, not that either of them would have been particularly interested in the older adults’ opinions. Youth believed in its supremacy, as always, and the young were typically convinced that the aged had little grasp of how the modern world worked.

Emilio and the ladies were terrified that the boy would use Jasmine for his pleasure and then break her heart, and so it was with considerable surprise that Emilio found the boy to be increasingly moody and dejected as his sixteenth summer wore on. When Emilio confronted him, the confession that the couple had been intimate came as no shock, but his complaint that Jasmine had grown disinterested in him and decided that they weren’t compatible did. Emilio didn’t know whether to be angry or relieved, but the boy was suffering, as only those experiencing the tender cuts of young love can, so he redoubled his training and poured on the challenges. The boy lapped it up, growing more adept each