The Fool

She drew Death and held it up to the light. Her client shuddered. She smirked, but only slightly, to not rouse suspicion. She knew things weren't bad as the nervous man seated at her table seemed to think. She set the card down between them. The question now though, was would she play it up or give it to him straight? Drama paid handsomely.

The reader sat back in her chair and crossed a lean, earth-toned leg over top a bulkier, metallic one.

"So, who do you think is going to die?"

The man's nostrils flared. He looked off into the darkness of the lush vermillion carpeting. She scanned over his jacket, his shoes. They were new. Expensive. But his hair was shaggy, straw-like. Despite his shockingly flawless face, the calluses on his palms caught the delicate lace draped along the table. He had money, but it hadn't been for long. And it was burning one hell of a hole in his pocket. Despite his fortune, he reeked of stress.

Xyra's humanity got the best of her. Her smirk retreated and she uncrossed her legs and leaned forward.

"Look. The Death card usually isn't what people think it is. In some cases, it can be a good thing. It rarely means actual death. It's more like the end of a cycle."

Her client remained silent, staring at the card between them. He furrowed his brow and his mouth fell into a quick but prominent pout, like a child fighting back an objection. He swallowed hard, then released with a heavy sigh.

"Thank you, Miss-"

"Xyra. Just Xyra. You want a clarifier card? Only five more bucks."

"No. I'm okay. Forty dollars, right?"

"Forty-four."

"Is fifty okay? You can keep the rest."

"Alright."

The young man clumsily fished a roll of crisp bills from his pocket and tossed the reluctant cash onto the table. Xyra managed a quick glance and surmised that he was carrying a couple grand. At least.

The shaggy-haired high roller stood to his feet, gave Xyra a soft nod and headed out of the studio into the frigid air of Starsun City. Xyra scooped up Death and placed it with the rest of her deck. She looked over the cash on the table.

He'd given her sixty.

------

The next morning, Xyra woke to a loud banging on her door of her shop. She pushed herself off her cot and limped to the storefront, gears whining beneath her stiff gait. She smelled humans. More than one. One significantly more stressed than the other. She swung the door open to find two men flashing SCPD badges at her. The older, broader man spoke first.

"Are you Xyra Heddingbone?"

"This some kind of shakedown? I've got papers."

"No ma'am, not a shakedown. I'm Detective Meyer. You know this man? Found beaten to death in his hotel room." The detective held up a photograph up with a beefy hand. Xyra's nostrils flared. "Your business card was in his pocket."