Cat Eyes and Puries

1.

The first thing Professor Jeffry Novacs noticed as he drove toward his new home was the signs posted on every telephone pole. They were printed in Spanish, announcing: SE LEEN CARTAS TAROT, $20. Novacs laughed and told his wife, “There sure are a lot of Tarot card readers in this neighborhood. What kind of a neighborhood have we moved into?” He returned to looking for the Porto Lindo Drive address as he turned the car off the main street and up the hill. This move was a new start for him and his wife Marge. He screwed up big time at Boston College by breaking the unwritten rule: Don’t mess with your teacher assistants. But how could he resist the sexy graduate student, Rosa Ramirez? She was a Latin beauty with deep green eyes and a bronze tan that hugged her perfect twenty-two year old body. He stifled the memory of Rosie’s beauty and resumed looking for the address of his new house.

The second thing he noticed was that his pregnant wife was jotting down 0ne of the Tarot card sign phone numbers. “They’re all rip-offs, Marge,” he said, glancing at the addresses on each house that he drove by. “Maybe it’d be better if you kept your eyes open for 1343. I can’t be driving and looking for the address.”

“I am looking. Besides, how do you know they’re rip-offs?” she asked with a challenge in her tone. “You sound like your mother warning you about the evils of Lotto tickets. It’s just harmless fun, like Astrology.”

“It’s a matter of money. First it’s twenty dollars, then fifty, and then once they have you hooked, it’s the mortgage money. My mother knows what she’s talking about: Don’t take chances. That’s another reason why I chose to move to LA—to be close to my mother during your pregnancy. I’m going to have to call her and have her visit with you while I’m at teaching my first class at the university tomorrow.” He sighed and realized he wasn’t looking forward to calling his Mom. But he needed someone to keep an eye on Marge. His wife loved spending his money. It was her way of getting revenge, according to his mother. She’d forgive him, but she’d never forget his affair with the teacher assistant.

“Look, there’s 1117. We’re almost there,” said Marge. “Besides, you don’t give me enough of an allowance to pay more than $20 for a decent Tarot reading.” She folded her arms in an exaggerated show of anger.

“We’ll talk about it inside,” he said as he drove into the hillside house overlooking the freeway. “That’s it. We’re home.” Jeff pulled the car into the shoddily constructed car port. The wood was warped and a lot of sunlight was shining through the gaps between the planks. “Damn port can’t keep out the sun, so how do we expect it to protect the car from rain?” he asked.

“It doesn’t rain in Los Angeles,” Marge said with a guffaw.

“The port needs to be rebuilt and the driveway is going to need to be repaved,” he said as he stepped out of the car and onto the rickety porch. “House is going to need a lot of work too.”

“It’s not as bad as you describe,” she said, making a mental list of all the junk and weeds in the small yard surrounded by a bent and rusty wire fence. Marge walked to the end of the driveway and looked down the steep hill. “We’re going to need a new fence in the back. There’s nothing to keep us from falling down the hill except for this rusty thing.” “Sure don’t want to drive over in the dark,” Jeff added. “Did you notice that there are no streetlamps up here? We’re going to have to install sensor lights in front of the house and in the back of the driveway.” Jerry’s left cheek twitched as he tried to smile through the anger. He saw Marge at the periphery of his vision taking inventory of the house, its dirty yard, the graffiti on the front walls, and the cracked cement in the driveway. He just couldn’t get a break. She wanted everything perfect. Nobody’s perfect, he almost shouted at her, but he promised he would learn to control his temper. This was their new start.

2.

Jeff and Marge sat on a blanket tossed across the floor in front of the kitchen and unwrapped the take-out Mexican food. Jeff had Googled the local cuisine and found a place called El Tepeyac that had perfect scores and impressive ratings. Marge called in the order and Jeff drove to pick it up. As she waited for Jeff, she walked around the empty house. She knew the furniture would be arriving in the morning. It was mostly the furnishings from their small Boston apartment; it wouldn’t come close to filling up the big house. Marge checked each of the three bedrooms and selected the biggest room facing north to be their bedroom. The room next to it would be the nursery. The extra bedroom would be Jeff’s study. He could buy his own desk and chair. She was concentrating on the extra furnishings the bedrooms would need. Whatever was arriving in the morning would have to suffice for the front room and kitchen, but the extra money that Jeff’s mother had given them was designated for the baby’s things and new beds. As Jeff chowed down on his omelet, Marge nibbled on her chile relleno. It was a bit spicy. She offered half of the stuffed pepper to her husband. “Is it hot?” he asked. “No,” she lied, and he readily munched on that as well. Marge smiled as she wondered if Jeff’s gastritis would flare up from the hot chili. “What’re your plans for tomorrow?” Jeff asked. “Meet the movers in the morning and shop online for new bedroom furniture,” Marge answered, then paused a second before adding, “and then I’m calling some of those Tarot card readers. I promise to hire a cheap one.” “Geez,” Jeff said with a whine in his voice. “My mother’s right about you. You are superstitious.” “It’s good luck to get a reading for our new house, especially on a hillside,” she said in a joking but ominous tone. “I read about all the landslides in this area during the rains.” “It never rains in California,” Jeff laughed. “They write songs about it.” “Anyway, that’s what I’m doing tomorrow,” she said, and that was that. Before Jeff could complain anymore, his stomach rumbled, he cringed and ran for the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. “Dammit,” he shouted, “there’s no toilet paper in here.” Marge began cleaning up the take-out food while she pondered Jeff’s dilemma.

3.

Jeff was sitting on the toilet all night and had to use the napkins from the take-out food to wipe his sore bottom. His hemorrhoids had flared up. Damn red chili sauce. When the movers arrived, Marge greeted them with fresh cups of coffee before putting them to work. Jeff had already cleaned himself up, showered, and headed for the university before the moving truck could block him in. Marge laughed to herself as she thought of Jeff moaning on the bathroom seat. Hope he wasn’t late for work. He can’t buy the bedroom sets if he loses his teaching post at the university. Oh, well. The security guard at the university parking lot kiosk gave the new professor his packet that contained a parking permit, faculty restroom key card, photo ID, and a map of the college with his classroom circled in red ink. There was a note from Dean Wallace Wasserman, head of the U.S. History Department; he wanted to see Jeff after his class. He placed the packet into his briefcase and made his way to his classroom. He was tempted to buy a cup of coffee from the vending machine by his classroom, but thought better of it. Chili and caffeine were his enemies right now. He stood at the door, took a deep breath, and entered the class for United States History 101: 1492-1702. Seated at the front of the class on the stool meant for the professor was the love of his life, the beautiful young Latina named Rosa Ramirez. He recognized the raven black hair tied with a red ribbon in a pony-tail resting on her left shoulder, her long shapely legs ending in the red four-inch heels, and the seductive smile that she wore as her eyes followed him each step that he walked down the staircase to the podium. The room was already packed with students. “Ms. Ramirez,” Jeff said slyly. “Professor Novacs,” she said somewhere between a hiss and a coo. As she unfolded her leg and scooted off the stool, half the males, and some of the females, tried to catch a glimpse of the sites made available by the shortness of her skirt. “I’m Professor Novacs,” he said to the class of nearly forty students, “and this is your TA, Ms. Ramirez. He wrote his name, office number and hours of availability on the whiteboard in black ink. He always liked the chemical scent of the drymarkers. He nodded to the TA to write her information on the board as well.As Rosa wrote on the whiteboard, her skirt rode up to the borderline of her asscheeks as if it were designed for that sole purpose. A couple of students whistled. Jeff turned sharply for the students, but he didn’t catch the punks.He pulled the textbook from his briefcase and gave the syllabi to Ms. Ramirez to distribute to the class. Jeff found himself mesmerized by her seductive dress and wiggles as she passed out the papers. She returned the extra handouts to the professor.“Let’s go over the syllabus, class,” Jeff said with a strong authoritative voice. Rosa Ramirez sat to the right of the professor, and as she watched him begin his lecture, she felt herself getting wet. Just like old times, she thought. Welcome to LA. After class, the room emptied until Jeff and Rosa remained at the front of the class. “How was the flight?” “Take it or leave it,” she said with hurt feelings. “Couldn’t you afford anything better than coach?”

“I’m married, remember?” Novacs insisted.

“That didn’t stop you before,” she reminded him. “You know I can’t live on a TA salary, right? You’ve got the big job now. You can afford to help me out a bit, right?. Just like old times.”

“I got you this job. I know how much it pays,” he said without conviction, and Rosa noticed there was no anger in his voice. “I’ve got to see Dean

Wasserman. I’ll see you afterward. I’m sure a dozen professors will want you in their classes if you need the extra cash.”

“You’re not planning on sharing me with your colleagues, are you?” Rosa said, placing a soft hand on Jeff’s. He didn’t pull it away.

“My mother’s going to be keeping Marge busy this afternoon. Did you make the arrangements?” he asked. “Marge’s even calling Tarot card readers to

bless the house.”

She nodded yes and said, “Tarot card readers? Really?”

“You know how she is,” he said in a pathetically apologetic voice. “She’s looking for a cheap reader, something in the twenty dollar range.”

Rosa wrote down an address on a piece of paper and handed it to Jeff. “Meet me here in two hours. That’ll be more than enough time for your meeting with the Dean.”

Novacs looked around and without meeting eyes with Rosa, took the piece of paper with directions to an address on Marengo Avenue, and left the room. The TA slipped into the women’s restroom, where she placed a call on her cell phone. Jeff called his mother from the faculty restroom. He asked her to drop in on Marge and make sure she was all right, that he’d be stuck at the university in meetings all afternoon. She was more than pleased to do a favor for her little baby boy, the professor. Besides, she was quite anxious to see what kind of house her son had purchased for himself and his pregnant wife.

“Thanks, Mom,” Jeff said. “I’ll see you tonight for dinner.”

4.

Marge couldn’t believe she had found a Tarot card reader for less than twenty dollars. After mentioning that she was expecting, the reader promised her a discount on the first reading of only ten dollars. The Taroist, as she called herself, set their first appointment for 1:00 p.m. that afternoon. The movers had finished their work around eleven that morning, so that left her a few hours to shower, lunch, and arrange the kitchen table for a reading. Everything went as planned until 12:30 p.m. when the doorbell rang. There was absolutely no reason for the Taroist to be early, and Marge lost a bit of confidence in the woman if she couldn’t be on time for a meeting. She even considered cancelling the reading. What did she expect for ten dollars, right?

However, she was relieved when she found her mother-in-law Regina Novacs at the door.

“Hi, Margie,” said the older woman. “Jeffrey asked me to drop in on you and make sure you had everything you needed.”

Marge exchanged superficial hugs and air kisses with her in-law before inviting her in. Regina noted the social awkwardness but entered the domicile with a sense of entitlement. After all, this was her Jeffry’s house. “You’re using the same furniture from Boston, I see. I thought you’d have all new furnishings. Jeffry can afford it now, you know. And I did contribute a bit for the baby.”

“I’m starting with the baby’s room,” Marge said apologetically. “I was looking at cribs online right before you came. It’s just bad timing.”

“What do you mean?” Regina asked, hearing a little hostility in her voice.

“Well, I invited a Tarot reader over to do a reading of the house,” she said proudly. “You know, a glimpse into the future, so to speak. Boring stuff. You don’t have to stay if you’d rather not.”

“Really, Majorie,” she said, emphasizing her full name condescendingly. “Why throw away good money on that?”

“It’s only going to cost ten dollars,” Marge said.

“It’s still a waste of good money,” Regina insisted.

“Please, Regina—Mother, but the Taroist will be here in a few minutes. I’ll make some coffee and expect your best behavior if you intend to stay,” she said in an akimbo position for emphasis.

“I appreciate the visit, but I will not have my beliefs mocked. Truce?”

“Truce,” Regina agreed. “I take my coffee black.

#

“I am Madame Cortez,” the Taroist said, extending her hand to Marge. Her eyes darted to Regina Novacs and she bowed in her direction ever so slightly. She pinched Marge’s fingers lightly then pulled her hand away. She turned away as if looking at the front room when Regina offered her hand.

“Please sit here,” Marge said, pulling out the sturdy wooden chair that went with the dining room set.

The Madame sat and scooted up till her huge bust pressed against the table. She wore a black velvet cloak that covered her oddly flowery dress. She withdrew a red velvet pouch from her long black leather bag. “Before we begin, I’d like to dispense with introductions,” Cortez said, eying Regina

suspiciously.

“I’m Marjorie Novacs. We talked on the phone. And this is my mother-in-law Regina Novacs.”

Neither Regina nor Cortez offered up their hands.

They both gave a courtesy nod.

Madame Cortez passed the deck of Tarot cards to Marge. It was a reproduction deck of the D’un Tarot de L’an 1736, Spain edition, containing both the Major and Minor Arcana sections. “What a beautiful deck,” Marge said sincerely. “But I’d like only the Minor Arcana reading, if you don’t mind.”

“As you wish,” the Taroist said and removed the Major cards from the deck. “I take it you already have your question in mind?”

“I do,” Marge answered. She was surprised that the Madame didn’t express curiosity or interest in her request for a Minor reading.

“I understand, Ms. Novacs,” she said as if reading Marge’s thoughts.

“Good,” Marge said. “Then let’s get to it.”

Regina cleared her throat and asked, “What happens now?”

“Mother, you promised.” Marge scolded her with a cold stare.

“All right, all right,” Regina apologized and turned the invisible key to her lips.

Cortez held out her hand and Marge handed back the deck to the Madame, who then waited for the words. “No shuffle,” Marge said. And the Taroist

turned the top ten cards of the deck to arrange them in classic reading formation. The past, present and future were represented by the layout: six cards forming a crucifix and four cards in the shape of a staff. The cross showed the four directions of the compass and the staff was the needle that pointed to the direction relevant to the reading. Often times the face cards were misinterpreted; for instance, the Death card did not mean death—it denoted sudden and unexpected change. And if the card next to it were a card like The Water Bearer, then the change might mean good fortune; however, if the card behind it were The Hanging Man, then the change meant bad fortune—no “might”. Marge was aware of all the subtleties of a good reading, so she was keeping a close eye on the Madame’s interpretation of the cards.

But Cortez did not read the cards. She reached into the red pouch and produced five marbles, three Cat’s Eyes and two Puries. Each of the Cat’s Eyes were placed on the North, West, and South position of the crossed cards; the remaining clear marbles were placed one at the top of the staff and one below. They formed a pyramid tilted on its side. “The marbles,” the Madame explained, “fill the gaps left out by the omission of the Major Arcana cards. The oblique pyramid contains the flow of spiritual energy; it prevents the escape of lost spirits. For we open a door with our reading, and should a spirit seek to leave its realm, it will hide in the Canicas, what you call Marbles. These are special to my family and we have passed them down many generations since the time of the Mayans and Aztecas. Listen carefully.

“The Mayans sacrificed humans for the gods, but the corporeal flesh is but a vessel for the spirit. The sacred blade of the Mayans ended the life of the flesh and freed the spirit to join the gods. The Aztecas beheaded the bodies with the Blade of a Thousand Deaths, so that the corporeal being was sacrificed to the gods, but the head itself contained the spirit. From the head the spirit was transferred to the Canicas, what you probably know as ‘crystal balls’, fortune teller instruments, brujerias. These marbles are smaller versions of the spirit catchers. The Cat’s Eyes, or Ojos de Gato, imprison the spirit in its maze, whereas the Puries, or Crystales Claros, allow the spirit to gaze out at the world from its cage. I am ready to begin.

“Please do not express concern,” Cortez said with a bow. “I see the doubt and anxiety on your Mother-in-Law’s face.”

“Proceed with the reading,” Marge instructed the Taroist. “Do not mind the doubter.”

“As you wish,” Madame Cortez said, fighting back a smile that was neither good nor evil.

5.

“Sorry, babe,” Jeff apologized, “but that was my Mom and she sounded freaked out. I’ve got to get home. I’ll see you in class on Thurday.”

“Here we go again,” Rosa said and ducked under the covers of the queen-sized motel room bed. “I guess I can catch the Metro train home from the college. Oh, right, it doesn’t go by the college.”

“Don’t be like that, hon,” said Jeff who sat on the bed and caressed Rosa’s shoulder under the sheet. “Why don’t you stay here the night? That

way I can come back later tonight when Marge is asleep? Why don’t you visit your mom for a while? Have you seen her since you arrived in LA? Is she still into that witch stuff?”

“We prefer the word ‘brujeria’. It’s like the midwifery of the old days. Nothing mystical or Black Magic, that you need to worry about anyway. Why don’t you call me after you know what’s going on,” Rosie suggested and peeked out over the covers. “Then we can decide who’s staying where and who’s coming when. Sound like a plan?”

Jeff nodded in agreement, kissed her on the forehead, and dashed to his car in the Marengo Motel parking lot.

6.

“What happened?” Jeff asked with worry in his voice.

“Nothing that I know of,” Marge said with a shrug. She resumed peeling potatoes.

“My mother called and told me to come here,” Jeff explained.

“Your mother left about thirty minutes ago,” she said, dropping the potato into the bowl of water. She then began peeling another spud. “Your mother

gave the Tarot reader lady a ride home. They left right after the reading.”

“Tell me about this lady,” Jeff insisted.

“Calm down. Your mother sat in on the reading, enjoyed herself with a cup of coffee and offered the Tarot lady a ride home.” Marge smiled as if that’s all there was to it.

Jeff dialed his mother’s cell phone number. There was no answer. Then he called her land-line phone at her Montebello apartment. No answer.

“Any luck?” Marge asked, feigning concern.

“Do you know the reader’s home address?” Jeff was surprised by the quick response.

“Sure do. Here’s her card. Address is right on it.” She plopped the other peeled potato into the bowl of water. “You going over there? Don’t do your scary routine on the old lady, please. Your mom will show up somewhere. Don’t worry so. Wish you worried like that about me.”

“I’ll be back in a few,” he said, ignoring her, and rushed out the door to the car. He set the GPS with the Tarot lady’s address and backed up. A car driving too fast around the blind corner of the hillside road almost swiped his rear bumper.

Marge watched the whole thing from the kitchen window and whistled in disappointment that the car had just missed her husband. That accident might have sent her husband’s car careening down the hillside, she thought and went back to peeling potatoes.

7.

“Professor Novacs,” said Madame Cortez, “please come in.”

“I’m here about—“

“Your mother,” she said, finishing his sentence.

“Would you like some coffee?”

“Please…”

“I’m Madame Cortez, by the way. Sorry to keep interrupting you. Continue while I get the coffee.”

“My mother called me and said something horrible was happening. Did she mention anything to you?” Jeff asked, unsure what he had just gotten

himself into.

“I did a reading for your wife. Your mother observed. I finished and mentioned I was catching the bus home, and your mother said she could drop me off in East LA since she was headed for Montebello. I was very grateful.” Cortez asked Jeff to join her at the kitchen table. He eyed the Tarot card layout on the pink table-cloth.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“The cards or the marbles?” She watched the confusion on his face. “I bet you’ve never seen this layout before. It’s Azteca in origin. But I’m sure you’ve played with marbles in your youth, am I right? Now you’re a man of learning and need to understand the Canicas in a new way; or rather, in the old way. I’m sure you can appreciate the history to this design. The Cat’s Eyes are prisons for evil spirits. The Puries are cages, like the cages

in a zoo, for innocent souls. Do you see the oblique pyramid? Look at the bottom corner, just under the sixth card, the card of the past. What do you see?”

Jeff leaned closer to the green Cat’s Eye, the marble with the spiral inside, his favorite as a child. Suddenly his mother’s face appeared in the round piece of glass. Her mouth was screaming silently in agony. His mind went into shock. He confused his memory of cat’s eye inside the marble with the image of his mother’s face writhing within the glass ball. Was this real? He didn’t dare answer the question, and though his rational mind, what little there remained of it, tried to grasp the sight before him, he couldn’t understand how this flesh and blood head had shrunk small enough to fit into the marble.

Before he could turn to the old woman behind him to ask her if he had one mad, he felt the Tarot lady’s arm wrap around his forehead, pulling it back, exposing his throat. Her strength was unnatural. She slid the Azteca blade with all the ornamental encryptions inscribed into the handle across the Professor’s carotid artery. The razor sharp edge of the knife needed only three more strokes to decapitate Jeffry Novacs.

Madame Cortez held his head above the Tarot card and Canica arrangement on the kitchen table as a strange breeze swirled about the cluttered room, rattling dishes and sweeping the dusty curtains. The blue Cat’s Eye at the north end of the oblique pyramid sucked in the breeze and Jeff’s face filled the marble. Before the agony overtook him and he tried to scream, he saw Madame Cortez holding up his bloody head from her fist. She was laughing.

8.

Marge answered the knock at the door. The Taroist entered and sat at the kitchen table. The potatoes were boiling in a large pot with some chopped carrots, celery and chayote. The chicken was baking in the oven. “Smells good,” the Madame said in all sincerity.

“Is it done?” Marge asked.

“Almost,” she said. After moving the dishes aside, Cortez rearranged the Tarot cards and Caninas. “There was the matter of ten dollars.”

“Of course,” Marge said, reaching into her kitchen apron. “Here’s your money.”

“Is this a joke?” Cortez had anger in her eyes as red as the velvet pouch she held in her hands. “Don’t pretend to be so naïve to believe ten dollars doesn’t mean ten thousand dollars. A dime is ten dollars. A C-note is one hundred dollars. Ten dollars is ten thousand dollars. Always has been.”

“No, you said ten dollars over the phone,” Marge pleaded.

“Maybe over the phone, but not when you requested the Canicas.” She opened the pouch and retrieved the two Cat’s Eyes. Jeffry was trapped in

one, Regina in the other. Their tiny heads writhed and their faces contorted in agony and disbelief.

“I’ll get the money,” she said, clearly frightened now.

“Too late for money. The ritual of vengeance must be performed.” She removed the Crystal Ball from the red pouch and placed it in the center of the Canicas in the oblique pyramid shaped by the Tarot cards. The lifted the Azteca Blade of One Thousand Souls, spun around, and slit Marge’s belly open like a C-section. As Marge fell to the floor in terror, Madame Cortez wrapped her fingers on each side of her own head and twisted her neck back and forth till she yanked her head off her shoulders. Her gaping neck was like a mouth sucking and writhing for air.

The Madame positioned the head next to the grotesquely sized Boulder marble, the Canica at the top of the pyramid.

Marjorie watched in horror as the headless Tarotist reached her fingers into the gaping wound of her bleeding pregnant belly and pulled out the fetus and held it to the Crystal Ball. A sweet breeze slipped into the kitchen and swirled around the unformed baby. The fetus was suddenly inside the large Purie.

Marge could not move as the blood drained from her body.

Then the Tarotist placed the large Canica on her headless neck. A sucking noise coming from her open throat held the Crystal Ball in place. The head of the fetus turned to its mother on the ground, its eyes opened and Cortez looked through the child’s eyes at Marge. Before Marjorie Novacs died, she saw the old woman wearing the fetus in glass atop her shoulders and felt the old woman wrapped decapitate poor Marge. The spirit of the ex Mrs. Novacs entered the last Cat’s Eye Canica.

Then someone entered the room and witnessed the horror.

“Mother!” came the scream from behind Madame Cortez. “You were not supposed to take Jeffry from me.”

It was Rosa Ramirez Cortez. She snatched the Azteca Blade from her mother.

The Tarotist tried to speak, tried to explain herself to her daughter through the fetus’s undeveloped vocal cords, but only high-pitched shrills shrieked from the Crystal Ball atop her neck. It wouldn’t have mattered. Jeffry was dead. She saw his grotesque face in the Cat’s Eye on the table, alongside the

faces of Regina and Marge in the other two marbles.

Rosa buried the knife into her mother’s chest again and again. It was so easy; the blade was so sharp. It tore through tendons, veins, arteries, everything holding the huge Canica to her neck until the Crystal Ball fell and broke. The fetus tumbled out like a broken doll. It was dead. A gentle breeze, soft as a newborn baby, flittered about the room, landing inside one of the Puries. Mother and child were reunited in the neighboring Canicas.

Then Rosa Ramirez Cortez plunged the knife into her mother’s head resting on the kitchen table. The mouth on the face of the unholy decapitation tried to talk. A long dying hissing sound poured out. Then Madame Cortez’s spirit was sucked into the final Purie.

Rosie held the five marbles, watching each of the five faces contort in the throes of pain and suffering. This was not Hell, but it was pretty close.

9.

The pregnant woman answered the phone. “May I help you?”

“I heard you do Tarot readings,” the timid woman said, waiting for a response, hoping the answer was no.

“I believe I can help you. You are having trouble with your husband and seek some spiritual advice. I have access to spirits that know your problems and can offer personal insight. The charge is ten dollars. Do you understand?”

“That’ll be no problem,” the shy woman said. “My husband is an attorney.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow at 1:00 p.m. I already know the address.” Rosa ended the call and rubbed her huge belly. She carried the child of Jeffry Novacs. If the plan went right tomorrow, she’d exchange the spirit of Jeff for the body of the attorney. That is, if she could trust the instructions of her mother, the late Madame Cortez.

After all, who could trust a old Tarotist in a Crystal Ball?

"Cat's Eyes and Puries" by Anthony Servante, as it appeared in "Simple Things"  Lycan Valley Press (2016).