12/11/17
The Ten of Wands. To say August is burdened is an understatement. He floats slowly through the house, when I ask him what he wants to do about Evelyn he just fades away. I called Mal, the Circus in Black’s demon magician, he’s flying in with his best psychic in two days.
12/12/17
“August, I don’t feel well.”
“I’m not a doctor, Writer. In fact medicine in my time was still… quite gruesome. When I died very few people believed in germs, you know. Surgeons would pull a knife from one patient and sink it right into another. They used to call the scent of putrefaction and decay ‘that good old hospital stink.’”
“Gross. But I don’t mean that. I feel terrified and cold. Constantly.”
“Well, my Hellwife thinks we’re, well, propriety prohibits me from… ahem. You should be scared.” August has recently learned to shuffle. He pulled his own card today, the Seven of Wands reversed.
“That does not bode well, August, not well at all. That is a card of courage turned on its head.”
“Ah, don’t fret. I’m sure she’ll see things my way.” He paled, a feat for a ghost that died of drowning, “or she won’t. Say, what if we both get to go to Hell together?” I left, afraid of whatever infernal threesome he had on his mind.
12/13/17
Mal is here today. As if heralding his arrival, I drew the Six of Wands for August. Some kind of victory is in our future, I hope. I told Mal’s psychic friend, Willow, about the card. She laughed and hugged me.
“Well, you know what they say, Hell hath no fury. But we’ll see.” She and Mal want to get the feel for the atmosphere today. And they are both intrigued by Hellbunny. The seance is set for tomorrow.
That's sure to be some teeth-shaking stuff. But then again August is a Brit so it might tend toward understatement. A slight quiver in the air counts as hellshaking madness in England.