The part of Lyra's father will be played by Scottish comedian/actor Billy Connolly : )
If you've seen the Lemony Snicket film, he's the one who plays 'Uncle Monty'.
The Tarot card meanings come from: 'Secrets of the Tarot' by Annie Lionnet
Chapter 2
Sam was trying to absorb what Dean just told him he'd overheard in the men's room. The pool playing, biker dude was claiming responsibility for an earth tremor. Was he crazy?
The bar was filling up now. Many of the plaid-shirted working guys had left for the evening, replaced by a rougher, rock and roll crowd. Bad beards and black leather abounded.
"Let's go," suggested Sam.
A band was taking the stage at the end of the bar. Several guys in their 40s, maybe 50s, steely-colored long hair, tough faces, armed with guitars and drum sticks. Lyra came onstage last. She'd pulled her hair back and tied a Harley-Davidson bandana on her head. Strapping the guitar over her shoulder she tapped her amp with her foot. She was to the right of the lead singer who struck a loud chord on his guitar and proceeded into the blistering opening riff of Ted Nugent's 'Stranglehold'.
"I'm not goin' anywhere," replied Dean who ordered another beer.
oo00oo
Lyra shuffled the cards gently, letting her mind drift over the events of the evening. Even tarot novices knew that the key to a good reading was spending a long time carefully handling the cards before laying them out. Infusing them with your subconscious before pondering your life's questions with them.
Her life's questions. Wow. Where to start. Her mind was not calm right now. Thoughts glanced off each other. Feelings of vengeance colliding with despair, strong intuition met faltering confidence, passion dissolved into despondency. Where to begin?
Calm down, she told herself. She lit the candles on the dining room table and turned off all the lights in the flat. Opening the living room window, a cool night breeze swept the room as she re-took her seat. Inhaling deeply she dealt the cards. Ten of them in the 'Celtic Cross' spread. A classic layout with enough cards to try to encompass all the people and events crowding her life currently. She laid all the cards facedown to start, then over-turned the position 1 card. One at a time she concentrated on the back of the card, focusing on a person or a concern then turned the card to reveal and contemplate its meaning in connection to her thoughts.
She turned over The Fool: new beginnings, untapped potential, possibly a new start to life. The image on the card was always that of a carefree youth commencing a journey. Not without risks though, he is blissfully unaware that one false step could mean his downfall, however the journey could bring surprising revelations. The outcome is uncertain and an act of faith may be required to follow the course.
Thinking about the two handsome brothers she'd met tonight she wondered about the purpose of their journey. She knew they were traveling, transient. Why they were in Salem she didn't know. Sam definitely had some untapped psychic potential and Dean... well Dean seemed the impulsive type. Ready for anything.
The next card revealed The Hierophant: a mentor of deep spirituality, inner wisdom and higher awareness providing guidance and support. Definitely her father, she thought. He'd done an awesome job on the Foos song tonight. She'd finally got him to learn a song from this decade. He was the coolest.
Pausing before overturning the third card. She pictured Sam: earnest, soft brown eyes, sensitive but certainly no pushover. She expected to see a Knight as she turned the card and was surprised, pleasantly, to see the High Priestess. This card always suggested intuition and psychic ability. Growing up, Lyra's mother had done her readings countless times. They almost always contained the High Priestess.
The fourth card's position represented past events underlying the current situation. Carefully turning the card, she saw the Hanged Man. "Katie!" Lyra gasped. The image of a man trapped: stuck in limbo causing feelings of fear and anxiety as a turning point approaches. A painful time in which something of value might need to be sacrificed in order to move forward.
Her hand hovered over the fifth card as she tried to regain control of her emotions. Thinking of Katie hanging in limbo left her feeling bereft. Looking for something to grasp onto she thought of Dean's steady gaze. She'd had to laugh when he'd hung around after the gig. Complimenting her on her mastery of classic rock and heavy metal guitar. He said he'd loved her version of Sabbath's 'Paranoid'. A lot of guys said that but Dean seemed different somehow. He was definitely strange but not unpleasant, certainly not to look at. Picturing his smile, light stubble on his chin, those lips… full of promise? She turned the card. Strength. Smiling she looked down at the image on the card of Hercules dominating the lion. Also known as Fortitude: this card indicated determination and physical power but also stamina to cope with any given situation, no matter how challenging. It didn't just indicate physical strength but courage and conviction. Fortitude was one of the most auspicious cards in the deck. To be represented by it indicated great strength of character and enormous ability.
She took the Strength card from the table, sliding it into her jeans pocket. His tarot symbol, she'd want it close to her in these next few days.
The sixth card: an indicator of what is immediately before you. Future forces, hinting at events in the immediate future. She overturned The Devil. Perfect, she thought.
Tarot readers were always quick to calm clients' fears of the Devil card, telling them it signified frustration and feelings of entrapment. Truth was, the card sometimes indicated evil. Sometimes the Devil card was what it was.
Breathing a sigh of resignation Lyra looked to the final four cards. The Tower: indicator of sudden and dramatic upheaval. Well, not surprising if she had the Devil immediately ahead of her.
The Ten of Swords dismayed her somewhat. The card's image was of a man lying facedown with ten swords protruding from his back. Not good. This card indicated the end of a painful situation, a time at which one might be feeling at one's lowest ebb. This struck a chord.
If you could accept the situation, as depressing as it might be, you might find the strength to overcome the crisis and eventually emerge stronger because of it.
"Whatever doesn't kill you, makes you stronger," she murmured to herself.
The final two cards lifted her spirits substantially: The Two of Cups indicating a positive love affair. A good card when thinking of starting a relationship: it suggested a loving and trustworthy partner.
And finally, The Stars: card of hope, heralding good fortune and faith in a better future. It was the light that shows the way forward.
Quite a reading, thought Lyra sitting back to take in the whole spread of cards. Feeling exhausted, she closed her eyes briefly, touching the Fortitude card within her pocket. She'd put it under her pillow tonight while she slept.
oo00oo
It was exactly the kind of New Age, mystical crap store that Dean hated. Incense reeking, shelves upon shelves of books written by ignorant "experts" on everything from alien abduction to finding your 'protector angels' book-ended by huge crystals and useless rocks. Everything over-priced, everything ineffective.
"Gimme a 12-gauge and some rock salt anytime," he murmured to himself looking sceptically at a large Native American 'dream catcher' hanging from the ceiling.
Four teenage girls were clustered in a corner holding a box that read Ritual Love Kit on the side. The girls looked over at Sam and Dean and immediately broke into urgent whispering that quickly devolved into boisterous giggling.
"Can we get out of here?" Dean pleaded to his brother.
Ignoring the teenage girls' stares Sam perused the bookshelves. "No," he replied. "The name of this shop stood out from the others."
Sam found the book he was looking for and took it from the shelf.
"Celtic Deities?" Dean read the cover.
Sam flipped from the index to the middle of the book reading aloud, "Cocidius - the god of hunting in North Britain."
"Okay…" Dean failing to see the significance. "So this store's named after a Celtic god of hunting. So what?"
"Hunting Dean."
Giving Sam an exasperated look Dean was at a loss. Fortunately the teenage girls had made their purchase and were leaving the store.
"Can I help ya find anythin', lads?" a good-natured, Scottish brogue rang out behind them.
Sam turned to face a Scotsman equal in his height and about thirty years older than himself. Grey wavy hair framed a warm face with bright blue eyes. "Uh, we're just browsing," Sam replied.
"Well, carry on then." Sizing up Dean the Scotsman added, "I've a new section over here on protective spells and weaponry."
Dean's brows furrowed slightly. Why does he think I'm interested in protection and weaponry? Following the Scottish man's lead he saw a glass display case full of knives. Some were tiny ritual daggers others were the size of full-length hunting knives with ornately carved handles and etched blades.
"Cool," murmured Dean.
"Dad," called a feminine voice from the back room of the shop. "Don't forget to order more sage."
A tall, brunette emerged carrying an armful of books, she was barely recognizable from last night. Lyra's hair was piled loosely atop her head, lots of tendrils falling down around her long elegant neck. She was wearing eyeglasses and very little makeup. Without the cool, pale makeup of last night her complexion had a warm glow to it, cheeks with a rose hue. Her full lips were a natural dark pink, not dramatic scarlet. She looked like some kind of sexy librarian thought Dean. Since when had he been attracted to librarians?
Catching him staring, she gave Dean a sly smile. "Hello again," she said simply.
"Hi," was all Dean could manage. Was it dry in here?
"Oh aye," replied Lyra's father. "I'll place the order before they close."
Dean eyed the Scotsman more closely. "Hey," he began, "weren't you the lead guitarist of the band last night?"
Lyra's father smiled broadly. "Yes," he admitted. "That's my little group."
"Nice job on 'Back in Black'. You guys sounded great."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it." Putting his hand out, "Jim Macleod."
Dean took the large Scot's hand.
"And this is my daughter, Lyra."
"We met last night actually. I'm Dean Winchester and this is my brother, Sam."
While Sam shook hands, Dean stole another glance at Lyra who was reaching to replace books to their proper shelves. Admiring the curve of her waist as her shirt lifted slightly revealing creamy white skin.
"Was your story true last night?" Dean asked Jim.
"Which story?"
"That you were on Sabbath's road crew in the 70s?"
"Oh aye," Jim nodded. "I've known Ozzy for going on 30 years now. Pretentious wanker."
Dean laughed. "What?"
"Well all that devil-worship crap," Jim elaborated. "It was one thing to take the name 'Black Sabbath' but going on like he did and biting the head off that poor wee bat in Texas."
"My uncle was at that show!" Dean looked enthralled. Lyra smiled and returned to her work. She'd heard this story a million times.
"Ozzy didn't even know who Alistair Crowley was until I told him the stories of the British witchcraft revival. Bloody Anglican boy from Birmingham is what he was."
"Wow." Dean's face was like a kid's on Christmas morning.
"And steer clear of all that Crowley shite," Jim instructed Sam who was perusing the witchcraft section of books. "Bunch of Victorian elitists."
Jim grabbed a book from the Self-Help section handing it to Sam.
"Attuning to Your Own Psychic Abilities?" Sam cocked an eyebrow while reading the title aloud.
Dean looked a little startled. How the hell did this guy know Sam was developing the Shining?
"Would you like to see some of my rock n' roll memorabilia, lad?"
Here we go, thought Lyra. "I'll put the kettle on," was all she said.
Holding the black velvet curtains back so the Winchesters could enter the back room of the shop Jim gave his daughter a wink. "Perhaps," he suggested to her, "we could have something a wee bit stronger than tea?"
As she passed her father into the back room, close enough to speak quietly and be heard. "The 12 or 18-year-old single malt, then?"
"Ooh, I think the 18-year-old would be appropriate," he whispered back.