A/N: The longest chapter so far. Let me know what you think!
"So let me get this straight…" Clyde said, watching as Eric and Butters loaded up the car. "That firebreather turns you down, and you're still going through with this?"
"Yes," Eric replied. "I don't see what's so hard to understand…"
"That you're heading all the way out to California even though you have no acts, and you're probably going to make fools out of yourselves?" Clyde said it like it was something Eric hadn't considered before.
Despite his dreaming, despite his confidence and determination, Kenny turning down the offer of joining the circus had left Eric shaken. In fact, he hardly spoke to Butters on the drive back to South Park, mentally making plans to get in touch with one of his contacts.
Going further afield to find talent so soon wasn't something Eric had planned, or even wanted to do. But he had no choice.
"Alright, I admit what happened in Denver was a setback," Eric said. "But these people could be different and I need to find acts from somewhere-"
"So C-C-California it is then?" Jimmy asked, a little less cynical than Clyde. But Eric guessed that he had been making snide, sniggering jokes to Clyde at Eric's expense behind his back.
"Exactly," Eric smiled brightly, regardless.
"W-wh-where to in California?"
"Way out in the desert," Eric replied. "My contact said the Sonoran Desert."
"Have you been there before, Eric?" Butters asked, he was so excited for the trip that he hadn't slept the night before. First Denver and now California?
"I've been to California plenty of times," Eric said, closing the trunk. "Never the desert."
"Jesus, Butters, are you really going to go to Death Valley and die in the desert?" Clyde asked incredulously, missing the impatient roll of Eric's eyes.
"D-die?" Butters stammered, bumping his knuckles together. Eager to terrified.
"You're not going to die, Butters!" Eric tried to comfort him, but there was too much frustration there. What was meant to be an encouraging tug at his arm quickly turned into Eric flinging Butters into the passenger's seat.
"Clyde's just being an asshole," Eric said, narrowing his eyes at the man in question. "Come on, Butters," Eric continued, walking around to the driver's side and getting in.
"O-Okay…" Butters said reluctantly, but as the car roared to life he twisted in his seat. "Bye, fellas! We'll see you in a couple of weeks!"
The car had already pulled away before the rest of the clowns could say their goodbyes, but Butters was still waving.
"Goodbye!" Jimmy called out. "Oh, and g-g-good luck!"
"Yeah, you're gonna need it!" Clyde's voice echoing even after they had left South Park.
The closer they were to California, the further Eric retreated into his mind. They had stopped at a motel in Utah, predictably run by a cheery Mormon family.
Mr Harrison is my father, call me Gary! The owner had said as he handed Eric the keys to their room.
Butters had gazed in wonderment at their small, basic room as if were a suite at the Ritz. He had flopped on his bed only to grumble when his spine smacked against the rigid mattress.
Butters had kept Eric amused and distracted, but now they were back on the road and Eric was back to doubting himself. Unnerving and uncharacteristic, he hardly ever doubted himself. Sometimes he feared for his life, fretted over the ramifications brought about by the incompetency of others, but if he didn't believe in himself, then who could he believe in?
But this was a different game. This wasn't a heist or a con, this was the beginning of Eric's livelihood. Something honest, profitable, something Eric could be proud of.
If this goes right. Are you really driving all the way out to the Sonoran Desert – empty handed – and expecting these people to join your circus? Fucking Clyde…
Eric ground his teeth, palm burning against the steering wheel as the car ploughed through the Arizona desert.
"You've been awful quiet, Eric…" Butters commented from the passenger side.
"What?" Eric replied, distracted. He turned to Butters. "Do you think something's wrong?"
"Well, I don't know," Butters shrugged warily. "I was thinking that maybe you were still disappointed about-"
"No, no. Just thinking, is all. Not about that," Eric interrupted, his palms were already damp from the unforgiving heat. "Trying to keep focused on the road."
The silence had tightened, noticeable and awkward. It was like holding your breath for an uncomfortably long period of time, Eric had to breathe.
"So how are you enjoying the ride?" he asked.
"Oh, it's great!" Butters responded gladly. "I've never seen places like this before! Everything is so tall and vast and the road goes on forever! The sky too! I never thought the sky could be so big! And the motel! I mean, it was a little hot in the night and the quilts were itchy-"
"That was enjoyable to you?"
"No, but it's different! I've never slept in anybody's bed but my own!" Butters said. "And I'm excited to meet those new acts!"
"Me too," Eric half-lied, maybe his excitement was being misinterpreted as anxiety? "I'm feeling good about this one." He reaffirmed.
"Won't you tell me about them, Eric?"
"I thought you wanted it to be a surprise?"
"I did, but I can't wait anymore!" Butters implored. "How much longer to Sonoran?"
"Not that long," Eric said, the road suddenly seemed smaller. "We'll stop one more night and then we'll be there before you know it."
Butters nodded, but disappointment couldn't escape him. He peered out the window, as if searching for any signs that they were indeed nearing California.
Eric sighed, maybe some conversation would do him good?
"But since we're nearing the end of the trip…" Eric said, smiling to himself when Butters looked over with intrigue. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to tell you a little about the acts…"
"I really want to know!" Butters pleaded beside him.
"Alright," Eric gave in. His loose smile suggested that doing so wasn't difficult. "I heard about them through one of my contacts in Louisiana. A Creole guy, probably the craziest, most miserable fucker I've ever met."
"Crazy how?"
"Maybe that's not the best term for it… Reckless." Eric decided on. "Yeah, that's it, he was reckless. Way too eager to put himself in danger if it meant that he got his money at the end of it. He had an appetite for the more dangerous cons, I preferred to keep my distance from him. Partnering was never my thing anyway because who's to say I wouldn't end up working with a loon like that, right?"
Butters nodded, compliant, with eyebrows furrowed.
"He wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty." Eric continued, chastising his contact from miles away. "At the cost of someone else's life or his own. That was the most terrifying thing. To have no sense of the value of life, for it to be an afterthought…"
The digression gave Eric pause, his contact was a funhouse, grimy reflection of what he could have become. Eric was bereft of morals, but he wasn't feral, not a total animal.
There were criminals and con artists, Eric piously believed. Technicalities like the law was what got the definitions muddled.
"Look at me," Eric went on. "I'm no saint, and I've done – some would say – despicable things to get what I want but even I know how important life is. Or survival, anyway. Being alive to see the cash in your hand is better than charging head first and hoping that you'll make it out alive with the same mentality as hoping the weather will be fine tomorrow…."
Eric was babbling, the crease in Butters' fair brow deepened.
"Anyway," Eric said, steering the conversation back on the relevant track. "Something must have happened for him to retire. I don't know what, he never told me. But he moved on… He had an interest in animals, exotic ones."
"Like what?"
Eric shrugged. "Giraffes, elephants, get the picture?"
Butters nodded obediently.
"I remember, because I thought that if he broke into that game one day and was successful - and if I ever realised this dream of opening a circus - then we could maybe strike a deal." Eric continued. "Maybe he'd garner some contacts of his own that he could then share with me?"
"And did he?"
"That's where we're heading, isn't it?"
"Who are these people, anyway?" Butters pressed. "Are they like you?"
The question prickled Eric. "Like what?" he asked.
"A, uh…" Butters stumbled, knocking his knuckles together. "To be honest, I don't really know what you are."
"A conman?" Eric guessed.
It was as official a title as he was going to get.
Butters nodded again, Eric wondered if his neck hurt.
"No, they're not," Eric replied. "My contact tells me they're a couple, both from wealthy families. I think their parents intended for them to get married. That's what rich families do, the kind of old money families that can't remember why they're rich. They pair their kids up so they can continue to be wealthy. But, from what I've seen, there's always a rebellious, frustrated kink in the chain. Apparently these families - the Marshes and the Testaburgers - managed to pair up both of the kinks in their families."
"So what happened?"
"What do you think?" Eric chuckled. "They fell in love! Kindred spirits, and all. But Miss Testaburger, she seems to be the one with guts. She was the one who accepted Stanley Marsh's proposal but suggested they hold off the wedding. When Stan's ancient grandfather passed away and left a small fortune to his only grandson, she encouraged her fiancé to pursue their dream of running way to Kenya for three years. What better place for keen animal lovers to go than the Serengeti?"
Eric glanced at Butters for confirmation, the blond taking the story in as if it were a fairy tale. Maybe treating it like a bedtime story or a witty anecdote would calm Eric's nerves. His confidence was steeped in his words.
"Then there was a lioness, killed by poachers, and who left behind three cubs," Eric continued, Buttes frowned beside him. "Stanley found them and knowing that they would all die without a mother to take care of them, decided to raise them himself. Two years ago they decided to move back to the states, but these cubs weren't cubs anymore. How were they going to transport themselves and three adult lions from Kenya to America?"
Butters stared around the cramped car, before the answer hit him. "The Creole guy!"
"That's right" Eric grinned.
"But how did they know him?"
"Apparently, the Marsh family had been corresponding with their son," Eric explained. "Like most parents, they were desperate to have him come back home, make his relationship with Wendy official and then hopefully produce some heirs and heiresses to their fortune. And rich kids…"
Eric let his words hang as he attempted to find the right phrasing.
"They get bored easily," he said finally. "That's why they're so easy to charm. You promise them a night or a week of adventure and they tell you the combination to the family safe like that." Eric snapped his fingers with aplomb.
"And I think that's what happened to Stan and Wendy," Eric went on matter-of-factly. "They were bored and homesick. But getting back home was obviously a lot more difficult than running away from it-"
"I should think so," Butters added. "With the lions and all."
"Exactly, but money provides assistance from everywhere, even in the most shady and criminal of places," Eric explained. "Especially if your tastes, interests, hobbies go beyond tennis and afternoon tea at the country club. That certainly could be said of Stan's father, who knew that there was a guy down in New Orleans - where he had frequented many bars and brothels - that would be willing to get his son and future daughter-in-law home for the right price."
"But Stan and Wendy broke their promise," Eric went on. "They still had money left over from Stan's inheritance, plus access to their trust funds. They bought a ranch out in the Sonoran desert, far away from their families on the east coast, and moved their lion family in with them."
"But if they have all that money, then why would they need to work?" Butters questioned. "Why would your Creole guy put you in touch with them in the first place?"
"Money is finite, Butters," Eric explained. "It's liquid. Unless you find a means of generating it then pretty soon it's going to run out. And since the Marshes and Testaburgers have cut off access to their children's trust funds that means-"
"They're broke!"
"And desperate," Eric pointed out, making himself feel a lot better.
"Do they… They do know we're coming?"
"Of course!" Eric replied incredulously. "I don't think joining a circus is a situation they'd like to be in but… My guy in Louisiana put some feelers out when I told him what I was doing. Obviously, since we're a new operation, a lot of the more seasoned animal trainers were cautious. I can't blame them, they could be investing in something that's already guaranteed to be lucrative, right?" Honestly, that's what made Eric nervous. "But my guy remembered Stan and Wendy and their lions… once you're in the pocket of someone like him then it's pretty hard to get out."
"They're indebted to him, then?" Butters questioned nervously.
"Not exactly," Eric replied. "But they paid for his services so now they'll always be in his books."
Butters nodded along, with less conviction this time though.
After re-iterating the situation, Eric grinned.
They're desperate, they're rich and they're bored. They'd do anything to keep away from mommy and daddy and their pampered existence. Which means they're in your pocket already.
The car jittered, an uncooperative hiccup against the hostile road. Dread lurched in both Eric and Butters, thick and obvious in the humid car. The vehicle coughed and spluttered on desert dust and its own failing engine.
"No, no, fuck!" Eric shouted, smacking his hand against the steering wheel.
"What's going on, Eric?" Butters asked, alarmed.
"I don't know!" Eric exclaimed. "This piece of shit is fucking giving up on us!"
The car lagged its pace until it was crawling, wheezing and groaning all the while. Eric felt like doing the same thing, felt like bashing his head against the steering wheel in despair.
"Oh no, what are we going to do?!" Butters panicked, his cornflower eyes were milky in their wideness, the sweat that was already glistening on his face prickled at his pores. "We're in the middle of nowhere!"
"I know, Butters!" Eric snapped, his hostility a side effect from wrestling with the anxiety in his gut. "That has occurred to me! I'll have to pull over…"
The car trundled valiantly, Eric coercing it to the side of the road. There, it gasped like a sprinter collapsing at the finish line. But it could sprint no more, Eric could feel the car giving up underneath him.
He growled under his breath, throwing himself out of the car and slamming the door hard enough to make the vehicle shake. Butters followed suit, although no fresh air was to be found. The desert was dry and taut.
"Damn it!" Eric yelled at the lifeless car. "Fuck!"
Butters stared up at the starched blue sky, he was already sweltering in his formal attire. Wringing his hands together, he said reluctantly. "I don't understand-"
"Yeah, well, neither do I!" Eric snapped, crossing his arms in a strop and leaning against the bonnet in defeat.
"Are we going to get stuck out here?!" Butters asked, maybe realising that Clyde could have been right.
"How are we going to get home?!" He pressed as he approached Eric, after all, he rarely didn't have an answer to a question.
"I don't know!" Eric replied angrily, he dug his sweaty hands into his damp hair. He was so warm and tired, it felt as though his brain was cooking, marinated with frustration. "Let me think, okay?!"
"I, I am," Butters whimpered.
"No, you're just talking!" Eric replied, throwing his hands down at side, glowering at Butters. "You keep asking me questions! Shut your mouth for one second, okay?!"
Butters' lower lip jutted, milky eyes shining with hurt. The blond looked so pathetic that Eric huffed and spun around in disgust, sand flying from his heels as he trudged to the other side of the car. Maybe he could figure out what was wrong with it? Or find some peace and quiet so he could figure out other alternatives as to how they were going to get out of there?
He heard Butters gasp, but paid no attention to it.
"Hey, Eric! Look!" Butters exclaimed. "There's a house over there!"
"Huh?" Eric was deep in thought and the syllable slipped from his lips, half-assed.
"Yes! Yes it is!" Butters squealed. His words were fractured by the sound of his feet crunching against the sand, jumping up and down. "A little house in the distance! Maybe one of us should go over and ask for help?"
"What help?" Eric questioned, throwing his hands up in the air as he paced some more. "You think a family of mechanics is living there?"
"No, but at least – Hey! Somebody's coming!"
"I think the heat is getting to you…" Eric commented.
"No, it isn't, Eric!" Butters argued. "I swear I can see it! It's a little boy, or it looks like a little boy and he's… all in black. Like he's been to a funeral!"
"A funeral home in the middle of the desert?" Eric snickered sardonically. "Appropriate since we'll be a vulture's supper in a few days…"
"Wh-what? Really?!"
Eric sighed heavily. "No, Butters, I'm… I'm kidding. That's what people do in situations like this, make jokes to lighten the mood."
"Well, it wasn't funny,"
"Clearly,"
"And I'm telling you there's a little boy coming towards us and he's getting closer!"
"Right…" Eric played along, rolling his eyes.
He was so busy smugly studying his nails, he didn't hear Butters march over to him until his arm was grabbed and he was being dragged to where Butters had been standing.
Butters pointed into the distance and Eric squinted. Sure enough, there was a small figure making its way towards them, seemingly dressed all in black.
"Son of a bitch," Eric whispered with a smirk.
"Do you think he'll help?" Butters asked.
"Wouldn't hurt to ask…" Eric shrugged, pessimism in his voice.
"He could take us back to his house?" Butters guessed, a sunny parallel. "And we could have something to drink, some food? And we'll find a way to get to Sonoran, won't we? I mean, there's got to be some other way. Maybe they have a car?"
"Why would they lend it to us?"
"I don't know, to be helpful?"
Before Eric could point out that people very rarely do generous things out of the goodness of their heart, they saw that the figure was coming closer.
Out of curiosity or hope, the two remained silent as the boy simmered and broke free of the heat wave, his sprint winding down to a leisurely jog.
He was indeed dressed all in black, the stinging breeze catching on the coattails of his jacket. How wasn't he sweating? Lagging? Eric felt like he was frying in this heat, Butters the same. Perspiration moistening his upper lip, freckling his brow.
Black shoes, caked in sand and in need of polish smacked against the desert floor. The mysterious figure came to a stop in front of them.
Butters was right, he was indeed a little boy. Panting, dressed stuffily sharp for the climate, and his charcoal, painted lips were stretched into an almost maniacal smile.
"Hello there, gentleman!" The little boy grinned, he glanced at the car. "Looks like you're in need of some assistance?"
"Yeah, uh, who are you?" Eric asked, eyebrow arched.
"The name's Firkle," the boy replied, hands tucked behind his back rather than extended to shake. "I don't need to know yours. Maybe Hen would… I don't know what goes inside that tent, myself..."
"How old are you?" Butters asked, peering at him.
"Not important, sir," Firkle replied quickly, his grin flickered. "Not as important as fixing your vehicle anyway."
"You can?" Butters' eyes, his smile, widened.
"No, but Pete and Michael could," Firkle answered.
"And where are they?" Eric cut in, crossing his arms although it was uncomfortable to do so.
"Back at the house," Firkle said, gesturing to the house by cocking his head. A messy, ebony fringe fell into his eyes.
"How much would this cost us?" Eric inquired, eyes flitting between the strange house and the even stranger boy.
"Ten dollars and a tarot reading," Firkle replied.
"A tarot reading?" Eric questioned.
"Fortune telling,"
"I know that!" Eric huffed.
"Great! So would you like some assistance?"
"Yes please!" Butters nodded enthusiastically.
"No," Eric jumped in, glaring at Butters before returning his sceptical gaze to Firkle. "How are we supposed to know that you can fix our car, kid?"
"I don't fix it," Firkle replied. "Pete and Michael-"
"Yeah, yeah," Eric interrupted. "How are we supposed to know that they can fix it?"
Firkle shrugged, black lower lip pooched. "I guess you don't. You'll have to give us ten dollars and see Madame Henrietta to find out?"
"Madame Henrietta? She's the lady with the tarot cards?"
"Yes, sir."
"What do you think, Eric?" Butters asked softly.
Eric pursed his lips, the salt tang teasing the tip of his tongue. God, he was thirsty, hungry too, and if some weird mechanics living in the middle of nowhere could fix his car by way of a tarot reading, and allow him to get to the nearest motel fast, then he guessed it was better than nothing.
Eric sighed. "We don't really have much of a choice. There won't be another mechanic around for miles and if these guys can fix it then… What else can we do?"
"Great!" Firkle chirped. "Follow me!"
Butters glanced at Eric for final confirmation, Eric's shoulders slouched heavily and they trailed after the boy dressed all in black.
"Why do you live so far out in the desert?" Butters asked as they all walked to the house.
"I don't know," Firkle replied. "Why are you driving through the desert?"
"To see-" Butters was cut off by an elbow to his ribs.
"We don't have to tell you," Eric said curtly.
"Fair enough," Firkle smirked.
The house was once painted white, but now it was greying and tinged with mould. The porch dipped from poor maintenance, and when Eric and Butters trotted up the steps, it was like treading on dried twigs.
A screen door flapped open, and despite the bright, cloudless day, the interior of the house was dark. Resembling a crudely dissected creature's rotten insides.
The floorboards creaked wearily as they entered, tiny spheres of light smattered through the hastily-boarded up windows. The heat wasn't scorching, it was overbearing, and if there wasn't a mountain of furled cigarettes in various ashtrays, then Eric would have assumed the house was smoking.
Two men were splayed in the middle of the living room. A tall gentleman, with a crooked nose, sweat-soaked black curls and a creased shirt, his long limbs were stretched out and he reclined against a table. His lids drooped to an internal beat, tapping his cigarette and cascading ash listlessly into the tray beside him. The other was wearing purple shoes that appeared iridescent when paired with the house's dull, muted palette. He was the first to take notice of his guests, and scowled around the cigarette in his mouth.
"Hello, gentleman," Eric had elected himself to talk since Butters had stiffened nervously beside him. "We're in need of-"
"No, don't talk to them," Firkle said sharply, tugging at Eric's arm. "You have to talk to Madame Henrietta first."
"What?!"
"Come with me!"
Eric and Butters were led through a small kitchen, as sparsely furnished as the living room but absorbing natural light.
A few inches of desert segued the tent, burgundy sheets were draped and formed rather elegantly into the shape of a triangle.
The stench of tobacco was strong in the house, even more so in the tent. But it was perfumed with liquor, mysterious spices and muted incense, endearing and sickly as rich chocolate.
A spare kitchen stool was placed at a round, velvet-clothed table. A shelf rose at the back of the tent, lined with soggy, clumsily made voodoo dolls, leather bound books and animal skulls moulded into candle holders. Modest flames tingled the wick; ebony and crimson candles stood firm but then melted into Hell's rock.
Then there was Madame Henrietta.
She was facing west when Eric and Butters entered the tent, a regal profile with her devoted psychic armour behind her. She smoked, like the rest of her strange, surrogate family, but her cigarette posed atop an ostentatiously long cigarette holder. Her lilac-petal lips bloomed, smoke rolled out of her mouth, half-woman, half-dragon. Arachnid lashes only made her slow, oblivious blinks more majestic and with her eyes preoccupied in a world that was not this one, the rings that adorned every thick finger winked for her. Amethyst, onyx, garnet and emerald, with a thin, silver band around her thumb. Each ring had a twin, aligned perfectly on her other hand.
Nobody spoke, but there was no silence. Her presence was loud and commanding without sound. At this point, Eric would have spoken up but he was confused and captivated by this woman. And judging by Butters gaping mouth, so was he.
Turning her head slowly, Madame Henrietta gazed at her visitors with impossibly violet eyes. It took some effort to twist in her chair, not that it was noticeable. An ironic crucifix plopped on the table, sandwiched between bulging breasts that heaved against the netting of her dress. A caustic smile split her lips, loose and fish-like and revealing rotting teeth.
"More weary travellers down on their luck, huh, Firkle?" She asked. Her voice crinkled against a phlegm-coated throat, every breath was a gravelly wheeze.
"Yes, ma'am," Firkle nodded.
She took another drag of her cigarette, letting the smoke twist and embrace her, stroking her matted hair and ghosting her pale face. Her pallor was snowy from shunning the desert rays, but tinged with yellow from the excess of cigarettes. Love the thing that kills you and love will be returned.
"You have ten dollars, don't you?" Henrietta asked her visitors.
Eric rolled his eyes, he was starting to forget what he was even doing here.
"God damn it, yes," he grumbled, reaching into his pocket and retrieving ten dollars from his wallet. "Here!"
Eric threw the money on the table, and Henrietta's hand slithered and snatched it.
"You have somewhere to be?" She asked Eric, slipping the money somewhere secret.
"You are good," Eric quipped mordantly.
Henrietta didn't reply, instead eyeing Eric and tapping her bejewelled fingers on the table.
"Firkle, take the blond to Pete and Michael so they can fix the car," she ordered, then turned to Eric once again. "Tall guy, stay with me."
"Wuh-why just Eric?"
"I prefer the least amount of people in my tent as possible,"
"I, I'd rather take Butters' place, ma'am," Eric jumped in. "I don't buy into all this psychic nonsense."
"Then let me change your mind," she cajoled. "Sit."
Butters looked to Eric for help, but all Eric could offer was weak reassurance. With a small, confident nod from Eric, Butters was led away and Eric pulled up a chair… Well, a stool.
"What's your name?" Henrietta asked.
"Eric Cartman,"
"And where are you travelling from?"
"Colorado,"
"Aah, I used to live there," Henrietta nodded slowly, fiddling with her rings. "Never liked it much, except for the winter. Cold air and dead leaves."
Eric glanced around the tent. "You don't have much of a winter here, though?"
"No, but I love the desert," Henrietta replied. "It's quiet and unforgiving."
I'd like to see you at a party.
"You've never had your cards read before?" Henrietta asked, giving up on fiddling with her rings and instead stroking the deck beside her.
"No, ma'am," Eric replied, a little distracted.
"Alright," Henrietta said, handing him the cards. "Shuffle these for me."
Eric's eyebrows furrowed. "Isn't that your job?"
"Shuffle these for me," Henrietta repeated. "When you do, think of a question you want the cards to answer."
Eric nodded and moved to take the cards, but Henrietta swiped them away. "But nothing too specific."
Eric rolled his eyes and nodded again, taking the cards from the tarot reader.
"Think of the 'how' rather than the 'will'," Henrietta instructed as Eric shuffled them.
Eric closed his eyes lightly as if making a birthday wish: How can I make the circus a success?
Eric shuffled the cards, Henrietta cut the deck and spread them on the table. Six cards made a crucifix, the remaining four were lined up next to it.
"Alright," Henrietta said. Two cards were at the center of the crucifix. One on top of the other, she turned over the card below. "Hmm…"
"What?"
"The first card is the crux of the reading," Henrietta explained. "The two cards in the center are what the rest revolve around. Ironically, yours is The World."
Wanting the world? Nothing new there.
Eric glanced at the card, a nude woman was at its center, purple ribbon twirling around her. Framed by greenery and bordered with a heavenly sky, other figures were present in the corners. A man, what was either a ram or an ox, a lion and an eagle.
"I don't need the cards to tell me that I want for a lot," Eric remarked.
"They're not telling you that you want the world, they're telling you that you want success," Henrietta explained. "The World represents accomplishment, not desire. It represents a series of events that will close a chapter in your life. The World is all about fulfilment, completion."
Eric thought of his grandfather's funeral and the realisation of his life-long dream. He was entering a new phase, maybe all he had gained from his con artist days were distractions? Idly filling a void until he started his own circus someday?... Who cared, anyway! They're cards! Pieces of paper!
"The second card is the immediate challenge to what you want," Henrietta explained, turning the card over that was previously resting on the first one. She studied it, before sliding it closer to Eric. "It's Judgment, and it's reversed."
The second card was upside down. Ghost figures fell, crying and reaching out for a purple-winged, flaxen angel.
"Meaning what?" Eric asked.
"Usually stagnation or delays," Henrietta replied. "Also, loss, though not necessarily permanent."
Eric nodded distantly, wondering what kind of delays he could possibly be facing before he could remind himself this was hokum.
"The third card represents your distant past," Henrietta said, turning over the card to her left, she grinned.
"And it's The Fool," she added. The sun beamed in the corner of the card, washing out the sky with its canary reflection. Crashing waves or perhaps a jagged sky peaked briefly at the bottom. But Eric's attention was drawn to the larger-than-life man, the so-called 'fool', basking triumphantly. A flower in one hand and some kind of regal sceptre in the other, he wore golden tights and shoes, red cape flowing behind him and clothes adorned with gilded flowers.
"He usually signifies beginnings, mental, physical, spiritual…" Henrietta said. "But he also represents naivety and spontaneity... Happiness and optimism….You had a happy childhood?"
Eric thought back, and glanced down at the card for guidance. He was raised well but turned out bad, a rottenness to him that was unforeseen by loving, well-meaning grandparents. Inherent, intrinsic. His young adulthood was difficult, dangerous, exhilarating, and eye-opening. It seemed that he'd once had a great childhood but spat it out for something grander, seemingly exotic until you get close enough to really see the action you thought you craved.
Eric realised he was in too deep, once he'd missed the chance to get out. His only chance then, was to conquer the world he had leapt into blindly and come out the other side richer, and yet emotionally cheaper because of it.
"Y-yes," Eric hesitated. "As happy a childhood as you could want."
Henrietta smirked, Eric gulped awkwardly.
She turned the fourth card over and her eyes brimmed, scandalised. "Not a lot of interesting people have come in this tent."
"What do you mean?"
"The fourth card represents your recent past…" Henrietta said as she slid the card into Eric's view.
It depicted a hideous, demonic creature, perched on a pitch black box lined with silver. Shackled to the box were a man and a woman, half-devil themselves with horns jutting out of their curls. The creature was holding a blazing torch, the flame teetering dangerously close to the chained man.
"The Devil," Henrietta whispered. "Money, lust, material things. Coveting them, desiring them, but also wanting more. Often, an inner battle between security and wish fulfilment…Your possessions, your decisions, your lifestyle has prevented you from grasping what you truly desire."
Eric's eyebrows furrowed, offended by the tarot reader's suggestion. His actions in the past were merely out of survival, since when should he feel guilty about that? His stealing, his swindling had held him over and kept him alive until he was in a comfortable place to fulfil his dream. And that's what he was doing, wasn't it? Had Madame Henrietta heard of making amends?
"Aah, now the fifth card shows what you perceive to be the best outcome," Henrietta continued the reading, turning over the card.
"I told you, I know what I want," Eric said brusquely. "I don't need tarot cards to tell me."
Henrietta ignored him, studying the card as if she hadn't seen it countless times before.
She slid it over to Eric and he peered closely. It was the sun, that much was obvious, but the personified star and its rippling rays was what Eric's eyes were drawn to. A row of sunflowers was below it, and an almost child-like figure perched on a white horse, waving a lofty red flag.
"The Sun," Henrietta said. "Content with what you've achieved and happy with the material things it's given you. But The Sun also means reward and acclaim. You want other people to bask in your glory."
Did applause count as acclaim? Wonder? Amazement? Fame over infamy?
"Not exactly-"
"Now, the sixth card is the immediate future," Henrietta continued, once again turning it over and studying it first.
But Eric saw the card was upside down, and took a closer look.
Another heavenly sky, at the center was a compass that appeared to be calibrated incorrectly.
"That's The Wheel of Fortune, isn't it?" Eric asked, the letters topsy-turvy.
"I thought you'd never had your cards read before," Henrietta joked, or at least it resembled a joke.
"The imagery is pretty obvious," Eric replied. "But why is it upside down?"
"Do you really need to ask?" Henrietta questioned. "If the imagery is obvious?"
Eric shot her an impatient look and she sighed, well, wheezed.
"Bad luck, unexpected bad luck, specifically," Henrietta answered. "Interruptions, difficulties, resistance to change. But not permanent."
Eric nodded too himself, his mind racing with confusion and worry. When did he start believing this crap? These cards, their significance, it was just coincidence, right?
Henrietta waited for Eric to snap out of his thoughts, before she moved onto reading the cards lined up next to the (now dismantled) crucifix. She started at the base.
"The seventh card represents the affecting factors," Henrietta explained. "What will stand in your way and prevent you from achieving what you want."
Eric glanced at her like he understood, before she turned the card over.
The imagery was confusing and sobering. It was upside down to begin with, and Eric craned his neck to decipher the image. It was a tall slender man, shrouded in greys and silvers, ancient and solemn. His head was hung and he walked on clouds, or snowy mountains peaks. He held a long, simple staff in one hand, a glowing lamp in the other.
"What is that?" Eric whispered.
"The Hermit, reversed," Henrietta answered. She leaned forward in her chair, perfume overpowering, and her breath rank with tobacco. "You're a very stubborn man, aren't you, Mr Cartman?"
"Yes?"
"A loner?" She was so close that Eric could hear her moist upper lip curling against her black teeth in self-satisfaction. "Don't like people helping you? You trust hardly anyone?"
"What's there to trust?" Eric responded, leaning back haughtily. "I know what people are capable of, why give them the chance to fuck me over?"
"You think everybody is out to 'fuck you over'?" Henrietta inquired, eyebrow arched.
"Sure," Eric admitted. "I'd do the same."
"That attitude will not help you in whatever you're planning," Henrietta scolded. "Bear that in mind."
"Because the cards tell me to?" Eric goaded.
"Because I've advised you to."
"Let's get on with this," Eric slouched in his chair insolently, unable to look at Henrietta.
"The eighth card… is external influences. If anybody does happen to 'fuck you over', this card will tell you."
Eric glanced back at his cards, watching Henrietta turn the eighth one over.
She hummed and nodded at what was in front of her.
"What?" Eric asked, curious now.
"The Papess," Henrietta said.
"Who?"
Before Henrietta could answer, Eric studied the card in front of him. A noble woman, resembling caricatures of the Virgin Mary he had seen plenty of times. A golden crescent moon smiled up at her, and she stood between two pillars. One black, and one white.
"The high priestess, and she's upright too," Henrietta said. "She represents intuition and secret knowledge, the feminine side of the male personality. This dream of yours will be influenced by the women in your life, Mr Cartman. But this card also represents mystery, something is yet to be revealed but it requires patience."
Women?
Eric had encountered women in his life, albeit fleetingly. Casual instances like this, or a little more intimately when it was required for a con. Men too, there was always more of a… Connection between Eric and those of the same sex.
"The next card represents your hopes and fears," Henrietta said as she turned the card over.
There was so much happening in one little card, Eric cocked his head to get a better view. A king, or a prince, or a figure of nobility, and the backdrop of a kingdom at the break of day. At his feet were twin sphinxes, interchangeable monochrome.
"What is it?" Eric asked.
"The Chariot," Henrietta replied. "You hope to be triumphant, Mr Cartman. Achieving your dream will mean overcoming the obstacles in your life. You'll do this with self-control, working hard and perseverance. But you must also recognise your boundaries to live a happy life."
There was one card left, and curiosity itched at Eric like a mosquito bite.
"What does the last card mean?"
"That is the outcome," Henrietta smirked, teasing the corner of the face-down card. "The answer to your question. It can say as much or as little as you believe."
"Well?" Eric prompted, trying to keep his patience in check. "Let's see it!"
Henrietta turned it over and revealed a card more colourful and intriguing than the previous one.
An oval sun with a thousand blinding rays provided the background for an angel on high. Its wings were a mixture of deep reds and purples, the kind of colours you'd find, soft, floating and lining a heart-shaped chocolate box. The gilded angel, however, was draped in lavender and half-submerged in rolling clouds.
Below were an Adam and Eve, untainted by knowledge and temptation. But it was there. The lush tree behind Eve with the snake coiled around its trunk, while a fall scene stood behind Adam.
Their hands were reaching out longingly and they adored each other with their eyes. The angel seemed pleased with their separation.
"The lovers," Henrietta explained.
Eric's curiosity curdled into cynicism.
The lovers? Yep. I knew this was horseshit.
He wanted success not a relationship! How could he love someone when he found it so difficult to trust? When he was greedy and ambitious and charming only when there was something to gain? People were inconveniences and tools to Eric, not in an insulting way, but in the most practical sense.
Was that love? Was that a solid foundation for romance to blossom? Would Eric be able to sustain it? Or would he grow bored and frustrated and abandon his lover like he had abandoned the two other people in his life who truly cared about him? And they were his family! That was a bond meant to never break…
"I'm not the romantic type," Eric said.
"The Lovers do not solely represent love," Henrietta said shortly. Eric guessed she'd never had a visitor try her patience so. "They represent union and harmony, but also difficult decisions to make and the testing of commitment. You don't have to be in love for The Lovers to tell you something. Union and harmony can be found in yourself, give you a fresh perspective when you're struggling with your decision."
My what?
"My decision?" Eric asked. "What decision?"
"You should see if your car is fixed," Henrietta replied, clearing the table of Eric's supposed fortune. "Pete and Michael are good, they should be finished by now. Firkle!"
Firkle scurried in, awaiting Madame Henrietta's orders.
"Take Mr Cartman to his car," she instructed.
Before Eric could press on, demand she elaborate, just try to get himself out of his head, Firkle tugged at his arm and led him out of the tent.
He felt tethered to the pale little boy leading him through the kitchen, disorientated and dazed like he had a bad case of sun-stroke.
"Good luck with your circus!" Henrietta called out.
In the smothering heat, a tingle sprinted down Eric's spine. Did he mention the circus to her?
A/N: Originally, this chapter and the chapter to come were going to be one long instalment but I realised it might have been too long and jarring. Too many changes of scenery, you know? So this is kind of a set-up for chapter four, foreshadowing for the fic in general and a chance for me to write the Goth Kids since I've never written them before and I loved every second of doing so. Espeically Henrietta. She's awesome. Thank you for reading and stay tuned for chapter four!