Grave Robber: The Gypsy Chronicles

CHAPTER 1

5:05. I hate to be late. It seems no matter how hard I try, I’m always late for something. It’s a character flaw, I know, but what can I say? Things come up.

Tonight, what’s come up is finding my keys. The key search has become an Olympic event for me, because it seems every time I turn around I’m searching for them. In fact, this happens so often that you’d think by now I would have devised a fool-proof plan to find my keys even if they were wrapped in plastic under a concrete block, but no. After all these years, my keys continue to elude me. Sure, I have a special place right at the front door where I could put my keys as soon as I get home. I just never put them there.

Normally, I would just chuckle at my stupidity and call it a night, but tonight, I can’t. I’m meeting a new client. Given that those have been few and far between lately, I am determined not to make her wait too long. Our meeting place is the local coffee shop, The Velvet Bean. It’s about a 10 minute walk from my house. I should’ve taken the SUV since it’s been raining for the last half hour, but that would involve finding a whole new set of keys and I’m just not up for that.

As I make my way down the street, avoiding puddles when I can, I’m getting more and more angry with myself. I’m almost at the Bean, but I’m just not quick enough. I’m very late, now. I can only hope my client has a sense of humour. If it wasn’t raining so much I just might give myself a swift boot in the butt for my tardiness right here in the middle of town, but I went to so much trouble in getting this far, kicking was simply out of the question. Besides, why kick a girl when she’s down?

I picked up the pace.

Besides, the rain is doing most of the kicking for me anyhow. There’s nothing better than a late summer rain to cool things down and, wash away the humidity, but only if you’re inside cozying up with a good book and a glass of mint iced tea. Trust me; racewalking in a downpour is no picnic.

I will say it was a smart move to wear a skirt tonight of all nights. If I had worn pants they would be drenched by now. Tonight I chose my favourite brown peasant skirt that just barely skims the bottom of my knees. I love wearing it. It has an interesting white block pattern that screams cowboy meets Egyptian. For simplicity’s sake, I paired the skirt with a white ribbed tank top and donned a chunky brown leather rope belt. My outfit is both flattering and comfortable, just like I like it. And, as it turns out, it’s good for running in too; which is an added bonus. I look like the poster girl for a GAP commercial.

Bouncing on my hip is my biggest and most essential accessory, my brown leather book bag. I carry this instead of a purse. It holds all of my girly essentials like lipstick, a mirror, my wallet and my gypsy essentials, like candles, an assortment of aromatherapy oils and my tarot deck. I would never leave home without it.

I bolted through the door of the Velvet Bean just in time to hear Sonja say, Oh Trudi, she’s always late. Don’t worry.

Great.

Sonja Martin, a red-haired, blue-eyed smartass, is the owner and main clerk at The Velvet Bean, a truly hip and happenin’ coffee bar on the northwest side of Pittsburgh. The coffee is the best in town, or at least this side of the Mononga-hela. It’s rich, smooth and luscious, hence, the title, The Velvet Bean.

Sonja buys only the best beans. She imports them from Columbia, Costa Rica and my personal favourite, Chile. To me, a good cup of Chilean dark roast is darn near orgasmic.

The coffee at the Bean is extra special, but even more than that, it’s the vibe of the Velvet Bean that brings in the people. It’s a big, open space with candles scattered everywhere giving the over-sized, poofy, brown leather couches a soft glow. Between the couches and chairs, ornate Mediterranean pillows lay stacked for extra comfort. Small coffee tables hold The City Paper, a book or magazine and the mugs of liquid goodness. The wall colours are muted in soft, celery green, mustard yellow, eggplant purple and coffee with cream beige. They add to the relaxed nature of the room and pictures of landscapes and musicians fill in all the remaining areas.

Four huge windows make up the wall that faces the street and they are adorned with gigantic, deep green velvet drapes that are pulled back and secured with knotted gold sashes. A big fireplace takes up most of the wall that is on the right as you enter and the long coffee bar with its many high stools is directly opposite. Aromas of hazelnut coffee and freshly baked cinnamon rolls always fill the air.

Sonja prides herself on making her own concoctions, not only with her inventive coffee drinks, but also in the baked goods she acquires. She has the local bakery, The Crusty Muffin, on a retainer, but only if they make her orders the way she requests. It’s not unusual to find a pineapple walnut muffin or a chocolate apricot scone in the Velvet Bean. Tilly, the baker, sometimes grumbles about the extra work, but Sonja’s recipes are a hit and all the extra orders help to keep Tilly’s mouth shut.

In keeping with Sonja’s Irish heritage, she’s hung a gold four leaf clover over the door along with a sign that reads, Enter at your own risk. She contends that if you’re not careful, you could easily find yourself lost in this pleasing atmosphere and forget to leave. Trust me, it’s been known to happen once or twice.

Many Pittsburghers take the risk on a daily basis and soon the Bean will be packed with hipsters again tonight filling up on mocha, latte, cinnamon swirls or some other Sonja brew. A jazz quartet or aspiring songwriter with a guitar will entertain and a collective, relaxing sigh will fill the entire space. The Velvet Bean does that to people.

I shook out my umbrella before closing the door, then placed it in a rack inside.

Sorry, I’m late, I said as I made my way to the coffee bar. The rain was really something.

Sonja smirked as she walked out from behind the bar to the main room to redd up a table or two. I made sure I jabbed her in the ribs as we passed each other. A direct hit. She grabbed for her side and made a small squealy sound as she went by.

You must be Linda, I reached out my hand to a lovely sorority-type girl. You know the type. Her blonde hair fell just above her shoulders, controlled with just the right amount of hairspray and she sat with a dancer’s grace on the bar stool, tall with an invisible string pulling up through her torso aligning herself with the ceiling. One look at her and you knew—she would never be late for anything.

You could just tell.

Hi ... and you must be Trudi, she smiled, "I’m really happy to meet you.

I’ve never been to ... ah ... someone   um .to one of these things. You know, people talk about these kind of things all the time, but I never thought that I would go to something like   you know ... someone like you   you know, at a thing like this."

She paused and I waited for her to pull the foot out of her mouth.

Oh, I’m sorry, I’m just really excited, she added.

No kidding. She was definitely the excitable type. Her hands expressed every word, swinging up and down and side to side, almost hitting me with one of her trying to find the word gestures. You know.

It was the sweat forming on her upper lip that betrayed her excitement for what I would call nervousness. But, hey, one woman’s nervous is another woman’s excitement, I guess. Who was I to judge? Besides, this wasn’t the first time someone perspired in my presence.

Oh, I shook her hand and then promptly wiped the excess sweat on my beautiful skirt, well, I’m glad you’re excited. I really was. Come on. Let’s go back into my office and see what we see.

Her reply was a giggle which it sounded a bit like a short laugh with a tinge of unease thrown in. After she cleared her throat and took an audible breath, she followed me to the back of The Velvet Bean.

Behind another one of those gigantic, deep green velvet curtains at the end of the coffee bar is my office. It’s situated off to the right side, just past the fireplace, like a happy appendage to the main room. Sonja rents out the space to me at a very reasonable cost. It’s because of her generosity that I overlook her occasional snide remark. Sometimes, when the mood hits me, I come up with a witty comeback to her sarcastic little quips. I’ve been known to zing her from time to time. I can be quite the rapscallion when I want to be. But mostly, I just jab her with an opportune elbow. It works every time and brings me great joy when I connect my elbow to her hip.

I ushered Linda into my office and offered her a seat. My office is one quarter the size of The Velvet Bean. It’s decorated the same as the Bean, with an emphasis on comfort. The wood is dark and heavy. The pictures that hang on the walls are of faraway lands showing green, lush fields, the kind of landscapes you would expect to find in Ireland. You know, the Ireland from the movie Highlander. Or was that Scotland? Anyway, somewhere really green, covered in the drapery of a fog that’s just settled in. A place where you might find a leprechaun hiding behind a tree.

There isn’t much furniture in my office. Besides the large wooden table, there are three brown leather chairs. Two that sit on the client side of the table and one that is for me. It’s behind my chair on a large wooden hutch with drawers under-

neath that I keep my supplies. On the shelves reside books of faraway places, reference material and the occasional book of poems.

Candles dot the space just like in the Bean and are used instead of overhead lights. They’re more pleasing to the senses and less harsh on my eyes. I’ve placed tokens, in specific spaces scattered throughout the office to ward off any negative energies creeping in on the back of a Velvet Bean patron and I do mean, literally, on the back of a patron. That’s a common way for spirits to arrive in or depart from an area. They simply hitchhike on the back of a being and take a trip.

The tokens around my office, put up an invisible wall to their journey. I may not be able to keep the wayward souls from coming into the Bean, but I sure as hell can block their passage into my office. And just to make sure, mirrors of all sizes dot the walls and bookshelf to keep any delinquent spirit confused.

Directly opposite the draped door on the wall hangs a special gift from my Grandmother. It’s a multi-coloured amulet to protect against the evil eye and it’s breathtaking. She made it by crocheting mirrors into place and then braiding tassles, buttons, seed beads and brass balls around them. The intricacy is astonishing and I challenge any creepy crawly to try anything against it.

Every day, I light incense to cleanse the office air, that way the coffee smell is kept in the Bean and my clients have a clear head. My desk is devoid of any non-useful item. It’s where the readings take place and so, I keep all of my containers and picture frames and papers either in the drawers of the desk or on a shelf behind me within the antique wooden library unit. The only things that grace my desk are my candles, incense and tarot cards. All in all, it’s a great office. It’s my sanctuary and I love it.

This is beautiful. Just how I imagined a gypsy’s office to look like,

Linda said as her eyes roamed my office space. It’s you ... you don’t look like what I would expect a gypsy to look like. She eyed me up and down and asked, are you really a gypsy?

Hrrumpf.

Yeah, through and through, I said with a bit of an edge to my voice.

What am I supposed to look like? I was never a big fan of the stereotype.

Wait, lemme guess. I should be old, with big bangly earrings, a thousand bracelets around my wrists and possibly my ankles and an oversized scarf around my head ... oh, and for good measure, I probably should be pick-pocketing you right now.

I regretted the sound of my words immediately after I said them, but tea and runes, a Gypsy gets tired of hearing all the old clichés all the time. It’s true, I do embrace a large part of my heritage, but I try really hard not to fall into the preconceived notion of what my people look like or how we’re supposed to behave. There’s nothing worse than prejudice, and I won’t stand for it.

But after all that self-righteousness, I looked over at Linda, and wanted to eat my words. Her face was pale and shocked. I guess she had never been talked to like that. She held her hand over her mouth. I shouldn’t have been so harsh to her. She didn’t look like she would hurt a fly if she could help it. Hesitantly, I held out my hand to offer her a seat. The meeting had started off so shaky, I could only pray that she wouldn’t turn on her heel, and abruptly leave.

Linda lowered her head and shifted her feet as if making a decision, fight or flight. After a slight pause, she said, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. I’ve just never met a real gypsy before. They say you’re the real deal ... that you can read my future. I really need to know.

I am and I can. Please, have a seat and let’s talk about you, I said.

She did have a point. I don’t look like what a typical gypsy would look like. I’m tall and thin. My mom says too thin. I wear contemporary clothes with an eye for the classics. I don’t wear much make-up and the only bangly jewelry I do wear is the occasional stack of bracelets on my wrist. But who could blame me for that? It was all the rage five minutes ago. The only thing that could remotely scream gypsy about me is my hair. It’s long, thick and jet black. I can’t help it. It’s genetic.

Linda made herself comfortable in my humungous brown leather chair and adjusted the wine-coloured pillows. Most of my clients get a little nervous when they first come to see me, so I made sure that their chair is extra large and cozy with big pillows. Once they sink into the chair, they immediately relax. Relaxation is key for a good reading. It allows the mind to open and communicate freely with the Tarot cards.

The Tarot is my medium of choice. Sure, I can read runes and tea leaves with the best of them, but Tarot is my favourite. It gives a more complete look at my client’s life. It’s like a puzzle that needs decoding and I know all the pieces and where they fit. I have a lot of issues with being a gypsy, but helping people with their direction in life is a fringe benefit I do enjoy.

One by one, I lit the candles in the room, all seven of them, until there was a faint glow bouncing off the walls. Next I went to the curtain at the office entrance and pulled the cord, letting the velvet drape fall to the wall with a dramatic swoosh. For the next hour, The Velvet Bean would be far away.

Privacy is crucial to a good session. People open up so much more when it’s just them and me. And just like a doctor, or more like a psychologist, our time together is personal and confidential. I could see Linda settle into the chair and felt my own shoulders start to relax.

I carry my Tarot cards with me wherever I go. I just feel safer having them with me, like a security blanket. Have Tarot, will travel. My cards have their own leather carrying pouch. They fit neatly inside and are wrapped in a silk scarf.

It’s the way my Grandmother carried hers and I have her to thank for teaching me the Tarot. We spent many evenings together when my mother left to join the Elder Clan after my father disappeared. It was a difficult time, but Grandma eased the pain. She was my teacher and my best friend. Boy, do I miss her.

I pulled the cards out of their pouch and laid them in the middle of the desk, still wrapped in the silk scarf. I then held my hands over the deck, closed my eyes and said a silent prayer. The prayer isn’t fancy. There aren’t specific words I say. In fact, at each reading I say different words; whatever hits me at the time.

The reason I do this is twofold. I use that time of silent prayer to focus my energy into the cards and ask the Universe for guidance. It’s a good way to begin; a clean slate. Plus, the moments I take to go through this ritual, cause the client and myself to slow down and open up for the reading. To jump right into our session before I’m ready might result in a less than accurate reading, because I might miss something that otherwise, with proper preparation, I would see.

When I’m ready, I open my eyes and take a deep breath. Usually my client is entranced by this point, wondering what I’ll do next. It’s at this point that I try to give them their money’s worth. I slowly unwrap the cards from the silk, unfolding each of the corners and laying them down in a diamond surrounding the deck. I then lift the deck up with my left hand and swoosh the silk away with my right, giving it a good flap in the air. Then I place the scarf around my neck and tie it loosely. The flapping is purely for dramatics. I admit it.

One more ritual to go. Behind me, sitting like time itself on the shelf of the library unit, is my clock. I use an old timepiece, called an hourglass. You know, like sands through the hourglass, so are the . Well, you get the idea. The gypsy way of life has been around for hundreds of years, so has the hourglass, seven hundred to be exact. I think it adds a historical reminder to what I do, so I found one at a local flea market and use it for every session. It keeps accurate time and never needs batteries. What could be easier?

With a turn of the hourglass, we’re ready to go. There would be no turning back now. In one hour, Linda will be skipping out of here, happy as a lark or she’ll regret the day she ever walked into The Velvet Bean.

CHAPTER 2

Ok, Linda, are you ready? I asked. She nodded yes and we began.

Alright, take a deep breath and close your eyes, I said. Focus on the deck of cards in your mind and relax.

I cheated and stole a look at Linda to make sure her eyes were shut. Just as I suspected, Linda was very good at following directions. I don’t know if she was still nervous or if she was just an A student, because her eyes were squinting so tight, she was giving me a headache.

I took another long, deep breath and let it out slowly, to the count of three. I could hear Linda following my lead. Good. I repeated the action. The room became still; our breaths filling the air with gentle gusts.

Slowly, I placed my hands on the cards. The energy from them made my fingers tingle. The sensation was exhilarating and I could feel the vibrations move through my body. Linda gasped. She must have felt something in the room, an electricity in the air. I was no stranger to the gasp, I’d heard it before with other clients. We were ready to move on.

Linda. I’d like you to move your hands over the deck of cards. When the moment feels right, pick up as many cards as you want and place them to the left side of the deck.

How will I know? she asked.

It’s hard to explain, I replied. Trust me, you just will.

She hesitated, but after a few moments, it felt right and she picked up the cards and placed them where I had said. I continued my instructions and she followed them to the letter. After my procedure was complete, I began to place the cards in their order.

There are many, possibly thousands of configurations or spreads one can use to read the Tarot. There isn’t a right or wrong way to do it. It really comes down to what feels the best to the reader or which placement of the cards offers the reader the most accurate reading.

The spread I use most often and have seen others use most of the time, is the Thoth Spread. It’s very basic and gives an overall reading of the client. There are other spreads that are more specific, such as the Celtic Cross and the Clarification Spread, but that’s only if there is a need. For what Linda requires today, the Thoth should be fine.

The cards are set up into different houses. The position of the cards when they are turned over correspond to a particular house like, health or work or so on. Depending on which card is in the house, I can interpret how things are going, in a general sense, for the next six months or so.

We moved quickly through the work house and the health house. Everything looked fine there. Nothing special to be worried about, although someone, perhaps her father, should try to push the plate of food away a little more often.

He could have diabetes in his future.

All things considered, so far, so good.

Wait a minute. The love house. There was something awry in the love house. Tea and runes, it’s always the love house. I don’t think I’ve ever done a reading when someone walked away without trouble in their love house. Sometimes it’s bad and I have to tell the client that perhaps that special someone, really isn’t. Sometimes it’s not so bad and I have to tell the client to not worry, that once he or she’s gone, the door will open to someone else.

Sometimes, it’s just bad and nothing I say will make things better.

Linda’s love house had a dark mist over it. Really. I could see it. A fog was forming over the card making it difficult to read. I blinked my eyes and strained my neck to see through the grey shadow.

I looked up at Linda. Darn. She had that anticipatory look in her eyes that everyone gets when they want to know about their love life. It was borderline needy and it was one that I have seen all too often. Big, sad, puppy dog eyes.

Double darn.

Is there something wrong? A pained wince came over her face. She scrunched up her eyes forming slits and barred more clenched teeth than I wanted to see.

Ah, no, I said. Great. I’m really bad at lying. "Ok, well. It’s strange,