Viktoria Kovacs’s stomach lurched when she flipped over the Death card.

Hunched over the Celtic cross configuration of Tarot cards spread on the coffee table before her, she mentally slapped herself. Served her right for reading herself after a long and tiring Saturday doing readings for others.

Her job at The Green Witch, the new age store where she worked from Tuesday to Saturday, entailed doing psychic readings and manning the cash register when need dictated. Despite fatigue after the busy day, a sense of impending doom had compelled her to do a reading for herself.

Viktoria had barely kicked off her shoes before she’d sat down to it and now regretted the decision. The Tarot, of all things. What had possessed her to use the Tarot when she had oracle cards available?

Too late now. All she could do was take the bad news. She examined the spread, hoping to coax something uplifting from it. Hadn’t she suspected it would be bad news? All day dread had hovered over her.

It had taken all her self-restraint to wait until she’d arrived home to break out the cards. Sure, she could have asked one of the other readers to do it for her, but then they’d know how frightened she’d become. They’d either not believe her, which would frustrate her, or they’d take her seriously, which would kick her terror up another notch.

Certain something horrific was coming, Viktoria came home to figure it out on her own. Now she sat staring at the Death spread.

The Death card didn’t signify death, regardless of the implication inherent in its name. It meant change or renewal. Based on its position in the cross, though, the change it heralded had negative connotations. In the near future, a man would enter her life, and he would cause her harm. Family would influence the situation.

Viktoria gazed down and to the right, the stance she assumed when she received clairvoyant information. She preferred to call the images received “impressions.” They never appeared crisp and clear in her mind. She could describe what she saw in detail—could even draw it—but the image always hovered just outside of distinction.

This time, her face floated before her, but instead of mahogany waves, her hair was blonde and cut to shoulder length. Blood-red lips formed an “O” of amazement, and the deep brown eyes went wide.

The image vanished, replaced by another: A pen and paper.

Then that, too, disappeared.

A teak coffin, new and shiny. Gone.

Flashes of images flickered by so quickly she couldn’t identify them.

Viktoria leaned back, breathless. Too fast. She couldn’t understand what she’d seen.

Walter, her orange and white tabby cat, thumped into her lap, and she jumped.

After her heart stopped hammering, she stroked him, letting him settle his warm body on her thighs.

Should have used the oracle cards.

Again, she pushed the thought away. Regrets were useless and, in this instance, unnecessary. The oracle cards would help her get clarity as well as provide positive guidance. She scooped up the Tarot cards without completing the reading and set them aside.

As she tipped the cat from her lap and rose to get the other deck from her home office, her apartment buzzer sounded. Not expecting company, she froze.

An image of a swarthy man, face hidden in shadow, flashed into her mind’s eye.

She considered ignoring the intercom, but when the buzzer went off again, she walked over to the door and pressed the speaker button.

“Yes?”

“Viktoria Kovacs?” The voice was soft, feminine, and tremulous.

“Yes?” Viktoria sucked in a breath. Her hands shook, and a knot formed in her stomach. The uneasiness that had plagued her all afternoon returned full force.

“May I come up?”

“Who are you?”

Silence, except for the slight static of the intercom, stretched out.

“Hello? Are you still there?”

A loud exhalation of breath came through the speaker. “It’ll be easier to explain who I am if you let me come up.”

Viktoria imagined buzzing the woman up and then opening the door to a home invasion.

“I don’t think so.” Too bad she couldn’t see into the lobby and at least get a glimpse of the stranger. What if others were with her?

“Please. It’s just me.”

“Tell me who you are and what you want. You might be a jewel thief.” Viktoria recalled a sitcom where one of the characters had let a jewel thief into the apartment building. No way would she buzz in a stranger.

But the woman had used Viktoria’s first name, and that wasn’t listed on the directory.

A light chuckle floated up through the intercom. “I’m not a jewel thief.”

After a pause, the woman continued. “I’m sorry to tell you like this, Viki. I wanted to avoid it.”

The woman paused again, and, in that quiet moment, the voice echoed in Viktoria’s mind. Her heart thudded with recognition.

No. Impossible.

Breath held, Viktoria waited.

“I’m Eszter.” A choked sob carried up to Viktoria, and she staggered away from the intercom as if she’d been struck.

The buzzer zapped again and again like an angry swarm of bees.

Viktoria pressed the intercom. “Eszter’s gone.”

“Please. Let me up. I’ll prove it to you. Viki, please.”

Numbness spreading over her, Viktoria released the intercom and pressed the button to open the lobby doors. In the ensuing silence, she backed against the wall and slid down to the floor.