Sammy was super pissed because someone had stolen her goddamn tarot deck yet again.

She had no idea who or why, but four times in six months was slapstick insanity. It was a prank skit; it was Candid Camera. The problem was she couldn’t study in her dorm room, and usually not indoors at all. She needed variety or she’d go nuts. She liked being out.

So she did it in the park, or outside a cafe, and if the weather wasn’t right, maybe the library. But on occasion, she napped or practically passed out from math-induced exhaustion, and four times her tarot cards got five-finger discounted from her leaving them out. Was it somewhere with a camera in the right spot? Of course not.

She reported each prior incident, but it did jack all. Who cared about infinitely petty theft? She was advised to ‘keep valuable belongings stowed away.’ Well, usually she remembered, but nobody was perfect. She did tarot for breaks of calm from studying that were a lot more therapeutic and a lot less endless than surfing the internet.

Sammy wasn’t exactly a believer, but she had played the cards for fun practically her entire life. Mom had taught her, bought her multiple sets over the years as she started collecting them. She loved the feel and look of them as well as the intricate readings she could puzzle over.

The art of the Empress and the Queens she loved most of all. She’d tried sketching them herself, but at best they came out looking like anime aliens drawn by a ten-year-old. Not her talent. One of many not-talents.

As Sammy pushed through the doors and endured the jingling bell sounds of the magic shop on 5th and wherever, her anger was beginning to mix with fear and a profound sense of weirdness to it all. Was she being stalked? That was exactly the kind of thing a stalker would do, right?

Wait. I binged that serial killer series with Jen Saturday, that’s where- C’mon, Sammy! You’re not being stalked for fuck’s sake! There’s just a… tarot thief out there.

And so the Twilight Zone feeling came again.

She up-nodded to the old guy who was always at the register — he somehow returned the gesture without fully looking her way, head and eyebrows rising from his reading of Pagan Portals: Dancing-, but the rest was obscured by the angle of legs stretched and propped up on the counter.

He was a weird dude, but fell shy of creepy thanks to an aura of careless hippie cool, like he’d seen and smoked everything. And he wasn’t one to badger, which to Sammy was all that was needed to be giving five-star service.

Stubbornly, she marched to the tarot shelf she already knew the way to by heart and stubbornly she searched through the various sets, right below the incense samplers labeled ‘Smell Me!’.

Sammy was quite intent on owning a usable deck — her collection was back home, a thousand miles away. She wasn’t going to give up on doing tarot. No way. It would just have to become ‘dorm room only,’ annoying as it was. She’d hide it from stalkers, pranksters, tarot gremlins, whatever the fuck.

Maybe it was that guy, Jeff? He seemed like he might- no. No, I’m being ridiculous! Thieves are just opportunistic, and they wouldn’t be named Jeff. Maybe a Jake. Sly Jake, Thief of Cards. And that one girl had her textbook snatched… Okay, Sammy, let's focus already…

She looked through the cheaper sets, trying not to ogle the bigger, prettier versions — Steampunk Tarot? No-no-no, don’t look — maybe Pagan Cats? Black Cats? Cauldron Chic? Regal Cats? What was with all the cats? Classic Gold… Psychic Seer… hmm.

Ultimately she grabbed the ‘Angels’ set, a few bucks more than the cheapest but the art was nicer.

The old man set aside his book and stood as she approached with her purchase. Sammy steeled herself for the interaction.

“How are you?” he asked as always, in a way that was somehow too genuine, while looking her dead in the eyes with a piercing gaze of pale blue. And she’d always give a fake smile that probably looked even worse than it felt and say, ‘Fine! How are you?’

“Fi-” she began, but the words caught in her throat like she’d puked out all the lies she could over the year. Petty thefts thrown on a pile of sophomore frustrations, on classes like Statistics that she was too dumb for, on a lame part-time retail job dealing with Karens and an over-enthused manager, on persistent insomnia and fear of failure.

“Actually, I’m pretty shit, honestly,” she said instead, stewing inside. “Life is shit, and today was an extra shit sandwich on top. Which I have to just eat with a smile.”

The man nodded to this in the sort of saintly sympathy only someone with a tie-dye-colored pentagram emblazoned on his shirt could. “I hear that, little sister. But what can we do? We gotta live through the one we’re given, right?”

Sammy exhaled sharply through her nose at that. “Yeah.”

Why did I even say anything? It’s not like it was deep and poignant. I’m so dumb. Fuck.

Glancing down at the little cardboard tarot box, the old man mimed a clearly fake surprised expression. “Oh, would you look at that, this one’s on sale. Half off.” He punched some things rapidly into his register, then added, “Fifteen and forty-five.”

“Oh. Wow, uh… thanks.” She couldn’t help but smile despite her mood, as she fished into her backpack for her money purse. That was always kept secure.

As the old man waited, he said, “Gonna sound out there, but I read a lot about other worlds, you know? Realms, dimensions. Crazy to think about all kinds of other opportunities waiting somewhere. What do you think? If you had the chance, would you?”

“What?” She had only been half listening, and she was caught in his expectant gaze with a twenty in her hand, slightly confused.

“If you could, would you leave this world behind for another, more interesting one?”

She blinked. “Uh… sure. Yeah. Fuck this world, am I right?” It was not a serious statement, naturally.

“Exactly.” He chuckled and nodded along, appearing downright chipper as he took the bill and processed it. The deck had already been put in a little black paper bag with a garish, white pentagram on it.

Just before he dropped the change into her hand, he smiled wide and said, “May you be granted what you desire.”

It was a bit odd, though not exactly out of bounds for a magic shop type of person. Or a hippie. She gave an awkward smile and said, “Thanks, you too,” before pocketing the change and departing.

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Back at her dorm — which she had to herself with her roommate out — she cracked open the deck to look at the cards. Gorgeous angel art! She was quite satisfied with them, especially for the ‘given a break’ price point. She did a quick three-card reading of Past, Present, Future, as she always did with a new one. Tradition.

Five of Pentacles in Past. Death in Present. Fuck my life! The World in Future. Well, that was good — unlimited potential, joy, contentment. Enlightenment. Archangel Michael, looking slick. But the Present… archangel Azrael… spiritual transformation. Intense change. Moving on.

It’s a good thing, right? I don’t like the current. Change from this is good. Unless it ends up worse. Meh. It’s just for fun. Might as well focus on the positive that I’m apparently going to achieve enlightenment. Mom will be so proud.

To begin her great ambitions, she felt like sleeping. Before she crashed, she went to the bathroom to brush her teeth, her dad’s voice in her head as ever chiding ‘unless you want another root canal?’ in that ‘would you please god just listen to me’ kind of fatherly way.

She gazed at her reflection in the mirror rather blankly. Brown hair, brown eyes, too much of her dad’s bold nose, small, thin. ‘Not terrible’ was the thought she had about her appearance a million times. Makeup did wonders, though she rarely bothered.

She wasn’t very social and didn’t like going out. She had to spend twice as long as anyone else on her subjects. That and a few decent friends took up enough of her time. Her roommate was like the sister she never had, and she barely had the energy for that silly, bubbly girl.

She felt a weird urging in her pocket like it was calling for her attention. Toothbrush stuck in her mouth, she pulled out the change that was still in her shorts. Bills, receipt, a quarter, and…

It was not a nickel. She held up a reflective chrome disk — a tiny mirror — and the instant the light caught it and showed her too-clear reflection in it, it expanded and grew to envelop and swallow the world into a void. To swallow her.

Immediately, she rejected the whole thing as impossible, thought she was seeing things somehow or it was a weird optical illusion. Some sort of prank.

Mirrors can’t eat people!

She thought to simply flick the thing away, but her brain very slowly realized she could not. She could not move at all, and she was literally trapped in a black void, able to see and perceive nothing but for her full body reflection caught with surprise. She couldn’t see or feel or sense even her own body as hers.

She was on the outside looking in.

There was a final sort of ‘click’ as if a stopped clock re-started and began to tick, then her reflection went hazy and distorted — a pool disturbed by ripples.

Something like instantaneously imprinted boxed text flashed in her mind, if it was read by something soulless within instead of her own brain: