Reign of Tarot Complete

By Juli D. Revezzo

The Reign of Tarot is a Gothic fantasy concerning a family fleeing revolutionary France, rebuilding their life outside the troubled capital, and a supernatural debt they find they owe.

Book 1: House of Cards:

Can you gamble with Fate?

A young nobleman escapes the Reign of Terror in 18th century France to find himself dragged into an even worse fate–a hellish underworld wherein he is cajoled and put on trial by a demon tribunal for crimes he never committed. Can he thwart his fate, one worse than the guillotine?

Book 2: Lady of the Tarot (A Reign of Tarot novel):

WHAT THE CARDS FORETELL MAY BE REAL, AFTER ALL

1793: Having escaped the Reign of Terror, Emilie Maigny took refuge in England, trying to come to grips with the life and loss she left behind. When her brother, Sinjon, returns, a terrifying evil swoops down upon her. Nightmares plague her now, providing strange clues ... but to what?

Scottish-born Linton Morrison spent his entire life in luxury, whiling away the hours in intense study of the tarot and the cards' hidden meanings, but until he met the lovely Emilie Maigny, he would never have guessed how important his study might be--to his life and Emilie's survival when terrible evil strikes.

A Cypher is all Emilie needs, but what is it? Is Linton the key? He may charm her heart--and he may be her only salvation.

Book three:
What happens when Emilie consults the cards again?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Juli D. Revezzo
• Release date: May 21, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370952830

Juli D. Revezzo

Juli D. Revezzo loves fantasy and Celtic mythology and writing stories with all kinds of fantastical elements. She is the author of the historical romances, House of Dark Envy, Watchmaker's Heart, and Lady of the Tarot, the Antique Magic paranormal series, the Stewards War, and Celtic Stewards Chronicles series and more. She is also a member of the Independent Author Network and the Magic Appreciation Tour.To learn more about this and future releases, visit her at: https://julidrevezzo.comFollow her on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/julidrevezzoor Twitter: https://twitter.com/julidrevezzoblog: https://julidrevezzo.com/blog

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

September 6, 1793

The morning dew sent a refreshing scent up from the roses, and Emilie tucked the Girandon propaganda pamphlet under her arm, seeking the gazebo. A little time to read before she made afternoon calls.

You’re sure he’ll meet me?

Hearing her brother Porter’s voice, she turned her steps to the western wall surrounding the garden.

Yes sir, said someone else.

Then her brother spoke again, I’ve set all the safeguards I can. He knows what I mean. Remind him, timing is crucial. We need to depart as soon as possible.

The new statement tickled her curiosity and she paused behind a tree. Peeking around its trunk, she saw her brother leaning against the wall, talking to someone on the other side. She couldn’t see the other man’s face, but from here she noticed the ribbon that held Porter’s long hair back in danger of falling out. Sweat stains soaked the shirt. Stains that hadn’t been there when he’d exited the house earlier.

The weather today wasn’t so hot; at what had he exerted himself?

Yes, take this and tell him I’ll be there as I promised. Her brother hoisted a bundle up and over the wall. Thick, lumpy and tied up in a thin black satchel, almost as if he’d tied up a bundle to donate. She wondered what was in it. Clothes? Something solid and heavy too waited inside as it thumped to the ground on the other side of the wall. Porter turned.

Emilie ducked further behind the tree. He didn’t see her as he stalked back into Uncle Richard’s house.

Was her brother smuggling something? The neighborhood was already abuzz with rumor of the revolutionaries and executions. Some said the rich of the Assembly would be next. She supposed they were lucky that governing body hadn’t shut them out earlier, but now Emilie shuddered wondering if the rumors were true. If the executioners would come for her friends, her family. Need Porter draw more attention down on them? Provide more for people to gossip about?

Emilie scolded herself for being absurd. She strolled over to the wall and peeking over it, saw another cart blending into the traffic along the road. Maybe Porter’s strange conversation had something to do with the store Uncle Richard kept these last years since the Assembly took their privilege and income away. But why the secrecy?

Dismissing her brother’s odd behavior, she found a seat in the shade, settled her skirts around her, and turned her mind to the pamphlet.

As the day progressed, she made her late morning visits only to learn many of her friends had left Paris. Half the city’s population was out in the street. The usual throng at the baker’s found his doors locked. Indeed, many of their fellow Parisians seemed more intent on traveling out of the city. Emilie and her aunt Collette had no answer for why their friends would leave without warning, and the whisperings of gossip about the Jacobins and the sans-culottes provided none she trusted.

Uncle Richard’s jaw clenched when they asked his opinion. It’s all in upheaval, he said.

Throughout the day, Emilie noticed the chaos grew worse and even permeated her home, she thought as Porter paced. Up the stairs, down the stairs, to the front windows, back. He threw off his waistcoat, then picked it up again. Twice. She wondered at the odd scent that wafted from it. Something musty and dead, like a graveyard.

He always had such a confident disposition; today, she thought him twitchy.

Would you settle down, Porter? Uncle Richard said. Mon dieu, you are driving me mad!

The thought occurred to Emilie, given what she’d seen today, that maybe they had a reason for nervousness. Maybe we should leave, as our friends have.

What nonsense, Tante Collette said, brushed an errant blonde hair away from her chubby cheek, and went back to her embroidery.

Emilie pushed her nerves aside and focused on her brother instead. Sinjon, may I tempt you to a game of cards?

Sinjon smiled at her, a mischievous smile many of her friends found attractive. And let you take my allowance? Never.

You could stop letting me win, Emilie said.

Then what kind of brother would I be?

Emilie took a pack of cards from the cabinet and offered them. Luck may favor you, today.

Porter, Uncle Richard said, stop pacing and join them.

I— Porter glanced to the salon’s grandfather clock, then the windows. I would rather not.

No matter how many times Uncle Richard insisted thus, Porter kept on pacing. Then, Emilie noticed he went outside and didn’t return.

The clock struck the next hour and even Tante Collette wondered, Where did he disappear to?

I don’t know, Uncle Richard said. Worry clouded his dark eyes. Sinjon, do you know where he is?

Her brother shook his dark head. I have no idea.

Richard chewed his lip. Maybe you should go after him—and the ladies too.

As three carriages raced past her house, Emilie exchanged a worried glance with her aunt and hoped they wouldn’t need to leave.

****

Torchlight glowed against the tarp-grey dusk. A rock struck the ornate railing of her balcony. Outside, people ran through the streets, shouting and shoving. Since morning, the atmosphere around the neighborhood had grown ever-more tense. Now Emilie was afraid even to peek out her windows.

Charles, see the gate’s locked! Uncle Richard shouted for his servant, one of only two left to them now, and then I need to see you in—

Her uncle’s deep voice died away and Emilie opened her bedroom door, hoping to hear better.

Sinjon followed in their uncle’s wake, his stylish, navy blue jacket caught sideways as if he’d thrown it on in a rush. What can I do, Oncle?

Nothing. Uncle Richard stalked in a circle, to the staircase and back. Stay out of the way.

Sinjon tugged on his watch chain and met her gaze.

Poor Sinjon. Emilie wished him strength to get through the night.

Do whatever you wish, Uncle Richard said. He stepped forward, and back again. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve said that, fils. On second thought, take a rig and get to—your mother’s friends.

He bowed and pushed past their uncle. Pain flickered across his dark eyes. Sinjon paused briefly as he rushed by and gave her a tight smile. Don’t worry, ma soeur. Everything will be fine.

Did he speak the truth? The noise outside did nothing to make her believe.

Uncle Richard turned on his heel and shouted for his valet. Emilie frowned as she watched them go and returned to her own rooms, taking in her vanity, her bed with a doll propped against a frilly pillow. Her mirror showed off her blue eyes and her long chestnut hair half-braided and pulled to the top of her head, but for a tendril tickling her thin cheekbone. Similar to her brother’s features yet he was darker than she. I wish Oncle Richard were kinder to poor Sinjon.

The old worry furrowed her smooth brow. She knew their father had hated Sinjon, but never expected it to bleed over to her uncle. Did his nerves affect his disposition? Understandable. Life today indeed was not normal.

Yes, her uncle insisted life go on as usual, but if the papers were to be believed, how could it? With the king dead, the queen imprisoned, and the common folk crying daily for justice, life changed rapidly. Emilie knew her parents had already escaped—or hoped they had. She prayed that everything would work out well.

Peeking out the window into the Paris night, she saw the whole world shifting. How can life return to normal from this?

Her chamber door flew open.

Her aunt Collette appeared on her bedroom threshold in a flurry of pink silk. Emilie, come.

What’s happening, Tante?

It’s decided, she said. We’re leaving.

As she stepped from her perch, her aunt tugged open her wardrobe. Because of— Emilie pointed to the window. —that?

Her aunt glanced in the direction she pointed. Don’t worry about that, my pet. Your oncle will take care of it. She tugged two dresses, pink and green—neither one Emilie’s favorite—from the wardrobe and tossed them into a maid’s hands. We’re off to see your grand-mère.

Emilie spared another glance to the windows. The moon rose higher in the night sky. Now?

Now, her aunt insisted. And you’ll need to make a change in your ensemble. Behind her, a maid followed, carrying dresses, one a green with hues of yellow in its undertones, one a grayish-blue, and a pair of shoes in her arms.

Madame, two dresses is all I can spare, the maid said.

That will do. Merci. Tante Collette spoke no more to the maid. She swept the top dress from her arms and held it out.

Emilie eyed the green homespun wool suspiciously. To dress in her maid’s clothing? Are you sure?

Oui, Tante Collette said. Hurry, now.

Perhaps she was right. A flurry of packing commenced as she dressed. The maid’s offered dress fit loosely on her frame, big at the waist and sleeves.

That will have to do, Tante Collette said, hesitating over the jewels to glance at her.

Emilie snatched her mother’s watery blue chalcedony pendant from the jewelry box and clasped it around her neck. The pendant was a rather inexpensive trinket, but held memories of her mother and happier times. Times long before Mother had bestowed it upon her. If they must depart, she wouldn’t leave it behind. This is hardly the time for a vacation, Emilie said.

Her aunt placed a hand on her back and the shoes in her hands. Stop dillydallying, chérie.

Emilie picked up Thomas Paine’s Essays. Tante Collette snatched it from her and tossed the book into the bag. Come Emilie, do as I say. We must leave at once!

The black leather shoes fit too snug, and she’d barely finished buckling them before her uncle stepped into the room. He handed something into her aunt’s trembling fingers: passports, Emilie saw as she approached. Oh, pet, he said, touching her cheek.

Has Sinjon gone, at least?

Sinjon! Uncle Richard sniffed. His lip curled as if he’d swallowed something vile. Aye, for what good he is.

Her aunt frowned hard. Richard—

Yes. Now is not the time to argue, ma chère. He’ll meet you soon. Uncle Richard let a blasting breath go. I wish I had another choice. If I could but send you to your cousin in Philadelphia, I’d rest easier.

Shouts filled the air. Emilie glanced to the window. Quickly now, ma chère, Uncle Richard said. You must leave. Your grand-mère will meet you at the docks in Dover. Don’t worry. We’ve friends who will help you get there.

I don’t understand, she said. Uncle, what’s happened?

There’s no time to explain, he said, his dark eyes searching hers.

But—

He kissed her. She snatched up some novels and stuffed them into her trunk before the maid shut it. Her uncle took her arm and led her downstairs, past his scurrying valet, and onto their porch. I won’t hear another word.

Emilie saw men outside the gates surrounding their townhouse. Strangers gripped the gates in angry fists, shaking it as if to knock it down. A rock that pinged off the carriage made her cringe.

Her uncle shielded her head and for a moment, she saw nothing but his strong chest. He soon turned her to face the open curricle door. In you go, my pet.

She caught a glimpse of the driver checking a gun at his waist. He tried to hide it behind tending to the horses, but failed. But—

The question remained unanswered even as her aunt ordered, Settle down. We won’t be much longer. Tante Collette turned away. Oh, Richard! she wailed. If only we might stay.

I won’t have you harmed, he said. Go now.

He kissed her and yet Emilie saw anguish twisting her aunt’s face as she climbed into the curricle.

Uncle Richard slammed the curricle door shut.

A clap rang out like a gunshot.

Sinjon! her uncle yelled. Where are you?

The driver’s call Ya! drowned out his words.

The horses jolted the curricle into motion and Emilie toppled back in her seat.

The whole world seemed out of sorts tonight. Tante, what’s happened? she asked.

Fire exploded outside her window. She gasped.

Her aunt patted her hand. We’ll be fine, ma chère.

Men shouted as they raced past.

Rocks hit their windows.

The horses screamed and screeched as they sped through the streets.

Why are we leaving? What’s happened? Emilie asked.

More shouting sounded from outside. Your uncle fears for our future safety, her aunt said. That’s why we’re leaving. He only looks out for us.

Emilie peered through the window. Men threw rocks, and some carried torches as they ran in the streets beyond. Safety from what? What’s happened?

Her aunt looked to the small window as she spoke. This revolution is out of control.

CHAPTER TWO

The curricle rushed down a country lane but the driver pulled their horses to a sudden stop. Emilie’s nerves accelerated. Would she ever stop shaking? Her fear made her borrowed wool dress itch even more.

Her aunt clutched her hand. Courage, ma chère.

Tante, what’s happening?

The carriage driver spoke to someone and Emilie peeked out the window, wondering with whom he conversed. A man approached in dark cape and hat. Handsome, but a stranger, and Emilie wasn’t sure she trusted strangers anymore.

Tante, who’s he? she asked.

I don’t know.

He opened the door and Emilie cowered in the corner. Did she detect a hint of gunpowder in the air?

Come on now, the stranger said. She didn’t recognize his accent. We haven’t got all night.

Who…who are you?

The carriage driver appeared behind him and Emilie’s heart slipped back where it belonged.

Captain Bartram, the carriage driver said. He’s going to take you to safety, Mademoiselle. Monsieur Richard arranged it.

Wary, she hesitated.

Do I have to carry you over my shoulder, Miss? Captain Bartram said. His gaze flitted over her. I don’t think many would believe you a sack of potatoes, but all right.

Emilie held out her hand in a halting gesture. Prove to me who you are.

His eyes darkened. Your father and I are well acquainted.

How horrid could he be if he was one of Père’s colleagues?

All right, she said and stepped down, then coaxed her aunt to follow. He hustled them to a waiting cart, and when Tante Collette settled, he helped Emilie up. However, he didn’t make a further move, but stood at the foot of the cart, studying her.

Fear gripped her throat. Is something wrong, monsieur?

I don’t believe, the man said, we ever discussed payment.

What the devil? her aunt said. My husband said you agreed to take us. He never discussed payment, monsieur.

He smiled at her. Perhaps so, but I won’t go anywhere, unless—

Unless what?

Tante’s eyes grew wide and she pulled up her skirt, ripped the hem, and offered him a gemstone bracelet she’d earlier sewn inside. Take it and be damned!

No, that won’t do. The man laughed a little. I prefer the little miss give me a kiss.

What?

Was he serious?

Now see here! Tante raged.

Emilie blinked. Kiss him? He was handsome with strangely beautiful dark eyes, pristinely dressed, and debonair. Surely, a gentleman and yet…

Perhaps if they’d met at a dance back home, and after attending a dance or two together, she might—might— consider it. But here? Now? She didn’t know him!

He shrugged and turned his back. Suit yourself. Good luck, mes dames.

If the choices stood between sitting here and facing who knew what horror, and a kiss? Emilie took a deep breath. Agreed, she said.

She leaned off the end of the cart and gave him the kiss he asked for, quick and demure, on a cheek that hadn’t seen a razor in at least two days.

Can we go now? she asked.

His dark eyes studied hers and something smoldered there she didn’t know how to name. Or maybe, right now, she didn’t want to know its name. A smile dawned across his face.

That will have to do, he said. He held up a length of tarp piled on the cart’s floor. Get under here and try not to squirm. Give or take a stop, we should reach the coast with no trouble.

Emilie pulled the tarp up, and folded her aunt’s hand in hers. Don’t worry, she said. We’ll be all right.

How can you be sure? How can you trust his word?

Emilie peeked over, watching him take the carriage driver’s place and send him in an opposite direction. I don’t know, but who else can we trust?

God?

Emilie nodded. Perhaps. She wondered if God still existed in France right now.

If her uncle trusted this man to bring them to safety, she would agree to follow him. Until he proved himself unworthy of her trust.

The cart rattled along the road and though sounds of conflict floated in under the cover, and her aunt quaked beside her, she fought to keep her composure.

She didn’t think her heart would ever slow down. Her pulse still pounded hard, remembering their flight, even as dusk crept over the horizon like a spider.

Something jostled her. She wondered if she dreamed such a thing when his voice startled her.

She found herself in the helpful Bartram’s arms. Where—where are we? she asked.

A manor, Bartram said. My apologies. I didn’t mean to wake you. We dare not stay on the road much longer. When the sun comes up, someone is sure to wonder about you.

Tante Collette smiled a tired smile that accentuated the stress lines around her usually sparkling eyes. I tried to wake you but he insisted not. Proper though it isn’t, there’s sense in his advice.

Emilie peered up at him and he smiled at her. Besides, if she’d woken you up, what excuse would I have to hold you? You don’t weigh a thing, do you?

Such manners! If I’d eaten anymore, I’d be— She thought of all the fine dinners she would not have again for a while—all the parties she’d never attend now that the Assembly revoked her family’s Privilege—and her mood plummeted. A dead sparrow dropping from a hawk’s talons couldn’t have fallen faster. The wool dress itched where Bartram’s biceps crushed it against her. I am hungry, she said, trying to ignore her discomfort.

A large manor stood ahead and Bartram pushed the door open with his shoulder and set her on her feet. Emilie took in the foyer as he flung the door shut.

Where are we?

Someone’s home, I take it.

Uninvited? Tante said.

What if the owners should come back? Emilie asked.

Bartram met her gaze. I don’t think they will. He paused for a moment, finding a candle and striking a match set it ablaze. He lifted the candle around to illuminate the room. A table lay toppled in the drawing room, fine upholstery rent to shreds, paintings knocked off the wall. My guess is they had a date with Madame Guillotine.

Emilie gasped. Madame Guillotine. Nice name for a horrid contraption.

She wondered if that explained why the house smelled of smoke.

Don’t worry, Mademoiselle. He took her hand and led her into the destroyed drawing room. What do you have in mind, Mademoiselle? he asked. For dinner? I don’t know if there is a baker around, but I’ll do my best to find one for you.

Who are you? she asked.

Me? he said. I’m a captain in king’s navy. Or was. Besides, how could I refuse to assist a lovely lady in distress?

Despite herself, she blushed. Why should this man regard her? Her own beau, Éduard, hadn’t, once the Assembly finished with her family. He’d broken their engagement not long after.

Her chest tightened, remembering him, and she wondered if he too faced the guillotine.

A valiant knight indeed, Tante Collette laughed. Who knew we’d find one now?

He has yet to prove himself, Emilie said.

Bartram puffed up like a distressed dandy. The stance outlining his fine, strong form. What do I have to do to prove myself, mademoiselle?

Crème cakes, she said, settling down in the last upright chair. I’d love one of those and some ginger beer. If you find them, you’ll have demonstrated your loyalty.

And if I can’t? I doubt the homeowner’s last guests left much of that sort of thing behind.

Gazing into the middle distance Emilie realized he was probably right.

He winked at her. I’ll see what I can bribe from the cook, he said.

She knew his comment to be sarcastic. This place hadn’t seen life in who knew how many days. Even if the occupants had left some food in the kitchen, her stomach rebelled at the thought of eating much. Captain Bartram agreed and paced back to the door, settling against it to keep guard.

If the circumstances were different she might, she thought, find him charming. She wondered what her father would think of someone like him. A captain wasn’t unsuitable.

Her eyes refused to stay open but she knew she couldn’t sleep here. Her nerves pushed her toward the stairs, anything to ignore their incessant battering against her. An overwound clock couldn’t be as stressed as she! Emilie counted to five in order to calm herself.

A shadow flitted across the wall. A long, slim thing dropping from ceiling to floor.

A loud clap timed with it, and Emilie saw it for what she thought it was: a guillotine’s blade. The sight sent shockwaves of horror through her. She screeched in fear and fled down the steps to clutch her aunt’s hand. On second thought, I believe this room will make a fine bedroom.

Oui, Tante Collette said, trembling. In her other hand, she held a match she’d picked to set to the kindling in the fireplace.

I think I’d leave the fires unlit today, Bartram said.

It would be a long, dark night.

Nightmares disturbed her sleep. When she awoke each morning, fatigue gripped her as if she’d paced the floor all through her sleep.

Angry hands pulled Éduard from her and thrust a blade through his neck. To her horror, another man took hold of her, shaking her.

Miss Emilie.

A gasp tore through her and her eyes ripped open. The face, at first unfamiliar to her, settled into that of her protector. She wished him a good morning and stumbled outside to relieve herself. When she stepped back inside, a hand clamped around her throat. Where d’you think you’re going, mademoiselle? a raspy voice hissed.

Not Captain Bartram, not a voice she recognized. The man smelled as if he spent more on whiskey than precious perfumes.

He sounded angry as if she’d personally slighted him.

Please, sir, I’ve done nothing. We only needed a place to sleep.

Don’t care.

I can pay you for anything we used, she said.

Can you, now? One thick hand skimmed down her bodice.

Emilie shuddered under his touch and choked on fear. Did he plan to rape her? His fingers continued to her breast.

Yes, I think you can, he said.

A knife followed his touch.

A scream ripped from her throat.

Why shouldn’t I take you to the Assembly when I’m finished with you, salope?

No, she cried. Tears stung her eyes. S’il vous plait!

Why should I let you? Bartram’s voice pulled her attention from her attacker. He stood across the room, a gun trained on the man.

Well, well, a lady and a lord, the stranger said.

You want something? Bartram said. Take the lady’s necklace.

Emilie’s hand flew to her throat. No! S’il vous plait, no, she pleaded. It’s a gift from ma mère.

Would he steal her mother’s necklace?

I think I’ll get more if I take the lot of you in, the culprit said. Won’t I be the hero to deliver three?

Let her go, and I might name you that, Bartram said.

You have no say, now do you? He pressed the knife into her throat and Emilie whimpered.

Emilie! Tante Collette cried.

Bartram said nothing, just pulled the trigger. Smoke burst from the gun as the hammer hit lighting the flint.

The ball burst into her captor’s cheek and Emilie flinched. He fell slowly, dragging her with him, dropping her to her knees.

Bartram leaned down and broke the dead man’s grip. His question, Are you well? muffled through the ringing in her ear.

Unable to speak, she nodded and scrambled away from the man, into her aunt’s arms. Shaking, she glanced back at the dead man. Blood covered his