Introduction
P
eople sidle up close to me sometimes when they think no one’s looking. They’ll whisper in my ear, “How did a nice girl like you become a tarot reader?” I look into their eyes and smile coyly, as if I know something they don’t—because I do. If they knew what I know, they wouldn’t ask. I respond with a question: “I was born on Halloween—what else was I supposed to do?” But it’s just you and me right now. No one else is around to hear us, so I’ll give you the real answer. I can tell you’ll understand what I am about to say. The real reason I’m a tarot reader is because I am a storyteller. What most people fail to realize is that they are storytellers too; we all are. Tarot is storytelling. It’s what we do when we read the cards. Telling stories imbues us with supernatural power—the power to change your story. Lean in closer. Let me tell you a story… Tarot and I never “met.” It was always inside me. Tarot was a seed waiting to sprout, a sweet tooth longing for a lollipop. Tarot was the softest of lips aching to be kissed. Halloween babies enter the world like a hushed tone and whispered secret. We rarely cry, yell, or fuss but are content gazing at specters dancing circles above our velvet cribs. Scorpio children bear the blessing and
1
