The woman chuckles companionably as well. "Where I come from, there's only one god. He made a wager with the devil, and between them, they divvy up our souls, feeding them into the engines of heaven and hell. And I feel myself a tiny wheel, a little cog in that vast machine, grinding down my gears for years and years. But which machine?"

By the time she's posed the question, her voice deliberately light despite the dark nature of her words, she's built a neat four layer triangle. In the pause, her eyes flicker at Barbara and then to the center of her creation, and as casually adroit as a snake, she plucks out a center support. The structure does not so much as shiver. She offers the card to Barbara, face up — a woman in blue robes sits on a chair, yet does not appear to be a queen.

"High Priestess. She of wisdom and sound judgment, common sense and intuition. But if that's at all relevant to you, then that's just Tarot at work. All the archetypes are reflected in us somewhere."