Chapter 1: The Rule You Never Break

Setting up a booth for tarot readings and house blessings is how I make my living.

My setup isn’t the neon-lit tent you’d see at a state fair or tucked behind a strip mall psychic’s storefront. Most days, I claim a battered folding table outside the corner store, or shell out for a flea market stall with peeling paint. The table’s legs wobble on cracked pavement, and I keep a stack of dog-eared business cards next to my battered thermos. Sometimes, there’s a pack of Marlboros for the regulars who want to linger and talk. There’s always a handwritten sign in thick black Sharpie—"Tarot Readings & House Blessings—Walk-Ins Welcome." The air is heavy with burnt sage, old coffee, and the faint whiff of cigarettes. People slow down—some roll their eyes, others snap a photo—but the regulars, the ones who’ve seen me work, they know I’m the real deal.

But every line of work has its own rules. Depending on the person and the situation, the fee changes.

It’s not written down anywhere, but folks who know the trade understand. I learned from watching, from listening to my grandpa haggle with all kinds of people—rich, poor, desperate, or just plain curious. If a single mom in a rusted-out Honda asks for a blessing, I’ll take whatever she’s got, even if it’s just gas station snacks. If a lawyer from the new condos comes by, the price goes up, and he knows it.

Charge more to the wealthy, less to the struggling—but never work for free.

That’s how you pay the rent and keep the lights on. Folks in my shoes—people working the fringe—don’t get handouts. The world’s too hard for that.

However, there’s one kind of person I’ll never take money from: someone whose death is right around the corner.

Not just because it’s bad luck—it’s a line you don’t cross. In this business, you come to recognize that look: the flicker in their eyes, the way the air chills when they sit down. Sometimes, I see it in the lines of their palm, sometimes in the way their shadow falls. That’s when I know to keep my hands off their cash.

You can’t take payment from someone about to die—that’s the rule.

Every tarot reader and house-blesser worth their salt knows it’s not superstition—it’s survival. Bad things happen if you break the code. That’s a lesson I learned early, and one I never forgot. I still remember the first time I saw Grandpa refuse a twenty from a dying coal miner, his voice low and final. “Not from you, son. You keep it for the road ahead.”