By Frank Portman
From Frank Portman, writer of the cult vintage King Dork that John eco-friendly says "will rock your world", comes a singular approximately Andromeda Klein, who has a number of difficulties of her own.
Her hair is more or less horrible.
Her partner-in-occultism, Daisy, is dead.
Her mystery, estranged, a lot older and forbidden boyfriend-in-theory, has long past AWOL.
And her mom has realized tips on how to text.
briefly, issues could not get a lot worse. till they do. Daisy looks trying to make touch from past, books are commencing to disappear from the library, after which, unusually and all of sudden, Andromeda's tarot readings are starting to expect occasions with bizarrely literal accuracy.
Omens are all over the place. goals; swords; fires; hidden playing cards; misplaced, damaged, and useless mobile phones . . . and what's Daisy attempting to inform her?
within the resulting fight of impartial as opposed to evil, it is Andromeda Klein opposed to the realm, smooth society, demonic forces, and the "friends" of the library.
From the Hardcover edition.
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Marlyne never broke a sweat, somehow. The crisscross pattern of her sweater evoked, once again, the Two of Swords, yet another minor synch. Andromeda retrieved a couple of cartomancy volumes from the 133s and took them to a table in the deserted Children’s Annex, one of four trailerlike structures joined to the main building by covered paths they called breezeways. If, in your head, you divided the main building into three sections (for Reference, Periodicals, and General Fiction upstairs), the library complex as a whole could be viewed as an astrological temple in the classic Renaissance Hermetic style, with a room for each of the seven traditional Ptolemaic planets.
So instead, she set the elusive symbols aside, looking ahead to a stage yet further beyond, to the book she would write one day, the comprehensive, multivolume treatment of the history and theory of magic that would supersede all others: the subscription edition limited to eleven numbered, signed copies would be bound in full goatskin with gilt-edged pages, false raised cords, and marbled endpapers, and embossed in silver with her personal sigil beneath the backward, mirror-image title, Liber K.
Andromeda had attributed these phenomena to Lemurian experiments, but later it seemed they might be read as the reverberations of Daisy’s cataclysmic slide into death. The fiery truck suggested the Tower, the most ominous of the tarot trumps, and the shadowy Lemurian had looked a bit like the Hermit. As a pair, they suggested catastrophe and isolation, a prediction borne out in spades. Daisy had returned none of Andromeda’s messages. Andromeda had assumed it was because Daisy was angry with her over St.
Andromeda Klein by Frank Portman