The doorbell tinkled as I entered, but The Wizard acted as if he hadn't heard it. I wasn't offended or surprised-I'd gotten used to his moments of focused concentration. He lifted the woodsy perfumed broom, its knobbed handle gleaming, and swept about three to six inches above the floor, leaving crumbs and dust behind. He remained intent on finishing his task, whistling a gleeful melody as he brushed the air with a whoosh to right and left. After observing him for several moments, I still could not figure out why he swept in such an odd fashion.

Gemstones, herbs, incense, and Tarot cards crammed the studio's shelves. Cinnamon spice laced the air from a fat, red candle flickering in the corner next to the blazing fireplace. The place held an aura of high-mindedness mixed with whimsy, and I loved the incorruptible way it made me feel.

Slowly, methodically, The Wizard swiped the space above the well-worn wooden floor. Absorbed in his work, over and over he sang in a deep tone, "Be gone ... away ... fly ... leave." When he had swept the last corner with a curlicue swirl, he approached the center of the room, lifted the broom waist-high, parallel to the floor, and rotated his body, eyes closed, muttering a prayer.

Suddenly, his eyes popped open. "Alexandria Vilkas," he cried. His joy charged me like a mug of steaming tea. "Come in, come in."

"Hello, Master." I stepped forward and quizzically looked at him.

With indigo eyes and a snowy beard trailing to his heart, he wore jeans and a thick ivory wool sweater. Dots of perspiration rimmed his brow, and when he wiped his clammy forehead, he mussed his stiff, white hair. He upended the broom, holding it like a pitchfork. "It's the New Moon, time to clear away the detritus from the last cycle and usher in our new desires. Your timing is impeccable-I've just cleared away the negativity."

I smelled dust bunnies. "Cleared away the negativity?"

"From clients, mostly. Dump every problem! By the end of the moon cycle, it's an astral mess." Breathing deeply, he spread his arms and looked around. "Much better, isn't it?"

"If you say so."

Looking me over from head to toe, he lamented, "You are a wet undine, aren't you?"

My hands flew to my hair, drenched all the way down to my waist from the heavy snow outside. I could imagine how terrible I looked, but I shoved those thoughts aside to talk about this momentous occasion.

"It's March 4th," I said. "The big day."

"Hmmm."

"Please, you're not going to put it off any longer, are you?"

He motioned toward the leaping flames in the brick fireplace that engulfed two crackling logs in an orange blaze. "Very well. Take off your coat and dry it by the fire."

Once we settled on his zebra-patterned couch, he showed me his new ten-inch crystal ball set atop a pewter stand that an artisan had sculpted into a trio of jesters.

"Oh, how beautiful!"

"Ordered it by catalogue."

From my past year of studying with my master, I knew the crystal ball did not contain any magical properties. All the hocus-pocus, if you want to call it that, came from The Wizard's mind, trained with rigorous study and capable of sustained concentration.

I nodded, regarding the folds of a black velvet, hooded cape hanging next to a wall-mounted sconce of a dragon. The Wizard had added those to the decor since my last visit seven days ago. He always added something new ... last week he hung ornamental flower fairies in front of the window. The week before, he rearranged his essential oils into a pyramid.

"It's March 4th," I said again, as if that would make The Wizard hurry.

"You must be patient. Tell me all you have learned this year."

I could tell he was fishing for a certain answer by the way his forehead creased like an accordion; but I had no idea what he wanted to hear. "We've been working with Tarot cards, their aspects of astrology, elementals, symbolism, numerology, colors, reversals, dignities, and correspondences-what they mean individually, and how they interact with each other in a spread."

"And what else?"

"We've covered ritual work and meditation, fortune-telling versus divination, and path-working. You also had me shooting guns and picking locks."

The Wizard folded his hands together and looked me over. "I'm sorry, but I don't know that you're ready."

What did I say wrong? "But you promised!"

"Initiation is not an exact science. It's true that we've been studying together for 365 days, but you are not ready. Not yet."

He may as well have pricked my hope with a needle and deflated it until it crumpled into a rubbery puddle. "What else do I need to do?"

The Wizard massaged his chin. "You must pass a test."

The acids in my stomach whipped my breakfast of Baltic rye bread and farmer's cheese into an acrid soup, but I swallowed hard because I trusted my master. He would give me a test I had a chance of passing. "What sort of test?"

"Tell me about the story you are working on."

He often assigned me spiritual exercises that applied to my occupation as a journalist. As a reporter for Gypsy Magazine, a bimonthly in Chicago, I covered paranormal happenings such as haunted houses and ghost sightings. I'd had this job for three years, and I had earned a challenge. "'Tarot Cards and the Celebrities Who Use Them.' Is this story going to be part of my test?"

"If you are ready to live a life of service."

Our lessons always came back to the topic of service and helping others. I knew this. Why did he repeat himself?

"The story is always more than just about your byline, Alexandria Vilkas. It is about how readers will benefit from the information. By the same token, entering the Order of the Tarot will not make your life easier. Your own needs and wants must be subjugated for the betterment of someone else."

I heard only "The Order of the Tarot." "The Order of the Tarot? That's the first time you uttered the name of the secret society."

The Wizard nodded. "It goes by many names, but that is the one you will know it by."

"What does it do? How many members does it have? Are you going to let me join today?"

The Wizard held up his right hand. "All in good time. First, you must pass the test. Oh, and there's one more thing."

"What's that?"

"Since the Order of the Tarot is a secret society, you are not to discuss it with anyone, not your mother, not your friends, not your boss, not your boyfriend. No one. Do you understand?"

I nodded, wondering if he weren't being a bit overdramatic, but I swore to keep my promise. "I don't have a boyfriend."

"Never mind that."

The Wizard glanced at his crystal ball, polished it with his sleeve, and picked off an imaginary piece of lint, perhaps one that contained my negativity. Then he leaned in, as if pulled by an invisible force. "Oh, my," he gasped and he looked at me in awe.

"What? What?"

I focused on the three jesters holding the crystal ball, as they stood frozen in their dancing positions.

"Your test is two-pronged. Do you want a reading on what you can expect?"

"Yes, please."

The Wizard smiled. "Very well."

He reached into a nearby wooden cabinet and pulled out a deck of Arthurian Tarot cards wrapped in a black silk scarf. He made a big show of unveiling the cards ... shuffling, whispering a petition, and asking me to cut them into three piles using only my left hand. With a flourish, he flipped over the top cards from each of the three piles onto the black silky folds.

The Page of Swords (The Adder) appeared first, followed by the Ten of Spears (The Green Knight), and the Three of Cups (The Dressing of the Sacred Spring). From my previous year of studying the Tarot, I knew the meanings of these cards, but I was curious to hear my master's interpretation.

"After this story, your life will never be the same," he announced. "You will become a servant to those in jeopardy of malevolence ... supernatural and mundane. Shall I continue?"

Gulping, I nodded.

The Wizard drew his eyebrows together and proceeded in a clinical monotone. "You are the Page of Swords, an inconspicuous witness to important events, a clever spy to make sense of unexpected plot twists, an active person with a sharp mind and a gift for learning secrets. You endure a ten-day struggle, an awesome task of life over death that demands courage and diplomacy. During that time, a handsome married man seduces you, presenting you with an item as a gift. If you suppress personal desires, you will be positioned to help victims of cruelty, immorality, and ruin. When your mission is complete, pay homage to the spirit of the spring."

Despite the warning I sat back and grinned, like I'd just discovered a special present on my lap left by one of the flower fairies hanging near his window. The Wizard had been grooming me for this moment all year long, and now I hovered on the threshold of enlisting into the elite, secret society that fought supernatural evil forces. I'd heard rumors about it shortly after I started working for Gypsy Magazine and made it my mission to find out more so I could do a story on it. I remembered being surprised to hear The Wizard admit he was in a position to help me gain entry into the clandestine organization, but that I could never write about it.

"Wow! Sounds like the story is everything I've asked for. And for ten days!"

The Wizard studied the spread, gazed into his crystal ball, and shook his head with a "tsk, tsk."

"Do not underestimate your attraction to the married man. You have known him in a previous life; that is why his pull is so strong."

I inhaled sharply, now beginning to appreciate the test that lay ahead. I knew exactly which married man he was foretelling-that's what filled me with dread. Bruno Scavoro, a trustee of Gypsy Magazine, had enough magnetism to flip-flop the earth's poles. I just hoped he didn't have the capacity to derail me from what I wanted most-membership in the Order of the Tarot.

"You said this test was two-pronged. What did you mean by that?"

"Earning the degree of the Fool involves two challenges. The one with the married man is the easier of the two. The other you will recognize when you see it. See me after it manifests itself."