The tarot cards cascaded neatly across the tabletop under Ivy’s hand, the candles casting flickering shadows across them.
“Before Hope Mikaelson was born,” she began, “the French Quarter witch Sabine Laurent swore: nos omnia perditu el eam - the child will destroy us all.”
Vincent scoffed and leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, well, I knew Sabine Laurent, and she was a charlatan, alright? She also had some hidden agendas. I know Hope Mikaelson, and she’s just a child.”
Ivy smiled patiently. “Then the cards will confirm it.”
Vincent sat up to wave his hand over the line of cards, flames leaping from them under his fingertips. When the flames died down at last, he picked the first card out of the ashes, tilting the face towards Ivy.
“The sun,” she said. “This card is a sign of good health and abundance.”
Vincent plucked the next, flipping it around to show her.
“The card of temperance means peace.”
Vincent lifted the third card, trying not to jinx things by feeling too sure of himself. 
“The chariot card is for triumph, success.”
A smile escaped him after that, and he looked at the three cards in his hand victoriously. The smile quickly fell when the cards lit up with fire in his hands. 
“What’s happening?” he demanded, dropping them to the floor and pushing his chair back sharply. The legs scraped against the floor loudly. 
Ivy hastily grabbed the next card, ignoring his question. “Uh, the hangman is for terrible sacrifice.” She hadn’t even  finished her sentence before she was snatching the next card, her words picking up pace. “Devil is for bondage and slavery. And ...” She grabbed the last card, freezing. “No.” Her breath caught in her throat and she looked to Vincent. “The tower.”
His face said he understood. “Calamity."
“Famine, flood, fire - the charlatan was right, Vincent.” Ivy jumped to her feet, eyes wide and serious. “Hope Mikaelson will be our downfall.”