20
DAY 258 A.F.
SOMEWHERE IN THE SOUTHEAST
When I woke, I was still on a horse, still held by Death. As in my dream/memory.
But this time, I was astride the saddle, with my back to his front, my cheek resting against his armor. Instead of sizzling desert sands, we rode through pouring rain.
How long had I been out? My broken arm was healed?
That dream of Death merged into my present reality. He could touch my skin! I was the only one he could touch without killing.
And he’d been attracted to me.
Not this time around. My wrists were so securely cuffed together even I couldn’t slice my way out. At some point he must have peeled off my parka and pack, leaving me in jeans and a short-sleeved shirt. To keep me cold and weak?
“She wakes,” Death intoned from behind me.
I stiffened, sitting up in the saddle. His voice brought other memories rushing into my consciousness. Oh, God. Ogen had battered the side of the mountain with even more force after we’d emerged. We’d been seconds from dying down there before—how could Jack and Matthew have lived through another wave of quakes? If the mine had collapsed . . .
Matthew, please answer me!
Nothing. Maybe they were trapped. Or just asleep.
Sweetheart, I need to know you’re okay! PLEASE TALK TO ME!
Silence answered. And emptiness—as if the comforting presence I’d felt since before the Flash had been uprooted from me. Even Death’s presence in my head was utterly gone.
Because the switchboard was no more? If Matthew had . . . died, then Jack would have as well. Selena and Finn too? “Y-you killed them.”
“As I always do,” Death said in an amused tone. “Ogen flattened that mountain like a sandcastle.”
Grief engulfing me, I stared down at Death’s spiked gloves. In a voice I barely recognized, I said, “You wear their icons?”
“Apparently I was closest to them. Earning icons that way isn’t as satisfying as a direct kill, but we do what we can.”
Fury began overwhelming my grief. With each of his taunting words, it burned hotter, breath on an ember. My claws began to sharpen. I would slice Death’s marked skin right off his hands—or slay him and earn them.
Death murmured, “Try to tap your powers”—cold steel made contact with my neck—“and I will shove this blade into your temple. I’ll keep you like that, brain-dead, unable to move. Or to die.”
“Sink the blade!” Ogen hissed from our left. Though in a more human form, he still sported those monstrous features. His cloven feet plodded through mud; one of his black horns jutted higher than the other. When he skirted a rising retention pond with a wary expression, he looked younger. Maybe fifteen.
On our right side, Lark spurred her horse to match our pace. “You should make this last, boss,” she told Death. “Torment her a little. You’re gonna have to wait centuries for the next opportunity to cap her ass.” Even in this weather, Lark looked snug and comfortable in her camo coat. “Making her suffer will be so much better—trust me.”
I glared at the little bitch, promising vengeance. I blamed her as much as these other two. More even.
In a thick voice, I asked Death, “Why not kill me now?”
He whispered in my ear, “Because a part of you wants me to.”
Chills broke out over my drenched skin. I wanted to deny his words, but didn’t know if I could. In the last nine months, I’d lost everyone. My high school boyfriend, my best friend Mel. My mother. Now four more people had entered my life for such a short time and had perished much too soon. The boy I loved . . . gone.
“Kill her NOW!” Ogen’s fangs dripped slime, his veiny eyes crazed. “A feast of her bones! Now, now!”
Death snapped something to the Devil in a foreign language, and Ogen quieted like an obedient dog.
The raw winds buffeted us, driving the rain sideways, but I was too dazed to perceive it. Hypothermia? My thoughts were as numb as my body.
My friends are dead. Jack is dead. What did I have to live for?
Revenge.
When we reached a hill that was covered with banks of sliding mud, Death sheathed his blade, wrapped one arm around me, and spurred his mount. The stallion seemed to gallop in place until it got purchase, finally vaulting over the edge onto a paved street. Ogen and Lark followed.
Once we were on flat ground, I told Death, “Let me off this horse.” My teeth were clattering.
“Silence.”
“Let me off! Let me off!” I thrashed against him, spooking his mount. “LET ME OFF!” I shrieked.
“I can be obliging.” Death plucked me up and discarded me over the side of his stallion. My legs must have fallen asleep in the saddle; they couldn’t support me. I staggered for few feet before collapsing into the gutter. Unable to catch myself quickly enough with my bound hands, I smashed my forehead on the edge of the curb.
Pain seared along my split skin. Blood coursed down my face, dripping off my chin and jaw. Just as it had in the barn when I’d first discovered I could bring plants to life.
Ogen laughed at my fall. Lark muttered, “Dumb-ass.”
Drip, drip, drip.
Too weak to move, I stayed in that position, on my knees in the gutter, face-planted, as if the curb were my pillow. With my back to the three, I watched runoff race around me, draining into a nearby opening.
“Get up,” Lark said. “Stop dicking around.”
Hadn’t we passed a retention pond just moments ago? One with charred trees and dead reeds all around it? My blood was probably rushing toward that pond even now.
“More cannibals are coming, Evie.” Lark huffed with impatience. “They’re hot on our trail, because you’re ‘unclean’ or something. Surely we’re better than they were.”
No. No, you’re not. At least the cannibals were loyal to their own. Lark was a two-faced betrayer. Because of her, my Jack and my Matthew had died horribly.
That ember of fury was flaring into a wildfire, so hot I almost missed a telltale electric tingle pricking my skin. Something nearby was coming to life, unfurling for me. Rising from the dead. Seconds later, I detected tree trunks fattening with life, new limbs splaying.
Bleeding, kneeling like a victim, I smiled. Because I was about to kill this trio. My army was silently stretching to the sky, slithering along that muddy slope, sneaking up behind these Arcana. I’d show them unclean.
There was no reason to quell the heat of battle now. I would give myself up to it.
To fight, I needed to get free. The cuffs around my wrists were welded together, preventing me from reaching a claw down to slice the metal open. If I could just work one hand through the tight circle . . .
I strained to twist my smaller left hand free, but my thumb got in the way. The heat of battle was like a growing thing within me. I knew what the red witch would do in this situation. Hatred scalding me inside, I gazed down at my thumb.
Pitilessly.
I couldn’t reach the metal, but I could reach my own flesh. Didn’t know how long it’d take me to regenerate, didn’t care.
With an undertone of disquiet in his voice, Death ordered, “Empress, rise.”
Oh, I’m about to. The Empress didn’t get caged or collared—or captured.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I used the claw of my right forefinger to slice halfway through my left thumb. A nerve there sang, the pain dizzying, but rage blunted the shock of what I was doing. Blood spurted into the rushing water. More fuel for my growing fire.
Death’s stallion stamped its sharpened hooves on the street, sensing the building threat. Lark’s wolves growled and raised their snouts to sniff the air. They’d scent nothing out of the ordinary.
Death commanded, “Rise, Empress, or Fauna will send her familiars in for a bite.” I heard him dismount, his spurs spinning.
With another swipe and a stifled scream, I severed my thumb. Out of the corner of my eye I watched the water sweep it away. My mutilated left hand slipped through the cuff with ease. The right cuff was no match for my claws.
Freed.
I was a marionette, and hatred pulled the strings. Finally, I was ready to rise.