Stache raised his hand to backhand me. Before I could stop him, Hal grabbed his wrist. “Don’t mark her up. I want her pretty. No reason not to enjoy her till we reach the Sick House.”
Aaaaaand, we’re done here. “Your lifetime’s over.” I gave the signal. “Come, touch,” I told these men, “but you’ll pay a price.”
A knife flew past me, end over end. The blade plugged Hal in the face. He reeled before he collapsed.
Eyes gone wide, Stache released me and fled. He didn’t get five steps before another knife sank into his back. THUNK. A kill shot.
Kentarch jogged over to retrieve his blades. The first time he’d made a throw like that, I’d gawked. His aim was so uncanny, even Joules—no slouch himself—had been impressed.
“Let’s make quick work of this.” Kentarch remained as reserved as Joules was mouthy. He mostly liked to talk about tactical things, or about mind over matter, and he never volunteered information about his life in Africa.
As Kentarch siphoned fuel, Joules investigated the men’s van, tossing me their bags to root through. They had pictures of family, probably stolen from other victims. I snagged a flashlight and two flints to put in my bug-out bag. Not exactly winning Lotto.
I raised my head, suddenly feeling as if we were being watched. “Kentarch, do you see or hear anyone else around us?”
He assessed the area. “No, Empress.”
“Probably nothing then.”
“Food!” Joules cried from the van. “They’ve got food. A container full of soup.”
I’d bet I could keep that down! I hurried over.
Joules held up a clear takeout container filled with a dark broth. He ripped off the lid and inhaled. “Take a whiff of that!”
Though the soup was cool, the delicious aroma reached me. My stomach was on board! My first real meal in days.
“Looks like we’re goin’ to vary our cat-food diet—”
A pinky finger floated to the surface. Mushy skin. With a long, dirty nail.
Joules yelled and hurled the container.
Then he puked right beside me.
_______________
Enough. The cannibal soup had marked a turning point for me. Resolve gave way under the weight of depression. My eyes watered, my bottom lip trembling.
As we continued onward, Kentarch kept glancing from the road to my face. “We had a minor setback foodwise, but we gained valuable fuel. Overall, our mission was a success.”
I gave him a watery glare. “A minor setback? Do you ever lose your cool?” The closest I’d seen him get was when Joules had nearly opened a bottle of Tusker beer he’d found somewhere in the truck. Kentarch had yelled, “Place that down slowly. As if your life depends on it.” Later, he’d admitted, “That is my wife’s favorite. I found the bottle on the day I lost her, and I’ve protected it ever since. I believe we will drink it together when we’re reunited.”
Now he said, “You need to eat from the supplies we have, Empress. If not for yourself, then for your baby.”
“I’ll never keep it down.” The only thing worse than eating Sheba would be experiencing it on the way back up.
Joules rested his head against the window. “Canna stop thinking about real food. Gabe and me used to smell bacon cooking in the castle. About drove us barmy. Sizzling, juicy rashers . . .”
We each fell silent, lost in our own thoughts.
I missed Aric. I missed the life we’d had together. I missed Jack. I missed food meant for humans without bits of humans in it.
As ever, I wondered what Aric was doing in his lonely castle and how Lark was coping. Had they had a funeral for Finn? Maybe they’d buried him on the hill close to Gran.
I wondered if Aric had left my painting on the wall of our bedroom. Would he water the rose bloom he’d grown from a seed—or destroy it?
I frowned. I could simply ask Aric. I turned to Kentarch. “Can I borrow your phone?”
15
Death
How much longer could I remain in this castle without going mad? I sat in my study, gazing out at the night, sharpening my swords.
This task used to soothe me, but inside, I was chaos.
Kentarch, my long-time ally, had betrayed me, spiriting my duplicitous wife away into the Ash.
I kept replaying the image of her, wounded, in the back of that truck, traveling farther and farther from my reach.
As long as she lived, I would be at risk of falling for her beauty and charms, because I was weak when it came to my nemesis.
I scraped a whetstone along one sword edge. Evidently, there was no end to what I’d believe from her lips. The Grim Reaper, a father? The back of my neck heated, and I cringed at my idiocy.
The Hanged Man’s sphere of clarity protected me from her spellbinding, which she’d known. As Paul had explained: “The Empress wanted me dead because I can defend you and the others from her powers. I’m the only one she can’t mesmerize.”
But his sphere wasn’t spreading fast enough. We Arcana had fueled it in the beginning, causing it to overrun this mountain. Now it grew in fitful spurts.
I couldn’t reach the Empress without leaving it. Not an option.
A shadow passed by my window, the Archangel flying by on his watch. He and Fauna split those duties.
After losing the Magician, she was proving to be less of an asset than ever. Though she’d sent creatures to scout for the Empress, her usual drive had disappeared.
She’d moved into the menagerie, sleeping continually, seeming dazed whenever awake. And she kept close her wolves, as if she’d sensed a threat from me.
She should. I raised my sword to eye the edge. Along with my new mental clarity, my murderous impulses grew stronger every day. I was returning to the Grim Reaper of old—
My phone rang. I stared at it on my desk.
Her. I knew it was the Empress calling from Kentarch’s phone. My chest constricted, every inch of my skin feeling feverish. I set aside my sword and whetstone to reach for the phone. Paul entered just as I answered, “Empress.”
“Aric.”
She was the only person who’d called me by my given name in more than two millennia. One soft word from her had sent chills racing over me.
I’d gotten used to touch. I’d gotten used to bedding her. To loving her. What if, by some miracle, she could have been true?
Paul studied my expression. Though I masked my reaction to her, he noticed, was clearly disappointed.
Would I spit in the face of his enlightenment? How could her effect on me still linger? “Why have you called?”
“I miss my husband.”
My gods. “I miss . . . the idea of you.” I’d caught myself debating whether I could ignore everything she’d done to me and take her back to my bed. Such is her power.
No. Never. Eventually she would try to poison me. That was her MO. “But I always knew you would turn on me.”
“I haven’t. You’re being influenced by Paul.”
“He’s shown me the truth. Because of him, I escaped the Magician’s fate.”
“Paul killed Finn—not me!” Then she seemed to make an effort to control her emotions. “He ended the life of my friend, a sweet teenager who respected and looked up to you.”
“Ah, my beautiful poisoness, you dispatched the Magician—just as you usually do.”