“On that recording, you said I helped you.”
I nodded. “You’re my reminder that I want to be good. You’re my link to humanity.”
“Then I can be there to pull you back to safety.” He took in my anxious expression and said, “Just think about it. We’ll keep talking it out, okay? In the meantime, if you’re not ready to draw on that well, then you’ve got to stay out of sight here.”
“That’s a big ask.”
“I know it is. I hate even the idea of it. But again, we doan have a choice.” When another gust rocked the container, he looked whipped with guilt, which wouldn’t do.
“Fine. I’ll stay inside until you think it’s safe.” I’d spend the days practicing with my abilities and trying to communicate with Matthew and Circe. Maybe I’d call Aric again, just to make sure he was still safe. “You win, okay?” I put my hand on Jack’s cheek.
He inhaled deeply, and his lids grew heavy. I expected him to kiss me, would welcome it, but he made no move to. Jack could still love me; didn’t mean he was as attracted to me.
I was beginning to fear he didn’t want me that way anymore. Which really sucked. Not that I was DTF, as Mel used to say, but I still wanted to be wanted.
He seemed to give himself a shake. “So much is goan on behind those eyes of yours. But you need to rest.”
“Will you stay with me?”
“Ouais. I’ll be here, watching over you and Tee.”
“You need sleep, to be ready for tomorrow—” I tensed, my stomach suddenly feeling strange. Flutter, flutter. “Something’s off.” Flutter, flutter. I took his hand and put it over my belly. “Can you feel that quiver? Oh, God, they probably poisoned our dinner!”
He grinned. “Or it could be your kid moving.”
“Oh. Ohh.” We stared at each other. “Can you feel it?” He hadn’t removed his big, warm hand. I relaxed under his comforting touch, sleepiness washing over me.
“Might be too early for me to, non?”
“You’re asking me?” We both knew so little about this subject. Once the feeling had gone, I said, “How weird.”
“Maybe Tee’s telling us everything’s goan to be okay.”
“Maybe.” I started to nod off. My last thought before sleep took me: Jack never removed his protective hand.
30
The Hanged Man Day 582 A.F.
I walked a fine line with Death.
As Gabe and I sat before the man’s desk in his firelit study, my gaze roamed over the great Grim Reaper.
He wore no armor, and blond stubble covered his jawline. He stared out the window at the falling snow, having little interest in our game of Tarot trumps.
Gabe sorted his hand with talon-tipped fingers. “’Tis a boring life with no battle to flavor our days,” he said, his speech as outdated as ever.
“Sometimes boring is good.” My own hand looked promising.
Death made no remark. His cards lay facedown on the desk, ignored.
Yes, a fine line. On the one hand, I needed the Reaper to despise Evie, so I sent him reminders to stoke his animosity. On the other hand, the more he hated her, the more he hungered to go end her.
I wished I could read his thoughts. Unfortunately, my telepathy was one-way, my ability limited to hints, suggestions, commands.
I’d told Evie that I couldn’t brainwash. Long story short: I lied. Why did everyone always assume villains told the truth? I’m the TRAITOR, for fuck’s sake.
I could imagine what the Reaper would write in his notes about me. Hanged Man: card reversal, absolute invulnerability, concealment, telepathy, emotion and trust manipulation. Plus, my handy sphere, a.k.a. an evil aura.
But I couldn’t read minds. Luckily, I was adept at reading moods. Under his desk, Death ran his fingers along a red ribbon. From what I could gather, that ribbon reminded him of when the Empress had first taken up with Jack Deveaux.
More than three weeks had passed since Death had learned of their reunion—weeks of his roiling jealousy.
Gabe played a card: the three of swords. “How goes Fauna’s search for the Empress?”
I answered, “She told me it’s as if they’d disappeared.” No kidding, Lark. I’d wanted to strike her baffled face. “Which, of course, they did.”
The Mistress of Fauna scoured the Ash, howling for revenge against the girl she believed had poisoned her mate. At least, Lark did so whenever she was awake.
For most hours of the day, she slept among her creatures, as if she were going into hibernation, shutting down from grief. What I’d urged her to do to Finn’s body seemed to have been the breaking point for her mental health.
Gabe said, “They could be back in Kentarch’s home country by now.”
Death deigned to reply: “He would never return to Kenya without his wife. Besides, the game will force us to converge.”
The Reaper craved that convergence. He was so strong, growing more so every day, and he burned to go out and punish his age-old foe. To keep him here, I was draining myself.
What a paradox. I garnered strength with each Arcana I trapped in my sphere; but keeping an unwilling one sapped me.
My sphere suffered as well, not expanding as fast as I’d hoped. But it did continue to spread in unexpected bursts. I’d almost captured Kentarch when he’d finally returned to spy on my progress.
I played the five of pentacles. “Lark also searches for Issa. The woman’s scent would’ve been helpful, but then, there are only so many females left in the Ash.”
Gabe laid down the knight of swords. “Would Kentarch turn over the Empress for her?”
Death pocketed the ribbon, taking an interest in this subject. “Easily.”
Then Evie assumed a huge risk by keeping her new ally around.
Gabe frowned. “And if this exchange should occur? What would happen then? I suppose it would only be fair for Death to finish her.”
I said, “I’ve been thinking about that eventuality.” Since Evie’s escape, I’d changed my mind about her future. I didn’t plan on killing her; I planned on keeping her for a time. My powers would only continue to grow with another Arcana in the sphere.
I’d already broached the subject of the cilice with Death, would ask again: “Wouldn’t you rather make her a prisoner, Reaper? We have the cilice; we should use it.”
“The Empress recently suggested that very thing.” The conflict inside him was palpable. “She probably knows how close I came to freeing her last time. You underestimate her charms.”
And you underestimate my influence, Reaper. Was I conceited? Yes, but I had every reason to be. Who was more powerful? The great Grim Reaper? Or the man who controlled Death?
I let the cilice subject go—for now. “Speaking of the Empress . . .” I played her Tarot card, winning the round.
Death narrowed his eyes with hatred.
“If looks could reap.” Gabe laughed. “How many times has she endeavored to murder you anyway?”