The Arcana Chronicles 5: The Dark Calling

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?"

"She nearly succeeded twice. She's as vicious as she is seductive. I can never forget that again."

"Aren't we all vicious at our core?" Gabe asked. "Aren't all Arcana made to kill?" He'd certainly been enraged to miss Jack Deveaux's throat with his wing claw. While Lark had been howling over the loss of her lion, Gabe had used his growing wings to destroy his room in the castle. Splinters and black feathers everywhere.

The Archangel had once been known as enlightened and forthright, the most fair-minded of all the cards. With his reversal, he'd turned hostile, underhanded, and petty.

Depending on how our resources fared over the years, I'd eventually be forced to cull my herd. I'd start with Lark. Then him.

Richter and Zara would be drawn here soon enough, and then I'd command them and their ungodly powers. What use would I have for Fauna when I had the King of Hell in my thrall?

"Of course we were built to kill," Death said. "The gods selected us for a game with but one end. They didn't choose peaceable individuals to represent them. I believe the heat of battle we all feel is our innate need to win. But I mastered mine for centuries." He frowned, no doubt wondering why he'd lost control against the Empress.

I placed thoughts in his head: She's taken even that from you. What more can she steal? Your honor. Your faith in others. Your hope of a line to come after you.

Clenching his fists, he turned his unsettling gaze toward the window again, all but bristling to go hunt her down. Who needed mind-reading when I could read faces so well?

Using ever more power to keep him in line, I daubed the perspiration dotting my upper lip. This study was warm--even formal Gabe had removed his coat--but using my abilities fatigued me.

The Angel turned to me. "What about you, Hanged Man? Are you a killer at heart? Perhaps you took lives even before the game began?"

"Never." Often. From an early age, I'd recognized the power of treachery. To me betrayal was, I imagined, like flight was to Gabriel.

I soared.

And ending a life was the ultimate betrayal. My lips curled into an irrepressible grin. "I cared only about sacrifice and duty. I helped others," I said, picturing my first serious girlfriend, a champion athlete. I'd helped her get hooked on opiates, even injecting her as she slept.

By the time she realized what I'd done to her, it was too late. The once-proud girl had lost everything, reduced to selling herself for her next fix. After my first year in medical school, I'd located her, offering my assistance with rehabilitation. By showering her with condescending pity, I helped her turn another corner.

She'd OD'd that same night.

I shuddered with pleasure to recall the betrayed look in her eyes. There was a point at which resentment became poisonous to the body and mind, when bitterness became lethal.

I enabled people to find that point. With my medical background, I'd been like a virus that spread suicide and "accidental" death.

Whenever my victims had gazed up at me with realization in their glazed-over eyes, I'd told them, Never fear me, for I mean no harm.

"Helping others is my calling." Assuming a troubled expression, I said, "I tried to be there for Evie, but she betrayed me. And yet she walks free, with no repercussions." Actually, she was knocked up out in the Ash. A special kind of hell, I'd imagine.

Death's lean frame tensed, his gaze on the window once more.

I wanted him in my alliance, my immortal henchman. Even should I lose him, I would eventually reclaim him--I was certain of it.

These Arcana coveted my guidance. They needed it. Life was better with me. Considering how Death, Gabe, and Lark reacted within my sphere, they would hate it outside.

After the safety and order of this place, how could they not find the Ash jarring and incomprehensible? Much less without my clarity.

If the Reaper didn't go mad outright, he'd be drawn back. Once I set my hooks, I set them for life.

Still, I had no intention of simply allowing him to walk away. I'd taken precautions to keep them all here.

One night the Reaper had told me, "I will join Lark's hunt for the Empress."

"No," I'd said. "That's not a good idea."

In a flash of his old arrogant self, he'd said, "Do you really think you can contain Death, little man?"

Yes, Reaper. Yes, I do.

31

Death

The Hanged Man's face was clammy, the yellow light behind his head flaring. He was probably straining the limits of his abilities to keep me here.

Amusing. Did he not understand that I remained here by choice? As strategy?

The need to ride out and slay my wife clawed at me inside--I still seethed over her words: our game is no fun if you're weak--but I leaned on the Hanged Man. I used his power like a tool.

Some might say like a drug.

As the Archangel dealt more cards, I wondered why I had allowed them into my private sanctuary. Perhaps because I'd felt weak when I'd run a hand over this desk--where I'd taken the Empress. Or when I'd gazed at the couch where we'd often read together. Her gentle affection . . .

My gods, I missed her touch. Sex with her had been stratospheric, but her mere touch coupled with a soft look had felled me.

I ran my fingers along the red ribbon in my pocket, some memento from Deveaux that I'd retrieved from her drawer. What does it mean to her? Before I claimed the Empress's

life, I would force her to tell me the significance of this crimson length.

No doubt she and the mortal had resumed their liaison. Though jealousy choked me, I pitied Deveaux. He believed the Empress was kindhearted and good.

I knew the truth.

A week ago, she'd phoned me again, informing me that they'd found a shelter out in the Ash. She'd been alone at the time of the call. She'd sounded at once healthy and lonely, seeming in need of someone to talk to.

"I, uh, don't get out much here," she'd admitted.

I'd bitten back the worst of my rancor to keep her on the line, attempting to discover her whereabouts. She'd been calling from some kind of echoing, enclosed area, but I'd also heard waves, wind, music, and people. A settlement on the coast?

In a casual tone, she'd told me Circe had contacted her and revealed the sex of our child. A boy.

What a brilliant ploy on the Empress's part. Though I wouldn't have cared whether I'd fathered a boy or a girl--either would have been a delight--her revelation made me imagine scenarios, such as teaching a son all that my father had taught me about being a man.

It made the lie more real.

It made the pain cut deeper.

Finally, I'd been unable to stand it any longer . . . .

"Must you carry on with this charade?"

"Charade? Oh, Aric, if only it were."

"Why do you continue to call? You're giving me clues about your location, which makes Fauna's job easier. Be on the lookout for giant predators."

"You won't tell her where I am."

"Will I not?" I asked, begrudgingly amused.

"You want to claim my icon yourself."

True, I thought, but I said, "Care to bet your life on that, beautiful?"