Dead of Winter (The Arcana Chronicles #3)(24)

Right. “How can you know for sure what I did back then?”

“It’s in my chronicles. In past games, the Archer would travel with an entire contingent, like war correspondents. They saw the Lovers’ remains. Definitely had the Empress’s stamp.”

The red witch’s stamp.

Selena examined her swollen arm. “Matthew should’ve told you this stuff. He should’ve warned J.D. about getting captured. How about a heads-up about the Priestess?”

“You can’t blame him. He’s doing the best he can. And maybe he tells us everything we need to know, but we fail at understanding.” Like I had when he’d told me about Tess manipulating time.

“How’d you fight the Priestess, anyway?”

“She sent water tentacles, so I choked them with my vines.”

“Tentacles? Evie, she could’ve swept you into the river like a guppy. Or crushed you with a tsunami. She was playing with you.”

Every time I identified the very last card we’d ever have to kill, another one popped up.

As if reading my mind, Selena asked, “You still think we can end all this?”

In a hushed voice, I said, “There isn’t a trues over here, and we’re worth four icons between us. But neither Joules nor Gabriel targeted us.”

“I can’t tell who’s crazier—you, for continuing to believe we can end the game, or me, for starting to believe you,” she said. “I never imagined someone like you would be a leader, other than a cheerleader.”

“Post-apocalypse, doesn’t everyone need to evolve?”

She raised her face to the intermittent rain. “Jesus, Evie, what if it catches on? What if we could all live in peace? Use these powers for good?”

I’d had the same thought! “We could repurpose ourselves.” Fight freaking crime, anything.

“If evil Arcana don’t get in our way.” Selena faced me. “Speaking of which, what’s going on between you and Death?”

Between us? My escape and his sword. According to the twins: burgeoning love.

Since I’d left him, Death hadn’t telepathically contacted me, hadn’t overtaken me on the road. What if he . . . couldn’t? “I learned more about my history with him. This won’t be news to you, but Aric had reason to hate me.”

“You call Death Aric?” she spat. “So that murderer has a human name?”

“It’s not all black and white,” I insisted. “I came to care for him.”

She looked more disgusted by me than she had by the Lovers’ making out. “If I see him, I will put an arrow in his heart.”

“Good luck with that. Last time, your arrows disintegrated against his armor.”

“You actually give a damn about him? Up is down and down is up. What about J.D.?”

“I haven’t been able to think past a rescue. Now I’ll take some time and sort things out in my head.” Once I got some rest. I’d had only a few hours over days.

“J.D. wasn’t the only one who’s changed in the last three months. Things between us are different.”

After Jack had thought I was lost for good, had he given Selena what she wanted most in this world?

Himself?

Something like grief swamped me. I’d wanted him far away from this sick game. If he’d then gotten with another card . . . ?

It had never, never occurred to me that Jack might not want me back, might not be clamoring to tell me his side of the story. “Wh-what changed then?”

Before she could answer, the angel landed once more. “Jack is with the physician.”

“Thank you, Gabriel.”

He gave me a solemn nod. Maybe he should see the doc next. After his dive-bomb, that bullet hole was now the size of a salad plate.

He offered his claw-tipped hand to Selena. “Your carriage awaits.”

I thought that was cute, but she just gave him a really? look and stood on her own.

She had no way of knowing that he’d evacuated her first—at least, before time reversed itself. “Shouldn’t we take the bridge back?” I nodded at his wing.

“We’ll wait till the bridge is one hundred percent secured.” He caught my eye. “It’s too dangerous yet, for you and Selena.”

Oh, right. He’d take the pain just to hold her.

She frowned when he pulled her into his arms, cradling her against him. “We’ll talk later, Evie.”

I gave her a thumbs-up; she flipped me off as he took to the air once more.

“Oi, flower girl!” Joules called to me. “How long does it take for the icon to show on my hand?” I guessed he wanted his trophy.

I hated that I knew the answer to his question twice over. “It’s pretty much instant.”

“Then who the feck stole my icon?”





14


As Jack slept, I sat on the edge of his cot, replaying the doc’s prognosis.

The man’s examination of Jack’s skull had revealed two bad knots; most likely concussed. He’d fixed Jack’s dislocated arms, cleaned his wounds, and bandaged the angry burn on his chest.

He predicted a full recovery—if Jack took it easy for a couple of weeks. But the doc had also told me how long Jack would carry the Lovers’ mark, that reminder of his torture.