Endless Knight (The Arcana Chronicles #2)(44)

“Choose to eat,” I repeated.

“Evangeline!” Jack grated. “Snap out of this!”

“Out of what?” All I was going to do was call the guards when I got hungry. I wasn’t hungry now, though. My stomach was in knots.

“Why are her eyes clouding?” Jack demanded, his words panicked.

The Hierophant smiled down at me. “Evie, you’re going to like it here.” I just knew that I would. “Eventually, your friends will too. After I’ve dined and rested up, we’ll come back to convert them as well. We’re each surrounded by spirits.”

He was so sure about this, it must be true.

“Be calm, relax. And know that all good things are coming to you.” With a wink, the Hierophant left.

I sank back against the wall, confused as to why I’d been so bent on escaping.

Meth-mouth scowled in Tad’s direction. “He died? Son of a bitch! I knew he didn’t have long.” He snapped his fingers, and one of the guards hefted Tad under his arm, carrying him like a suitcase. “Hurry before the flesh cools. Come on, be quick about it.”

On his way out, the last guard hit Jack with the end of a rifle. “It’s impolite to interrupt the boss.”

Jack collapsed back, head lolling, as if he saw the ceiling spinning. But, to be fair, he shouldn’t have interrupted the Hierophant.

Matthew began squirming, trying to hit his fists against his head.

I turned to him. “Relax, sweetheart. All good things are coming our way.”

“Water!” he yelled. “Water water WATER!”

“Okay, honey. I’ll bring you some as soon as I get out of here. Just have to get hungry first.”

With effort, Jack reached his leg over and kicked Matthew’s. “Easy, coo-y?n,” he said weakly. “We need you focused.”

To my amazement, Matthew calmed.

His outburst had roused Finn. By degrees, the boy opened his eyes and sat up, cringing at the damage to his leg. “I take it they’ve got us?”

“About time you came to.” Lark’s face was stamped with relief.

Finn gazed around the cell. “Jesus. How long was I out?” he asked, sounding like a condemned man.

I didn’t understand his alarm. We were all going to like it here.

“Couple of hours,” Lark said. “We’re working on an escape. One little glitch: the sole person who could free us from these shackles looks like a contented flower child over there. Pun intended.”

I waved at them. When would I get hungry?

“Her eyes are clouded?” Finn asked.

Selena nodded. “If he makes her eat, she’ll be like that forever. Even if we take him out, there’ll be no saving her from this.”

As if that was a bad thing?

Finn said, “Escapes are my specialty. Just give me a chance to shake off this pain so I can concentrate. Damn, is it me, or is the cell spinning?”

Jack muttered, “It ain’t just you. . . .”

Time passed. Everyone was too frightened to talk, not relaxing as they ought to. Finally I felt the first twinge of hunger. “Guards,” I called with excitement. “I’m hungry.” I started braiding my damp hair, wanting to look halfway presentable for a big dinner. “Guards!”

Jack was cursing, telling me in French to shut my trap.

I pursed my lips. “You’re supposed to relax, Jack.”

Meth-mouth slunk back to the pantry, his chin bloody for some reason. He was picking at his sharp teeth with a pinkie nail.

Jack was tensed against his shackles, muscles tight beneath his shirt. “You hurt her, and I’ll kill you!” Blood poured from his wrists. “I swear to Christ, I’ll gut you!”

Meth-mouth ignored him and reached down to release my ankle cuff.

I admitted, “I used my claws to break it open. Sorry.”

He just rolled his eyes: yeah, right. With a harsh grip on my arm, he escorted me out. As he locked the gate behind us, Jack continued to bellow, thrashing against those chains.

Once we reached the cavern, I blinked at how different everything seemed now. The area looked exactly as Guthrie had described it: a mead hall of old. Boisterous men and women drank from tankards and ate heartily of the beef, pork, and quail. Guthrie ate alone on a dais above all the others. And he wanted me to join him in that place of honor.

Meth-mouth led me up the steps, bones crunching beneath my feet—probably leftovers tossed to the dogs, like the Vikings used to do.

Guthrie welcomed me, offering the chair beside his. When I sat, he blinked at me. “You smell like flowers.”

“I get that a lot. It’s because I’m the Empress.”

He looked charmed. “Oh? Of what?”

“Of Tarot cards.”

His amiable expression faltered. “You sound overtired. You should eat. What would you like first?”

“Quail.” Was there blood on the table? No, no. Mead halls didn’t have bloody tables. As I waited to be served, Guthrie kissed my hand suavely; Jack yelled in the distance, “Damn you, girl, doan eat ANYTHING!” He must be jealous that I was about to get a full meal.

But when Meth-mouth returned with a metal camping plate filled with gore, I frowned. He grinned at me, cracking his lip blisters open. Pus ran down his bloody chin, dripping onto the plate.