Endless Knight (The Arcana Chronicles #2)(56)

His eyes widened with realization. “Stem your idiocy—”

I was already running, sprinting as far along the bridge as I dared before veering toward the railing. Death spurred his mount, Ogen on his heels. Right before they reached me, I clambered atop the concrete railing. “No closer!” Unable to use my arms to steady myself, I tottered. The railing was the width of a balance beam. I’d trained on a beam—I could do a backflip on this if I needed to, I assured myself.

I chanced a look down and gulped. Not even a glimpse of the water. Which meant I couldn’t time my jump around a passing car or a piece of house. I’d have to fall blindly into that thick bank of fog.

Behind me, Death dismounted with a curse of frustration. “Do not do this thing.” Over my shoulder, I watched him ease closer, just as he had in one of my visions. A sense of déjà vu racked me as I recalled him at the edge of the cane field, stretching his arm toward me. I shook my head hard, almost pitching off the rail.

“If you jump, you’ll die, Empress.” Debatable. “As I’m closest to you, I’ll harvest your icons. You’d give them to me so easily?” Death tsked. “Our game’s no fun if you’re weak.”

“I’ve got your weak.” I took a deep breath. I closed my eyes.

Stepped off.

He bellowed curses as I plummeted. Rushing air whipped my hair above my head like the tail of a comet. My stomach dropped. I fell, and fell, and fell—

Water! Freezing!

The impact wrenched the breath from my lungs, the cold stunning my muscles. Rapids tossed me as I struggled to stay above the surface using only my legs. I sputtered, choking for air as debris battered me. Boards with nails, a piece of corrugated tin. Gouge. Slice. I felt the pressure of the wounds—and the odd warmth of my blood in the water around me—but not pain. Numb.

The foggy shore slid by so quickly. Racing. Like the road had when I’d been on the back of Jack’s motorcycle.

Over all the sounds, one roar grew louder. Was I moving faster? Drop-off ahead? I couldn’t wipe my eyes to see. . . .

“Ahhh!” I plunged dozens of feet. The pressure of the falls shoved me into the deep, but I bobbed up like a cork. Just as quickly I was sucked down again. A vortex?

Only this time, instead of surfacing, I felt my arms yanked behind me. The rope was caught on something! I strained to see in the churning water.

Eerie shapes and muted sounds all around me. A watery grave. No—not yet!

Behind me were huge blocks of cement, spiked with twisted rebar rods. I must be caught on one. If I could get lower, I could unhook my arms. But the water kept whooshing me higher like a geyser.

I struggled to swim down against that vertical current. Weakening.

I was caught fast, couldn’t find the edge of the concrete. I used my claws to slice behind me at anything I came in contact with. Cement, metal . . . running out of air . . . Fight, Evie!

My lungs screamed, my eyes bulging. Trapped. My mind was still working, my will to live clamoring—but my body . . . stopped.

Arms limp, legs dangling.

Maybe I’d be seeing my family soon, my friends. Jack. Maybe Arcana didn’t get to dream about heaven—

Though I fought as hard as I could not to, I inhaled water. The end, then. My eyelids slid shut.

A watery grave.





23

I sat on a tree trunk on the riverbank, watching without emotion as Death carried my corpse to the shore.

Out-of-body experience? Didn’t know. I felt aloof, as if I could be eating popcorn as I watched the scene play out. Maybe this was what peace felt like. I wondered if my mom had encountered it when she’d been fading away.

Why was there no bright light calling me home? Oh, yeah: no heaven for Arcana.

As Death laid my body on the sand, I saw I was in seriously bad shape. My bluish lips were parted, yet no breaths passed them. My skin was fish-belly white, my hair tangled all over my face. My arms were still bound behind my back.

With a roll of my eyes, I realized my Death-defying bid for freedom had lasted a nanosecond; I hadn’t gotten more than a couple hundred feet down the river. The bridge loomed, seeming to taunt me.

Death stood and paced, dressed only in his pants. No armor, his defenses down. What a missed opportunity.

Wait, he had markings on his skin? Across his chest were black tattoos of weird-looking runes, jagged designs that seemed to scream blade. With reluctance, I admitted that they didn’t detract from his perfection. His body was still magnificent to look at.

He ran his hand over his wet face, glancing down at me, his eyes burning with emotion. Death was disgusted with me? Shocking. But then I thought I made out something more. Something . . . inexplicable.

The sound of pounding hooves neared. Lark leapt from her galloping horse, rushing up to Death. “Resuscitate her!”

He ignored the girl, continuing to pace.

“If you let her die, then she stole from you—her death is yours to deliver, not hers to take whenever she freaking feels like it!”

Ogen lurched into view, howling to the rainy sky, “I feast, I feast!”

Lark kept badgering Death. “Boss, you said you enjoyed her suffering, that it was much better. Are you gonna let her cut your enjoyment short?”

Whatta bitch, I thought without real anger. This was popcorn watching, after all.

“I FEAST! Let me desecrate her—”