The Dark Calling (The Arcana Chronicles #5)(11)

“In short, I believe this is a good thing,” Circe said. “It’s in our best interest to protect you and your child.”

At least I’d no longer fall asleep wondering if she would turn against Aric and me. “What happens if I have this baby, and nothing changes?”

“The game trudges on.” The plume suddenly perked up. “Do you hear that?”

“What?” All I heard were assorted animal grunts in the castle above.

“A ringing sound. It seems Death is getting a call.”





4





I ran to Aric’s study. Only one person would be calling him. The Centurion.

When I sped through the doorway, Aric was sitting at his desk, phone to his ear. He gestured for me to join him. I took a seat and dropped my chronicles onto his desk. Scattered over the surface were papers that looked like inventories. Of our rations?

“Then we’re in agreement,” Aric said into the phone. “You have our coordinates. When can we expect you?” Pause. “Very good.” He disconnected the call.

“Was that Kentarch?”

Aric cast me one of his unguarded smiles. “Indeed. He is journeying to the castle as we speak.” He sounded almost jubilant.

“What was the agreement?”

“His months-long search for his wife, Issa, has reached a dead end.” Aric had told me that Kentarch was obsessed with finding her. “He needs Fauna’s tracking skills. In exchange, he will join us here and help protect the castle and those within.”

“What if Issa’s not alive?”

“The odds are against her survival, but he refuses to accept she might be gone.”

Sounded familiar. “If you’re so concerned about rations—and about the convergence of cards—why would you invite another Arcana here?”

I knew Kentarch wasn’t a friend of his. Just a few nights ago, Aric had told me, “Jack was the closest thing I’ve had to a friend since my father died.”

Aric stacked papers on his desk. “I invited him because his teleportation ability makes him a crucial ally. Aside from that, he is a decorated soldier with an impeccable military record and advanced technical skills. He told me his truck is a weapon in itself, stocked with guns, a winch, and hi-tech electronics.”

“If he can teleport, why does he need a truck?”

“As with all Arcana, he must conserve his power.” According to my chronicles, I’d been able to defeat him in a past game because he’d been wiped out. “And his dire food situation has weakened him. Once he’s here and rested, he will be an invaluable safeguard, able to evacuate this castle’s inhabitants, should the need arise. His presence will help me sleep better at night.”

I thought of Circe’s “sitting ducks” comment. She wasn’t the only one worried about that. “Evacuate all of us? Not just me and a kid?”

He inclined his head. “All of us.”

“What’s Kentarch like?” When Aric’s gaze slid to a folder on his desk, I teased, “Do you have, like, a dossier on him?”

“Yes.” He handed it to me.

Brows raised, I opened the folder. The photo on the first page was of a young man dressed in a military uniform and beret. Whoa. Kentarch was hot, with smooth, dark skin, intense brown eyes, and sigh-worthy cheekbones. He looked to be in his mid-twenties.

I thumbed through his basic information. Born into the Maasai tribe in Kenya . . . raised to be a lion hunter . . . nearly killed by a lion . . . still bears scars over his torso.

Before the Flash, he’d been assigned to train conservation officers. He’d gone from hunting lions to protecting them against deadly poachers. Talk about a change of heart.

I knew from my chronicles that he’d also been called the Chariot. His title was the Wicked Champion, his card all about duality and victory. His Arcana call was Woe to the bloody vanquished, and he’d always allied with Death and Circe.

I closed the folder. “Do you have one of these on me?”

After a slight hesitation, Aric went to a cabinet and retrieved another dossier. Why had he never divulged this to me?

Another pause before he handed it over. Mine was much thicker than Kentarch’s. On the first page was a glossy picture of me from some social media account or another.

My smiling face had clearly been stabbed with a blade.

I ran my fingers over the serrated edges. So much rage. It reminded me of our early days in this game when I’d been his prisoner; the nights he’d tormented me, making me walk barefoot over punishing terrain; how he’d forced that barbed cilice onto my arm to curtail my powers.

I peered up at him. “You really despised me.”

“I did.” Honest as ever. “Your actions warranted it.”

“The Lovers were shaped by their deranged father—and my history with them. I’m pretty sure the Hermit was abused by his father as well. Maybe those Arcana wouldn’t have become murderers if their parents had treated them decently. If taught a better path, I might not have become a murderer.”

But no matter what, the heat of battle would still have called to me. My mind touched on memories of what I’d done to the Lovers in a previous game before I recoiled from those grisly scenes. “Or maybe killer is my default. Aric, what if I’m . . . evil to the bone?”