The Dark Calling (The Arcana Chronicles #5)(68)

Death made no remark. His cards lay facedown on the desk, ignored.

Yes, a fine line. On the one hand, I needed the Reaper to despise Evie, so I sent him reminders to stoke his animosity. On the other hand, the more he hated her, the more he hungered to go end her.

I wished I could read his thoughts. Unfortunately, my telepathy was one-way, my ability limited to hints, suggestions, commands.

I’d told Evie that I couldn’t brainwash. Long story short: I lied. Why did everyone always assume villains told the truth? I’m the TRAITOR, for fuck’s sake.

I could imagine what the Reaper would write in his notes about me. Hanged Man: card reversal, absolute invulnerability, concealment, telepathy, emotion and trust manipulation. Plus, my handy sphere, a.k.a. an evil aura.

But I couldn’t read minds. Luckily, I was adept at reading moods. Under his desk, Death ran his fingers along a red ribbon. From what I could gather, that ribbon reminded him of when the Empress had first taken up with Jack Deveaux.

More than three weeks had passed since Death had learned of their reunion—weeks of his roiling jealousy.

Gabe played a card: the three of swords. “How goes Fauna’s search for the Empress?”

I answered, “She told me it’s as if they’d disappeared.” No kidding, Lark. I’d wanted to strike her baffled face. “Which, of course, they did.”

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.