The Dark Calling (The Arcana Chronicles #5)(71)

My frantic gaze darted. Sheer wall. Jagged. Dark. “Doan kn-know where to climb!” My numb limbs were barely keeping us afloat.

Her lids grew heavier, her lips already blue. Her face was as pale as snow. “C-Circe will come.”

When? The cold would take us in moments. I pleaded, “You hold on! You’re a t-terror in the pool, remember?”

A swirling wave—a vortex in reverse—began to rise beneath us. My eyes widened. Seeing this right? A column of water, like a slow-moving geyser, lifted us.

“Circe?” she called weakly.

We continued to rise. “It’s her, Evie! Just hang on. Faster, Priestess! We’ve got to get her to land.”

Evie bit out, “T-too c-cold, Circe. Jack c-can’t take much more.”

“I can’t?” I was losing her!

A watery voice sounded from the column. “It’s not your time, Evie Greene!”

“Circe, she’s fading!” I yelled. “Ah, God, you stay with me, Evie.” Desperation strangled me. I burned to fight. To save her. I needed to give my life for hers.

Couldn’t do a goddamned thing.

Circe’s column wavered, her voice garbled. “I can’t hold this! The ocean demands its due. It always wins!”

“Then fight back, Priestess!” But we were out of time. Knew it, me.

Circe screamed, her control lost. Her waves began annihilating the side of the trench, devouring it.

We’re done for.

Evie’s heavy-lidded gaze grew vacant. “L-love you, Jack. So much . . .” Her head lolled, body gone limp.

Agony ripped through me. “No, Evie! NOOOOOOO!” I clutched her shoulders and shook her in the water. “You come back to me, bébé, PLEASE!” When my eyes met her sightless ones, comprehension took hold: She’s gone. My Evie’s dead.

A roar burst from my chest as my mind turned over.

When her body started to sink, I kissed her lips. “It’ll always be Evie and Jack.”

Then I joined her in the deep.





I cracked open my eyes, emerging from the vision. The Fool’s projection stood to the right of me.

I mentally demanded, What was that? Deveaux’s pain was worse than even I had felt over her demise in previous games—because I’d never loved her in the past. Not like I loved her now. Or had loved.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. Has it . . . occurred? Was the Empress lifeless even now? Had mere humans been her downfall?

—Not yet. Soon.—

I swallowed. Her death was about to be stolen from me. Would Circe harvest her icon? Unacceptable.

You gave me her location. From the Fool’s vision, I knew where to find the Empress—she was in a settlement at the edge of a trench, due east of where I’d located her grandmother. Why let me see that? Because she can mesmerize me if I leave the sphere?

He blinked, as if waiting for me to get up to speed with him. —Can she?—

I regarded my drink. Shouldn’t she have been able to sway the mortals who’d doomed her and Deveaux? Her powers must still be muted, would be no match for the scalding animosity I’d stoked every day.

She’d once recounted to me her brutal attack against Ogen, Fauna, and myself. She’d said she’d felt like a marionette with hatred pulling the strings. I felt the same now.

Hatred would inoculate me against her floundering abilities as much as Paul did.

Blood began to run from the Fool’s nose, his eyes vacant. —Tredici, know this: the only way you’ll win this game is to claim her icon yourself.—

Otherwise, I would lose? Had I actually once decided to bow out of this Arcana game? To choke on defeat? Yes, because of her influence!

If I lost, I would reincarnate with no knowledge of her evil. Ignorant and vulnerable, I would fall for her machinations yet again.

—Last chance. She will die in the deep. Her torn heart will stop.—

When will this occur? How long did I have? Urgency lashed at me.

—How badly do you want her?— With that, he disappeared.

No longer did I have a choice but to leave. Making my expression blank, I turned to my allies. In a casual tone, I asked them, “Care for a vodka?”

Should they catch wind of my plans, they would try to stop me. Already Paul had disabled the vehicles. I recalled being outraged, until he’d explained that Fauna or the Archangel might be tempted to sneak away, weakening the sphere, and therefore our entire alliance.

Within the hour, I would steal out on a pale horse—as Death had done so many times over the last two thousand years.

Once I’d collected the Empress’s icon, I would return to my castle and settle into my new alliance.

Though I would be traveling beyond Paul’s sphere of clarity, his powers against the Empress might hold. If not . . .

Hatred pulls the strings.





32


The Empress





“Hi, honey, your husbands are home,” Joules called, as the three walked into our new digs.

I glared at him from the stove. “That never gets old, Tower. Truly.”

For weeks, he’d made that crack whenever they returned from their shifts. For just as long, I’d bitten back retorts, feeling like one of Richter’s volcanoes set to blow.