The Dark Calling (The Arcana Chronicles #5)(90)

“And then what happens when we run through those supplies?” I asked. “We’re just delaying the inevitable: my battle against Paul.”

“He is protected by Fauna, the Archangel, and his own sphere,” Aric said. “Sievā, think of the baby.”

Sick of hearing that! I whipped my head around so fast, my damp hair slapped my bruised face. “Like you thought of the baby when you threw your swords at me? You don’t get to say that to me! You don’t get a say in my existence.”

The pain in his expression . . .

“Do I?” Jack squeezed my hand. “Tee comes first, Evie. You know this. I’m all for duking it out when there’s no choice”—he cast me a significant look—“but let’s not pick a fight either.”

“Lark would rescue me if our situations were reversed. And Gabriel got trapped in the sphere because he saved my life. I won’t repay him by doing nothing. At least Aric’s not there anymore. I can handle three of them.”

“Can you not wait?” Aric asked. “What is the rush?”

“Circe believes this kid is my shield against Paul’s powers. Once I give birth, I could fall under his control.”

“And will our child be a shield against other Arcana? Gabriel is stronger than ever before. Though Fauna is suffering, her predators would still be deadly.”

“Why wouldn’t Paul want me alive? Since he lost you, another Arcana would grow his sphere, right? And he has the cilice.”

Aric admitted, “The Hanged Man did suggest we use it.”

When I shuddered, Jack asked Aric, “That came from your armor, right? Neutralized her powers?”

“Yes. I forced her to wear it.” A shadow crossed his expression. “Even if Paul wants you alive, Fauna might reach you before you ever get a chance to face him. Her hatred for you is nigh uncontrollable. If the Hanged Man’s control slipped, your body would be eviscerated.”

Jack said, “Which is why I will go in with the noose.”

I glared at him. “Not happening. I’m not losing you again.”

“Lots of confidence you got in me. I’m a good shot.”

“I don’t want Lark or Gabriel killed either. If I can manage spores, I can put them to sleep. The creatures too.” Big if, Eves.

Aric pointed out, “You didn’t manage spores when you were escaping the castle.”

“I was taken off guard then. You’re really going to remind me of that night?”

“If I must.”

Jack asked me, “You expect me to sit with the Reaper while you go take care of business?”

“I expect you to keep him away from the sphere. To remind him what’s at stake.” My head was beginning to ache, fatigue taking its toll. “And I expect Aric to watch your back while I’m gone.”

Jack folded his arms over his chest. “This solo plan ain’t cutting it. What about Circe?”

Aric said, “The Priestess will be depleted from that show of power, whether she controlled it or not.”

I added, “How would we contact her anyway? It took me weeks before she answered at the lake, and we can’t return there or risk another face-off against Richter.” I worried about Circe’s well-being, but I also didn’t see how I could help her. “Keep in mind that I only have so long before I . . . give birth.” First time I’d ever said those words.

In all the excitement, I hadn’t felt Tee flutter once. Had my run-in with the Cups been the final straw for this pregnancy?

No, I refused to believe that. “Look, I’m tired of debating something that’s as good as done.” The truck’s heater blew a constant warm blast over me. Sleep called.

“Maybe the Reaper and I doan take you to the castle.”

My glyphs began to glow. “Either help me—or get out of my way. I’ll find it myself, if I have to. Somehow.” To my utter irritation, Jack and Aric shared a look. Yes, I was directionally challenged, but screw them! “Wow. Haven’t you two learned by now never to underestimate me? Why don’t you ask the Hermit and the Hierophant and the Cups how that worked out for them? Oh—you can’t.” I stared straight ahead. “Because they’re all dead.”





43


The Hunter





Evie slept with her head against my chest, my arm around her.

As Domīnija drove us in the direction of the cave, he glanced over yet again with that anguished look on his face. The guilt was killing the Grim Reaper.

“She needs more sleep these days,” I said, as much to reassure myself as him. “’Specially after what happened to her today.” Those assholes had bashed her head in and bled her. Her left eye was still black from the impact, nearly swollen shut.

I’d never forget the sight of her blood pouring, knowing the cost of every drop.

“I can imagine this pregnancy has been very . . . difficult for her.” Domīnija kept making these stoic understatements, like he didn’t trust himself to say anything with emotion.

“Yeah, what with the starvation and danger and all. But things got better when I arrived.” I couldn’t help but add, “In Jubilee, she looked at me like I hung the moon when I found pickles for her.” Pickle craving: not a myth.