Endless Knight(16)

—You deserve every second of this misery and fear, creature.—


And you know where you can shove your scythe.

It was one thing to have the others broadcasting in there, or to have silent conversations with Matthew. But Death poking around unnerved the hell out of me. “How can Death hear my thoughts?”


“Through the switchboard.”


Recalling Selena’s comments about Matthew jamming frequencies, I asked, “Do you consider our calls and thoughts frequencies?” I’d termed it Arcana Radio. Maybe it was really Arcana Switchboard. With a nervous laugh, I said, “You’re not the switchboard operator, are you?”


As if talking to a child, he said, “I’m the Fool.”


“Then how are we connected?”


“Through me. The switchboard operator. The Fool is the Gamekeeper.”


I sputtered, “But you told me that you weren’t . . .” I trailed off. He hadn’t actually denied it, had he? “So that’s one of your abilities?” No wonder he was so often confused.

“Responsibility.”


“You need to disconnect this circuit, Matthew!” I’d thought mind reading was simply one of Death’s powers. Then I recalled the Reaper once telling me, “Matto remembers his debts. He’ll show you to me. . . .”


“Inside voices are important,” Matthew insisted.

“Why would you allow him in my head?” I couldn’t comprehend this. “A couple of weeks ago, he said something about you paying your debts?” Nothing. “Do you let him hear everyone’s thoughts?”


“Death only wants yours. Death possessing Life. I’m in his pocket.”


“So let me get this straight. You connect the Arcana calls. You let Death communicate with us all. And you allow him access to my brain alone—because of some debt?”


Matthew offered me a charred pinecone.

Patience! “You do understand that Death will always know what we’re planning.”


“Doesn’t care about what we plan. No more than you would care what cannibal ants in mines plan. He laughs at our plans.”


“I don’t want a killer like him in my head!”


Matthew slowed, looking down at me with an expression that seemed far wiser than his years. “I do things for reasons.”


Gaze darting, I said, “I’ve got to tell the others. This is a huge weakness! I can’t form an alliance against an enemy when he knows all our moves in advance.”


“You feel his presence. Learn when he’s home. Death knew my gaze. Learn his.”


“I can learn to tell when he’s snooping?” When Matthew had showed me that last vision of Death battling Joules and his friends, the Reaper had sensed us. And didn’t I perceive a heaviness whenever he was about? “Until then, how do I know Death won’t try to prevent me from reaching Gran?” I asked, hoping that Matthew might confirm she was even alive.

“Bores Death. He doesn’t believe in her as you do.”


“Can you please tell me if she’s safe?”


“Define safe,” Matthew said with a look at his hand. Subject done.

She had to be alive. I had to believe Matthew cared about me enough not to let me go on a wild-goose chase.

“Why does Death have such an interest in me, anyway? There are other cards to terrorize.”


Shrug.

“You know, but you’re not telling me.”


Smile. “Crazy like a fox!”


“Matthew, come on—” A branch snapped some distance to my right. I jerked around but saw nothing. A clammy feeling crawled over my nape. “Are we being watched?”


He blinked at me. “Why wouldn’t we be?”


“Are we in danger?”


He chuckled, shaking his forefinger at me. “Sense of humor.”


Yeah, I guessed we never got out of danger. I kept walking. “Is Jackson going to leave us?” As soon as I’d asked this, I regretted the expenditure of breath. I knew the answer to that question.

He’d been taking point, trudging onward, with his hoodie pulled up. All day his expression had varied between enraged and more enraged. Like he was getting pissed off anew every few minutes.

He wasn’t talking to me, but he also ignored Selena and Finn. Yep, he’d checked out mentally. I figured he’d get ghost as soon as we made the next town.

“Should’ve said good-bye. Arcana and non-Arcana mix poorly.” Matthew sighed. “Dee-vee-oh stares at you when you don’t see. Hunter. Watching. You’re the angel atop the Christmas tree that he can never reach. Gift beneath that he can’t unwrap.”


You’d have thought I’d be used to Matthew’s ramblings. I wasn’t.

“All his life, all false faces. Born of a false face. You showed him yours.”


Jackson still carried the scars of his poverty-stricken childhood. His father had refused to pay support, or even to acknowledge his destitute son. His mother had been an alcoholic who’d entertained drunken lovers. Those men had abused her—and beaten Jackson, teaching him not to trust.