Endless Knight(86)

How sad that he’d spent decades preparing for some mysterious future catastrophe. What kind of life was that, just thinking about what could possibly go wrong?

Determined to stay off hot-button subjects—the game, his past, his nationality, my former crew—I said, “Do you know how to drive a car?” Or was he like those anachronistic knights in movies, afraid of all technology?

That corner of his lips curled. A Death grin. “Yes, creature. I own several.”


I relaxed, already halfway buzzed from the vodka. “That’s right—you were crazy rich before the Flash. How’d you make so much money?”


“I started my career early.” At my raised brows, he said, “Assassin. My deadly gift made me well suited for the job. A single handshake could bring down a monarchy. The money grew over the centuries.”


His tone was blank; I couldn’t tell how he felt about his past deeds.

“So that’s where you got those crowns.” Trying to keep things light, I said, “Admit it—you wear them when no one’s around. Play air tennis with the scepters?”


“No, Empress. I do not.”


“Can I, can I?”


On the verge of grinning, he said, “No, Empress, you may not.”


After that we talked more freely, the ice broken. I asked him which of the languages he spoke were hardest to learn (“Arabic, or possibly Hungarian”) and whether he watched TV (“Not if I can help it”).

He too steered clear of sensitive subjects when he asked me how old I was when I’d started dancing (“Three—and even you would’ve gone awww if you’d seen me in a tutu”) and what was my favorite medium for art (“Oil paint, for wall murals”).

The game was brisk. I’d win a trick, then Death would. All the while, our conversation was lively. As we repeatedly one-upped each other’s cards, we bandied back and forth, an ebb and flow as natural as tides. It felt so familiar.

Which confused me. I could swear I was attuned to this man in a way that I hadn’t been with Jack.

The Cajun and I had never conversed like this. Was that because we’d never had the opportunity? Or because we’d never been on the same page? Jack had even said, “We do best when we doan talk.” Stop thinking about him!

During a particularly point-rich round, Death said, “This game is close.” Both our piles of taken cards looked equal, but I had no idea how many points were in each.

He played the Empress card. “I’ve had this beauty in my keeping,” he said, voice raspy.

The double meaning made my toes curl. Not to be outdone, I played my own trump, one I’d been saving. Death. “I’ve been holding on to him for dear life,” I said, suggestively tracing my finger over the length of the card.

His lips parted in surprise. Score one for Evie.

When I collected the pile, I gazed down at his image. “You never use your scythe. Why do you carry it with you?”


In that dry tone, he answered, “I’m a traditionalist.”


I laughed. Was I really having this conversation with the Grim Reaper? My chuckles got worse and worse, until my eyes were watering.

Both corners of his lips curled, almost a real smile.

My laughter died. I was starstruck. “You should smile more often.”


I looked at him, really looked at him, in a way I hadn’t allowed myself to before.

Of course, I’d acknowledged that Death was a gorgeous, educated, sophisticated knight who was rich in luxuries. Like me, he was an Arcana.

But on occasion, I spied hints of the man behind the knight. Such as right now, when he appeared uncomfortable under my scrutiny and a flush spread over his chiseled cheekbones. I smiled when he pulled at his collar.

I could finally admit that these hints were devastatingly attractive to me. With my feelings for Jack blunted by lies and betrayal, would this attraction grow? Especially since Death had stopped threatening to murder me all the time?

Matthew had told me to beware the Touch of Death. Since contact with the Reaper’s skin didn’t harm me, maybe Matthew had meant something deeper—like involvement with Death, as a man, would prove dangerous. What if Death’s power over me was my budding infatuation with him?

Clearing his throat, Death led another round. I found myself paying more attention to him, playing by rote. I put my elbow on his desk, propping my chin on the back of my hand as I noted new details about him.

The blond tips of his eyelashes. The way the end of a rune peeked from his open collar. The faint line in the center of his fuller bottom lip.

Maybe I was just buzzed, but I didn’t think he’d ever looked more handsome than right at that moment. My glyphs began to wind along my arms.

At the end of the round, he collected the remaining cards, sifting through his pile. “I’ve won the night then.” He gave my arms a quizzical look. “You can’t expect to defeat another Arcana if you allow yourself to get distracted, Empress.”


Yet another double meaning. “Maybe the Empress would rather get distracted than play at all.”


He inclined his head, as if to say, “Touché.”


But I’d spoken the truth. I still had no interest in this Arcana contest and continued to believe that securing allies was key. Why couldn’t Death be mine?