The Dark Calling Read online

  I believed the Chariot was a decent-minded, disciplined guy. But I also suspected he would slit my throat with a song in his heart if it meant saving his wife.

  Still, he'd gotten me thinking. What if we Arcana had all banded together to fight our shitty fates?

  Each of us had myriad weaknesses and strengths. Ogen had been immune to my poison but suffered from hydrophobia. Though Joules didn't have great physical strength, he could electrify his body in defense. Gabriel's black-feathered wings were awing, but they were also a huge target. All-powerful Aric had succumbed to Paul's influence, yet hapless Finn had been unaffected.

  What could we all have accomplished if we'd pooled the resources of twenty-two Arcana?

  Would even the gods have trembled?

  I leaned my head back and stared at the ceiling, thoughts racing. This was my first night away from Aric in months. I tried to call up a memory of his unguarded smile, but all I saw was that rage in his eyes.

  The image of him in the window had been seared into my brain forever. I'd learned something in that moment: Rage is a type of madness.

  Would he ever come back from it? Did some deep-down part of him understand what he'd done? No matter what, he must be hurting.

  How was Lark dealing with her grief? A new worry emerged. What would happen if she tried her faunagenesis--on Finn?

  No, Paul would never allow it. The Hanged Man's powers had been activated with that kill.

  Closing my eyes, I replayed Finn's beach illusion. That last bit of harmony had been the calm before the storm. Years seemed to have passed, but less than a day had gone by.

  Finn's voice echoed in my head. I freaking love you guys.

  Tears spilled down my cheeks.

  Though I cried silently, Joules woke. In a rough voice, he said, "Finn was my friend too."

  14

  Day 536 A.F.

  Still in the foothills

  "I say we rent her out at the Sick House."

  "No way. The Stix will pay more for her."

  "But they'll be wantin' her untouched. And dang it, we should acknowledge our own limitations."

  "Excuse me, gentlemen," I told my two would-be pimps as they debated what to do with me. Stix? Sick House? I had no idea what they were talking about and didn't care. I just wanted to be absolutely certain they deserved what was coming to them: their executions. "Look, I don't want any trouble with either of you." My damsel-in-distress act was getting old.

  One guy's halitosis smelled like radioactive waste. I'd deemed him Hal. The other had a handlebar moustache littered with food debris. He was Stache.

  "Please let me go." I wasn't managing a believable level of panic. "I'm trying to make it home to my husband." Not a lie.

  After parking their serial-killer van, they'd approached me with raised weapons--a bat and what was probably an empty pistol. They'd asked me if I was alone, and I'd said I was.

  Definitely a lie. Kentarch and Joules crouched nearby behind an overturned tractor trailer.

  I still hesitated to steal from innocent folks, so whenever Kentarch heard a vehicle coming, he and Joules got scarce, and I trotted out to the road to do my damsel routine. If anyone tried to hurt me, the boys stepped in, and the non-innocent forfeited everything. Including their lives.

  All I had to do was give the signal. Kentarch would easily pick them off with his rifle, pistol, or throwing blades. Joules normally held off using his spears in close quarters. His javelins tended to go boom in a big way.

  My powers remained fritzed.

  "You ain't ever gonna see your husband again, peach," Hal told me from way too up-close. His mouth smelled like someone had told him to eat shit, and he'd complied. He kept licking his chapped lips as he leered at me. "But soon you're gonna have plenty of fellas to keep you company."

  I was so over this. For the last week, we'd encountered a surprising number of survivors; I supposed they tended to converge like Arcana did.

  Not as surprising--they'd all been bad guys. We'd scored twenty-three gallons of gasoline, a bug-out bag for me, half a bottle of gin, and a case of Sheba canned cat food.

  I'd declined my share of kitty chow, fearing I'd just throw it up anyway. When Joules had first dug his fingers into a can to scoop chunks to his mouth, I'd gone running to vomit.

  My perilous escape from the castle seemed to have done nothing to interrupt my pregnancy. Fatigue was taking its toll. My hunger pangs were constant, the pain like an old, untended wound.

  Maybe Hal and Stache had food, something to keep me from daydreaming about hush puppies and ice cream and mashed potatoes and cheeseburgers with extra, gooey cheese.

  I turned my thoughts from food, my bleary mind wandering over the last few days. As Kentarch, Joules, and I had descended from the mountains, the temperatures rose, and snow cover grew sparser.

  The rivers and ponds had been only partially iced over. I'd hailed Circe at the larger ones. No answer. Nor had I heard from Matthew. Jack, are you out here?

  Though I trusted my new traveling companions to a degree, I never told them about the Fool's last message. As time passed, Jack's survival seemed less and less believable, even to me.

  I'd also never given them all the details of Aric's attack at the castle--even when I'd woken up screaming. My nightmares of Richter now alternated with those about Aric . . . .

  We should've been able to pick up our pace to the coast, but so many roads had been washed out or blocked with vehicles. Whenever the Beast couldn't winch or bulldoze its way through, Kentarch had to teleport us.

  He was also using his teleportation each night to measure the spread of the Hanged Man's influence. Kentarch's last report: It's unpredictable and sporadic.

  Hunger and overuse had weakened the Chariot's abilities overall. Earlier today, he'd tried to teleport the truck across a wreck-choked bridge. We'd flashed from tangible to quavery and back as he'd gritted his teeth. He hadn't been able to move us an inch, so we'd had to backtrack and go around.

  Afterward, his outline had wavered, making him look like a ghost, then a man, then a ghost.

  At this point, I could have walked faster, but I never complained when I slept in the Beast's toasty cab. I'd once asked Kentarch, "Why don't you carry a bug-out bag?" His answer: "This truck is my bug-out bag." Several times an hour, his gaze would stray to Issa's picture on his visor.

  His chariot was a weapon and a roving safe house rolled into one, but it was a demanding tool, requiring ever more fuel. As my own resource-suck did.

  "Right on!" Stache said, waking me from my daze. "Then we're in agreement." He started forcing me toward their van.

  "Guys, if you want to live past the next few seconds, then release me and keep moving."

  Stache tightened his grip on my arm. "Another word out of you, and I'll cut out your tongue and feed it to you."

  "Literally? Or is that just a saying? These days you have to wonder."

  Stache raised his hand to backhand me. Before I could stop him, Hal grabbed his wrist. "Don't mark her up. I want her pretty. No reason not to enjoy her till we reach the Sick House."

  Aaaaaand, we're done here. "Your lifetime's over." I gave the signal. "Come, touch," I told these men, "but you'll pay a price."

  A knife flew past me, end over end. The blade plugged Hal in the face. He reeled before he collapsed.

  Eyes gone wide, Stache released me and fled. He didn't get five steps before another knife sank into his back. THUNK. A kill shot.

  Kentarch jogged over to retrieve his blades. The first time he'd made a throw like that, I'd gawked. His aim was so uncanny, even Joules--no slouch himself--had been impressed.

  "Let's make quick work of this." Kentarch remained as reserved as Joules was mouthy. He mostly liked to talk about tactical things, or about mind over matter, and he never volunteered information about his life in Africa.

  As Kentarch siphoned fuel, Joules investigated the men's van, tossing me their bags to root through. They had pictures of family, p
robably stolen from other victims. I snagged a flashlight and two flints to put in my bug-out bag. Not exactly winning Lotto.

  I raised my head, suddenly feeling as if we were being watched. "Kentarch, do you see or hear anyone else around us?"

  He assessed the area. "No, Empress."

  "Probably nothing then."

  "Food!" Joules cried from the van. "They've got food. A container full of soup."

  I'd bet I could keep that down! I hurried over.

  Joules held up a clear takeout container filled with a dark broth. He ripped off the lid and inhaled. "Take a whiff of that!"

  Though the soup was cool, the delicious aroma reached me. My stomach was on board! My first real meal in days.

  "Looks like we're goin' to vary our cat-food diet--"

  A pinky finger floated to the surface. Mushy skin. With a long, dirty nail.

  Joules yelled and hurled the container.

  Then he puked right beside me.

  _______________

  Enough. The cannibal soup had marked a turning point for me. Resolve gave way under the weight of depression. My eyes watered, my bottom lip trembling.

  As we continued onward, Kentarch kept glancing from the road to my face. "We had a minor setback foodwise, but we gained valuable fuel. Overall, our mission was a success."

  I gave him a watery glare. "A minor setback? Do you ever lose your cool?" The closest I'd seen him get was when Joules had nearly opened a bottle of Tusker beer he'd found somewhere in the truck. Kentarch had yelled, "Place that down slowly. As if your life depends on it." Later, he'd admitted, "That is my wife's favorite. I found the bottle on the day I lost her, and I've protected it ever since. I believe we will drink it together when we're reunited."

  Now he said, "You need to eat from the supplies we have, Empress. If not for yourself, then for your baby."

  "I'll never keep it down." The only thing worse than eating Sheba would be experiencing it on the way back up.

  Joules rested his head against the window. "Canna stop thinking about real food. Gabe and me used to smell bacon cooking in the castle. About drove us barmy. Sizzling, juicy rashers . . ."

  We each fell silent, lost in our own thoughts.

  I missed Aric. I missed the life we'd had together. I missed Jack. I missed food meant for humans without bits of humans in it.

  As ever, I wondered what Aric was doing in his lonely castle and how Lark was coping. Had they had a funeral for Finn? Maybe they'd buried him on the hill close to Gran.

  I wondered if Aric had left my painting on the wall of our bedroom. Would he water the rose bloom he'd grown from a seed--or destroy it?

  I frowned. I could simply ask Aric. I turned to Kentarch. "Can I borrow your phone?"

  15

  Death

  How much longer could I remain in this castle without going mad? I sat in my study, gazing out at the night, sharpening my swords.

  This task used to soothe me, but inside, I was chaos.

  Kentarch, my long-time ally, had betrayed me, spiriting my duplicitous wife away into the Ash.

  I kept replaying the image of her, wounded, in the back of that truck, traveling farther and farther from my reach.

  As long as she lived, I would be at risk of falling for her beauty and charms, because I was weak when it came to my nemesis.

  I scraped a whetstone along one sword edge. Evidently, there was no end to what I'd believe from her lips. The Grim Reaper, a father? The back of my neck heated, and I cringed at my idiocy.

  The Hanged Man's sphere of clarity protected me from her spellbinding, which she'd known. As Paul had explained: "The Empress wanted me dead because I can defend you and the others from her powers. I'm the only one she can't mesmerize."

  But his sphere wasn't spreading fast enough. We Arcana had fueled it in the beginning, causing it to overrun this mountain. Now it grew in fitful spurts.

  I couldn't reach the Empress without leaving it. Not an option.

  A shadow passed by my window, the Archangel flying by on his watch. He and Fauna split those duties.

  After losing the Magician, she was proving to be less of an asset than ever. Though she'd sent creatures to scout for the Empress, her usual drive had disappeared.

  She'd moved into the menagerie, sleeping continually, seeming dazed whenever awake. And she kept close her wolves, as if she'd sensed a threat from me.

  She should. I raised my sword to eye the edge. Along with my new mental clarity, my murderous impulses grew stronger every day. I was returning to the Grim Reaper of old--

  My phone rang. I stared at it on my desk.

  Her. I knew it was the Empress calling from Kentarch's phone. My chest constricted, every inch of my skin feeling feverish. I set aside my sword and whetstone to reach for the phone. Paul entered just as I answered, "Empress."

  "Aric."

  She was the only person who'd called me by my given name in more than two millennia. One soft word from her had sent chills racing over me.

  I'd gotten used to touch. I'd gotten used to bedding her. To loving her. What if, by some miracle, she could have been true?

  Paul studied my expression. Though I masked my reaction to her, he noticed, was clearly disappointed.

  Would I spit in the face of his enlightenment? How could her effect on me still linger? "Why have you called?"

  "I miss my husband."

  My gods. "I miss . . . the idea of you." I'd caught myself debating whether I could ignore everything she'd done to me and take her back to my bed. Such is her power.

  No. Never. Eventually she would try to poison me. That was her MO. "But I always knew you would turn on me."

  "I haven't. You're being influenced by Paul."

  "He's shown me the truth. Because of him, I escaped the Magician's fate."

  "Paul killed Finn--not me!" Then she seemed to make an effort to control her emotions. "He ended the life of my friend, a sweet teenager who respected and looked up to you."

  "Ah, my beautiful poisoness, you dispatched the Magician--just as you usually do."

  "Then how did an inactivated card like Paul get activated? Why does he wear Finn's icon? Check his hand."

  "He wagered you would bring that up again as 'proof.'"

  With a grin, Paul displayed the Magician's mark to me--an ouroboros symbol. The snake eating its own tail symbolized the eternal power of transformation.

  "Then how do you explain it, Aric?"

  "By the time Paul returned to the castle, your poison had ravaged the Magician's organs and mind, but his body still clung to life. Paul delivered a tonic to put the boy out of his misery."

  "You did CPR on Finn. You can sense death, and you told us he was dead. So if I'm guilty, I should have gotten the icon."

  "I was mistaken. The Magician still lived. The boy's own powers must have altered my perception."

  "An answer for everything, huh? Paul told me he wasn't a monster like the ones I've faced, but the Traitor's worse. I never trusted the Lovers, the Hermit, or the Hierophant. I never depended on the Devil."

  "Ah, but I once did. Ogen was the only one who could refashion my armor with his demonic grip." The metal was invulnerable to pressure and heat, unless wielded by the Devil Card. And now my suit would be forever compromised because I'd cut out a piece for her cilice. The Empress was responsible for the single chink in my armor. So too in life. "I regret killing Ogen to save you." Was that a hitched breath? I'd shocked her.

  Paul had broached the subject of retrieving the Empress alive, using the cilice on her. Though she was too evil to benefit from his clarity, she could fuel the sphere. Still, I wanted her dead for what she'd made me believe.

  In the background, I heard the Tower mutter, "Ask him about Gabe."

  I told her, "The Archangel has joined our new alliance and looks forward to facing the Tower."

  She made a sound of frustration. "If you have a reason for hating me, then fine, I can almost see it. We were enemies longer than allies. But
Gabe and Joules have always been best friends. So why would Gabe turn against Joules, if not for Paul?"

  "The Archangel discovered that the Tower and his lover, Calanthe, had intended to electrocute him as soon as he'd outlived his usefulness. Three's a crowd, is it not?"

  "Lemme guess: Paul told you guys that? And you're buying it? Joules loves Gabe like a brother."

  "And yet . . ."

  She didn't relay this to the Tower. What was she thinking? What new strategy would she employ?

  Several moments passed before she said, "I'm about three months along now. I should be showing soon."

  "Still you continue with this pregnancy nonsense." What was worse? Her conniving? Or the fact that even now I craved this family? I hated her the most for that.

  "Aric, we're going to have a kid together, but only if I survive for the next six months. Think what you will about me. Punish me, but don't punish our child."

  I squeezed my eyes closed. When I opened them, light glittered from my gaze. "You want me to believe not only that I impregnated you, but also that your pregnancy continues?"

  Fauna had landed at least one venomous bite. The Archangel had reported that the Empress and the Tower had been swept up in an avalanche and that she'd been bleeding profusely.

  "Believe it. As of now, this is our reality."

  "You can sound convincing, I'll give you that." So godsdamned convincing. My gaze flickered toward Paul. Almost at once, a memory arose of when she'd first seduced me into bed. "Just as you did centuries ago. As if it were yesterday, I can recall the look in your eyes--right before you delivered your poisoned kiss to me. This is why I never call you by your given name. While it might change, you do not."

  "I told you I couldn't feel guilty any longer for things I did as another incarnation. I told you that I wouldn't keep paying for the past. You said you understood and that we'd start anew. But we didn't, did we?"

  "I was ready; you weren't."

  Silence answered me. What trick would she try now? "We'll talk about this after I take Paul down. Understand me, Reaper, I'm going to get you fixed."

  "Such bravado, poisoness. How will you defeat a player who's invulnerable to harm?" Paul had demonstrated how a blade drawn over his flesh made no slice, his skin as protected as if he wore my armor. My hated bane. Alas, the Hanged Man possessed no offensive powers, was utterly dependent on me and our alliance.