“Crush him,” Matthew murmured. “Weight of Sins.”
A haze erupted around her, ripples of energy seeming to flow out from her, bombarding Death.
He laughed. “I’d have to consider my deeds sinful for you to have power over me, Calanthe.” He lopped off her arm with one of his swords, while his other arced around for her neck. Slice.
I gazed away, my eyes watering.
Matthew squeezed my hand. “She fears him no more.”
Across the field, Joules howled with grief, retreating as Ogen gave chase.
Leaving Death alone with his kill.
When he turned toward his red-eyed steed, awaiting not far from our secret spot, I glimpsed Death’s face for the first time.
Surprise rocked me. Death was the most beautiful boy I had ever imagined.
Looking to be no more than twenty years old, he was tall and broad-shouldered with a breathtaking face. I imagined some might describe his features as noble. His eyes glittered like . . . stars.
How could someone so evil look so divine?
He jammed his battered helmet onto the saddle pommel, and exhaled a gust of breath. Every line in his bearing screamed weariness.
Yet then he stilled, craning his neck to look directly at Matthew. “I’ve been around long enough to sense your unblinking gaze, Fool.” His voice was a harsh rasp. “You allowed her to see me at play? Perhaps I won’t kill you last after all.”
Then his attention turned on me. “Don’t worry, Empress, Matto remembers his debts. He’ll show you to me as well.” His accent sounded Eastern European, or maybe Russian? “I’ll watch all your battles and discover your cunning tricks. After tonight, I’ll whisper in your mind more freely than any of the Arcana.”
I was speechless, still awestruck by his face.
Which seemed to take him aback. “Are you weak? Our game is no fun if you’re weak. Are you faint of heart and short of courage?”
Matthew squeezed my hand, prompting me to croak, “No.” It sounded like a question.
Death narrowed those glittering eyes. “I’ve waited endless years to battle you again. Will you not face me?”
Face him? What was I supposed to “battle” him with?
Behind him, that field might as well have been a lunar landscape for all the plants that grew. Should I attack an armored knight with my thorn claws?
Just as he’d once said, I did have life in my blood. But even if I had time to grow seeds, garden plants couldn’t withstand those swords.
How much blood would it take to grow an acorn into a formidable ally?
“Remember, Empress,” he said. “Death always defeats life. It might take time, but I will always win.” As he mounted that mighty steed, he pinned me with his hypnotic gaze. “When your blood bathes my sword, I’ll drink it just to mock you. . . .”
I woke with a gasp, back at the McMansion.
Matthew looked groggy, slow to come out of his vision.
“What the hell, kid?!” We’d not only witnessed a murder, we’d talked with the killer! “Wake up.” I shook his shoulder. He seemed a hundred times more exhausted than before he’d slept. “Why does Death expect me to face him?”
He ran his hand over his forehead. “The ancient battles must be fought, the markings earned, the bad cards defeated.”
My senses were on high alert after that disturbing vision, my patience at an all-time low. Striving for an even tone, I said, “Why must they be fought? Maybe we have—oh, I don’t know—enough on our plates after the Flash!”
“The battles begin at the End,” he said yet again.
“The Flash marked the beginning?” Right when the voices kicked up. Had the apocalypse awakened the Arcana? I swallowed. Or vice versa? “What caused the Flash, Matthew?”
“Sun.”
I exhaled in relief. Okay, a solar flare made sense. Then I remembered . . . “Isn’t there a Sun Card?”
Shrug.
Patience, Evie. “Is the Sun good or bad?”
“The sun is a star.”
And wasn’t there a Star Card too? Moving on . . . “How did Death see us?”
“Old. Knows my glimpse.”
“How old is he?”
“Really.”
“Matthew!” I rose, pacing.
“Twenty-one centuries or so.”
“Twenty-one! Is he immortal?”
Another shrug. “Just hasn’t been killed in a while.”
Back and forth I paced. “But he knows you. Are you . . . his age?”
With a roll of his eyes, Matthew informed me, “I’m sixteen.”
Patience! “Then tell me when you two met.”
“Twenty-one centuries ago.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You’re killing me, kid.”
He shot to his feet, clamping my shoulders. “Never kill you!”
“It’s just a figure of speech, Matthew.” I eased out of his grip.
“Oh.” He sank back on the bed. “I’ve seen the games, the past. I’ve seen Death. In some ways, I’m wise,” he said, looking anything but.
“Crazy like a fox,” I murmured. “Okay, so say I have to fight in some kind of supernatural ‘ancient battle.’ What’s the purpose? What do we get if we win?”
My mind raced as I imagined what kind of prize might be equal to the risk. Maybe there was a protected haven on earth, one that still had rain and greenery?
Death was some kind of otherworldly knight; did he possess an untouched fortress somewhere? Then I remembered his plane of unbroken black, cluttered with ruins. Not precisely where I’d choose to live.
Maybe there was some way to go back in time and stop the apocalypse! Hadn’t Gran believed I was going to save the world? I needed to know the stakes.
My heart dropped when Matthew said, “If you win, you get to . . . live.”
“So there’s no way to improve our lot? Just more danger and worry heaped on my shoulders?”
“Danger! And worry!”
“No. I refuse this. I didn’t sign up for this shit! I never opted in. But I sure as hell can opt out.”
“No refusal. You are Arcana. Learn your powers. Use them.”
“Nuh-uh, I’m a girl with no dog in this fight,” I assured him. “I’ll raise a white flag, seek a truce. You can help me with Death, since you know him.”
“I’m in his pocket, so he’s in my eyes.”
“And that means what ?”
Matthew nodded. “No truce. No peace. He is Death. He knows one thing—killing.”
“Then I’ll run.” Was that what my life would be like from now on? Fleeing from an armored serial killer, always looking over my shoulder, dreading his approach? How long could I keep that up?
With a shiver, I thought of Matthew’s eulogy for Calanthe.
She fears him no more. . . .
Chapter 33
Then Selena had added, “Why don’t you tell her that we’ll keep him along, but only if she agrees to head back to my place. Otherwise, we’ll be forced to cut the deadweight.”
Selena, you snake in the ash.
Yet Jackson had told her, “I’ll think about it.” How much sway did she hold over him?
Deciding there was no chance the two up front could hear us over that music, I whispered, “Matthew, can Selena literally bring doubt?”
“She’s the Moon.” He began staring at one of his hands, turning it this way and that, seeming to examine every contour. Which usually meant he was done with a subject.