Endless Knight
Page 7I hadn’t been anything less with Arthur.
I pressed my hand to my stomach. In a past life, I’d suffered that blow. Was that what awaited me in my present one? “The Empress from last night’s dream seemed different from the one I’ve been seeing since before the Flash.” The one who’d used sea plants to destroy whole galleons and spores to murder entire villages.
“Going back farther, farther,” Matthew said. “Two games before. You were the May Queen then. Red witch was Phyta. You are Poison Princess. You are all of them: Lady Lotus, Mistress of Flora, Queen of Thorns.”
He’d told me these names before, but I hadn’t thought they’d referred to individual Empresses. “Why go back to another game? I’ve already hit my limit with dreams—with memories—of the red witch.” Or Phyta, or whoever.
“This Death first met you then.”
“You mean Death in this reincarnation?” His present life had started thousands of years ago. I might have come back as three different Empresses since then, but he’d simply endured and survived year after year, game after game. “Okay, fine, so you want me to have these memories. Then why are you piecemealing this information, Matthew? Why not just give me all the memories?”
“I did. Two games’ worth. Your mind resists. Dreams relent. Safety valve.”
“Wait . . .” I was struggling to keep up physically—and topic-wise. “So I have all the memories from two games, I just have to dream them? Why can’t I see them all at once?”
He gave me an indulgent look. “Then you’d be like me. Crazy. You are Death’s weakness.”
“So you keep telling me. Does he happen to know my weaknesses?”
“As well as his face in the mirror. Pay attention to your dreams. I’m in his pocket, so he’s in my eyes.”
It wasn’t the first time Matthew had told me that, but I hadn’t understood him. Now I did. Death could see me through Matthew’s eyes, so he always knew what was happening with me. And though I didn’t understand how, Death could drop in on my thoughts at will. Our last exchange had been during this morning’s harried climb:
—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.
“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 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.
Teaching him to be ruthless and to communicate with his fists.
All he’d ever known was deception and violence.
How could he not see me as deceitful and violent, as more of the same? Before his eyes, I’d turned into a viney-skinned, poisonous monster—one who’d been cackling to slit some scrawny Irish kid’s throat.
Matthew said, “Think less about Dee-vee-oh, more about game.”
Toiling up a steep incline, I considered what I remembered about the cards. Last night, when I’d gazed at my new icon, memories of my grandmother had flooded me in a rush. They were still fragments, but growing more fully formed with each hour.
I could recall her telling me about players who controlled animals as I did plants. I remembered cards that could manipulate the elements.
Her voice seemed to echo in my head: “The details of the images are important. They’re to be read like a map.” “Study the cards. Memorize them. The symbols are all there for a reason, Evie. They tell you about the players.”
How I wished I could lay hands on a deck. I knew the cards were chock-full of dots to connect, threads in common. Some cards had animal images on them, some plants. Others had water or fire.
I recalled Gran humming as she’d shuffled her deck, preparing to quiz me. “Which cards are the best spellbinders?”
I’d chirped, “The Hierophant and the Lovers. And me!”
“The strongest in body?”
“The Devil! The Devil is so strong!”
No wonder my mom had gotten spooked.
At the top of the rise, Finn waited up for us. “Evie, I wanted to apologize again for making myself look like Jack and accidentally tricking you and making you run away and all. Forgive me?”
Was I still mad? I’d been trying to look on the bright side. Okay, yeah, I was now broken up with Jackson beyond all reconciliation, a murderer, and a fugitive from a zombie horde.
But . . . I’d remembered a lot about the Arcana game, I’d saved three—well, two—girls’ lives and maybe others who would’ve fallen into Arthur’s trap. And I’d learned to control my powers.
It was a wash. Yet then I recalled how Finn had looked out for Matthew over the last two days. “I accept your apology, Finn. Just don’t pull a stunt like that again.”
Farther ahead, Jackson was taking a breather, drinking from his canteen. He gazed back down the mountain. God, he was so tall and proud. So strong. His rugged features were sigh-worthy.
Finn caught my gaze. “I know things seem rough with him right now, but he’ll come around. He went nuts when you were missing.”
“He has a temper.” Which wasn’t surprising, considering his tragic background.
“No, Evie. He was . . . frantic, out of control. I’m talking Hulk-smash on ye olde cabin. When he realized our lack of transportation was the sole thing keeping him from you, he stormed back into that militia’s camp, striding into a hail of bullets. Dude didn’t duck, didn’t sidestep, just rolled in, killed, took that jeep.”
My lips parted as I stared up at Jackson in amazement.
“He loves you,” Finn insisted.
As if he could sense he was the subject of our discussion, Jack cast me a derisive look over his shoulder, then marched on.
“Clearly.”
“He does. The reason he didn’t have his bug-out bag last night was because he wasn’t thinking about his own survival—only yours.”
I glanced at Matthew, who gave me a short nod: That’s true.
“He just needs some time to get used to the idea of you with powers.” Finn tilted his head, taking in my face—which I knew was bright red from exertion and streaked with remains. “His girlfriend went from bunny to viper. From hot piece of ass to smokin’ monsteress.”
I raised my brows. “Smokin’? I was repulsive.”
Finn helped me over a log. “When you turned all Eviezilla, I had a boner the size of . . . well, something large and boner-shaped.”
My cheeks heated even more, but I didn’t put too much stock in what Finn said. He wasn’t exactly discriminating with girls. “Well, Jackson didn’t think so. He’s written me off. He’s got this intense sense of curiosity. He’s wicked intelligent, and he loves to solve puzzles, to dig at secrets. Yet he hasn’t asked a single question about us, about me? It’s because we’re not going to be a part of his life for much longer.”
I paused, catching my breath somewhat. One thing I had to know . . . “What were you thinking when you deceived Selena that night? Was it worth it for one kiss?”
Finn raked his fingers through his hair. “Hell no. I was way out of bounds.”
“You think? You can’t treat girls that way.”
“I know, I know. But sometimes I feel forced to trick others.”
Matthew piped up: “In his blood.”
Finn nodded eagerly. “The more I use my illusions, the more I need to. I get antsy if I don’t. That was one of the reasons I was deported from SoCal to South Carolina to live with the redneck cuzzes—because of the pranks on my parents.”
“Like what?”
“My mom freaked when she woke up with a pink faux-hawk the day of a society dinner. My dad, weirdly, didn’t think it was funny to see a clown with a bloody ax in our pool house. They didn’t know for certain that it was me, but they knew something was going on and couldn’t handle it. But still, I couldn’t make myself stop. It’s like a compulsion.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">