The Arcana Chronicles 2: Endless Knight
Page 17Finn didn’t stir.
“There’s no escape,” one of the other prisoners said, the sole woman, a middle-aged lady with sunken eyes, clad in a tattered sack dress. A square chunk of skin was missing from each of her thighs.
Tad begged me, “Kill me. Smother me.”
“Evie, you stay put!” Jack ordered. “You can’t help him.”
Was I going to sit back and let a man be butchered alive? In Arthur’s basement, I’d realized that I had power to fight back against evil, that I could help others. All I had to do was repurpose myself. I’d wondered how many were chained out in the world.
With that thought in mind, I reached for my cuff and used a claw to jimmy it open, earning a stern: “Damn it, fille.”
The lock popped open with a click, spooking the other prisoners. “Stop this, girl!” “They’ll come quicker, and there’s no fighting them.” “Tad’s gone anyway.” “They’ll whip us for this!”
Selena snapped, “They’re going to kill every single one of us—or worse—and you’re worried about a whipping? You might be resigned to your fate down here, but I’m not!” To me she said, “Carry the hell on, Evie. Your glyphs are getting brighter. Free us all, and we fight.”
Jack shook his head. “You doan listen to her. Sit your ass back down and act chained. We doan make a move without Finn, and he should wake soon. If those guards come back and see you freed, they might take you instead!”
I wavered.
“Bébé, we can’t help everyone. Be smart about this.” In French, he added, “That man will never survive, even if we freed him.”
In a desolate voice, Tad said, “The others are r-right. There’s no fighting the Teeth. Not that I would be a help anyway. They bring even more guards when they harvest. More than a dozen of them.”
God, I wanted to fight.
Tad was now crying. “But could you . . . would you put your hand . . . over my mouth and nose? Please. I can’t hurt you, can’t stop you. It’d be a mercy.”
I glanced at Jack. He shook his head firmly. “You need to look like you’re chained.” Whatever he saw in my expression made him bite out a curse, then mutter, “Hurry.”
Lark said, “I can let you know when they’re coming.”
“How?”
Her eyes began to sparkle red. “They have a couple of rats that survived down here. I’ve moved them into the central area now.”
I crossed to Tad, lifting his head into my lap, shocked by how little he weighed. “I’ll make this better.” I sounded so assured, while inside I was horrified, had no idea how I was going to do this.
Tears welled as my glyphs began to brighten and swirl, my emotions fueling my arsenal. Others in the cell gasped in shock, but Tad gazed up at me with a dazed stare, as if I were a savior.
Just before I leaned down, I murmured, “A kiss good-bye, then?”
“B-bless you,” the man whispered, closing his eyes. “Angel.”
My tears hit his face as our lips met. My poison seeped into him.
Without even a twitch, he stopped breathing forever. Awash with grief, I straightened, a nebulous idea forming.
Jack’s brows were drawn. “Get back, now!”
I nodded, yet that idea kept insisting I acknowledge it. What an evil plan, I thought, embarrassed even to consider it.
But how better to deal with evil people?
“I have an idea.” My hair was changing colors, my claws sharpening. The prisoners fell into stunned silence.
Matthew finally spoke. “Arsenal.” He was telling me to use it.
Jack looked alarmed. “What are you thinking? Talk to me!”
Lark’s expression flashed with comprehension. “Poison.”
Selena nodded slowly, admiration in her gaze. “Fuckin’ A. Do it!”
Jack repeated, “Hurry!”
“I’m so sorry,” I said as I sank my claws into Tad’s side. Like a snake, I injected my venom into his chest muscles, his neck, what was left of his shoulders. To disguise the marks, I connected them until they looked like solid gashes.
Silence fell over the cell. No one dared speak. The prisoners were terrified of me. Nothing new there.
Lark said, “And now?”
I’d injected so much, I was weakened to the point of exhaustion. My fingers felt like they’d been asleep for years. Vision blurring, I whispered, “Now we wait.” I’d desecrated a body and couldn’t tell if I was ashamed. Or proud.
Standing up was beyond me, so I began crawling back to my chain.
“They’re coming, Evie!” Lark hissed. “And they’re bringing him. . . .”
18
—WE GO NOW TO OUR BLOODY BUSINESS.—
I’d just clasped my ankle cuff back together, pressing the seam against the ground, when the gate groaned open.
They did bring back a dozen guards—and also the Hierophant.
He stood silhouetted in torchlight. He had thick gold rings on each of his fingers but no icons on his hands. He wore a black rain poncho. With the hood down, it resembled a robe. Looking to be no more than eighteen or nineteen, he was dark-haired with a bloated face, eyes like beads, and red, feverish cheeks.
His tableau flashed over him, an image of a robed male holding his right hand high, two fingers raised, blessing his followers.
The Hierophant cast the older prisoners a grandfatherly smile—with hideous jagged teeth—then did a double take at me.
At my tableau. His eyes met mine. “What a little beauty.” His voice was even-toned, pleasant. Unlike his men, he had no discernible accent. “I can see that the spirits surround you too.”
Don’t look at him, don’t look at him. “You’re sick. All of this is sick.”
“I’m quite hale, thank you,” he said, purposely misunderstanding me.
Don’t look. But whenever he spoke, he compelled my gaze toward him, no matter how hard I resisted. I peeked up, saw he’d started perspiring. He was trying to mesmerize me, and as with most Arcana, using his power was taxing.
“My name is Guthrie, and these are my people. You and I must’ve been destined to meet, for I’ve heard your voice in my visions.”
My Arcana call.
“Would you like to break bread with us, child? Commune with us?”
I had to think about his question before I could sputter, “N-never!”
If I mesmerized someone, it might buy me a second to use some element of my arsenal. Yet this man’s spellbinding gaze would take hold like a disease, never ending until his death.
Unless he made me eat.
If I “broke bread” with him, if I committed that monstrous act, then I’d be doomed forever. His control would last even after he died—
“What’s your name?”
Say nothing! “Evie,” I answered, frowning at myself. He was so much stronger than me! Even as I ordered myself not to look, even as I heard Selena and Jack urging me not to, I glanced up again.
Such intriguing eyes. I couldn’t seem to break his stare.
“I sense strength in you,” he told me. “And uniqueness. Yet there’s no need for individuality here. In our commune, we’re all the same.”
“Individuality isn’t bad,” I said, but it sounded like a question.
He smiled. “It’s unnecessary. But we’ll take care of that for you, little one. When you get hungry, I want you to call for my guards.” Maybe I should call for them when I got hungry. “They’ll bring you to my table, to sit at my right hand.” At Guthrie’s right hand. “We have quail, pork, and beef—more food than you’ve seen in days, by the look of you. It’s a fine setting, like a mead hall of old, full of good cheer. All you have to do is make the choice to come to me. And then choose to eat.”
“Choose to eat,” I repeated.
“Evangeline!” Jack grated. “Snap out of this!”
“Out of what?” All I was going to do was call the guards when I got hungry. I wasn’t hungry now, though. My stomach was in knots.
“Why are her eyes clouding?” Jack demanded, his words panicked.
The Hierophant smiled down at me. “Evie, you’re going to like it here.” I just knew that I would. “Eventually, your friends will too. After I’ve dined and rested up, we’ll come back to convert them as well. We’re each surrounded by spirits.”
He was so sure about this, it must be true.
“Be calm, relax. And know that all good things are coming to you.” With a wink, the Hierophant left.
I sank back against the wall, confused as to why I’d been so bent on escaping.
Meth-mouth scowled in Tad’s direction. “He died? Son of a bitch! I knew he didn’t have long.” He snapped his fingers, and one of the guards hefted Tad under his arm, carrying him like a suitcase. “Hurry before the flesh cools. Come on, be quick about it.”
On his way out, the last guard hit Jack with the end of a rifle. “It’s impolite to interrupt the boss.”
Jack collapsed back, head lolling, as if he saw the ceiling spinning. But, to be fair, he shouldn’t have interrupted the Hierophant.
Matthew began squirming, trying to hit his fists against his head.
I turned to him. “Relax, sweetheart. All good things are coming our way.”
“Water!” he yelled. “Water water WATER!”
“Okay, honey. I’ll bring you some as soon as I get out of here. Just have to get hungry first.”
With effort, Jack reached his leg over and kicked Matthew’s. “Easy, coo-yôn,” he said weakly. “We need you focused.”
To my amazement, Matthew calmed.
His outburst had roused Finn. By degrees, the boy opened his eyes and sat up, cringing at the damage to his leg. “I take it they’ve got us?”
“About time you came to.” Lark’s face was stamped with relief.
Finn gazed around the cell. “Jesus. How long was I out?” he asked, sounding like a condemned man.
I didn’t understand his alarm. We were all going to like it here.
“Couple of hours,” Lark said. “We’re working on an escape. One little glitch: the sole person who could free us from these shackles looks like a contented flower child over there. Pun intended.”
I waved at them. When would I get hungry?
“Her eyes are clouded?” Finn asked.
Selena nodded. “If he makes her eat, she’ll be like that forever. Even if we take him out, there’ll be no saving her from this.”
Finn said, “Escapes are my specialty. Just give me a chance to shake off this pain so I can concentrate. Damn, is it me, or is the cell spinning?”
Jack muttered, “It ain’t just you. . . .”
Time passed. Everyone was too frightened to talk, not relaxing as they ought to. Finally I felt the first twinge of hunger. “Guards,” I called with excitement. “I’m hungry.” I started braiding my damp hair, wanting to look halfway presentable for a big dinner. “Guards!”
Jack was cursing, telling me in French to shut my trap.
I pursed my lips. “You’re supposed to relax, Jack.”
Meth-mouth slunk back to the pantry, his chin bloody for some reason. He was picking at his sharp teeth with a pinkie nail.
Jack was tensed against his shackles, muscles tight beneath his shirt. “You hurt her, and I’ll kill you!” Blood poured from his wrists. “I swear to Christ, I’ll gut you!”
Meth-mouth ignored him and reached down to release my ankle cuff.
I admitted, “I used my claws to break it open. Sorry.”
He just rolled his eyes: yeah, right. With a harsh grip on my arm, he escorted me out. As he locked the gate behind us, Jack continued to bellow, thrashing against those chains.
Once we reached the cavern, I blinked at how different everything seemed now. The area looked exactly as Guthrie had described it: a mead hall of old. Boisterous men and women drank from tankards and ate heartily of the beef, pork, and quail. Guthrie ate alone on a dais above all the others. And he wanted me to join him in that place of honor.
Meth-mouth led me up the steps, bones crunching beneath my feet—probably leftovers tossed to the dogs, like the Vikings used to do.
Guthrie welcomed me, offering the chair beside his. When I sat, he blinked at me. “You smell like flowers.”
“I get that a lot. It’s because I’m the Empress.”
He looked charmed. “Oh? Of what?”
“Of Tarot cards.”
His amiable expression faltered. “You sound overtired. You should eat. What would you like first?”
“Quail.” Was there blood on the table? No, no. Mead halls didn’t have bloody tables. As I waited to be served, Guthrie kissed my hand suavely; Jack yelled in the distance, “Damn you, girl, doan eat ANYTHING!” He must be jealous that I was about to get a full meal.
But when Meth-mouth returned with a metal camping plate filled with gore, I frowned. He grinned at me, cracking his lip blisters open. Pus ran down his bloody chin, dripping onto the plate.
I was no longer hungry.
“Is the leg of quail not to your liking?” Guthrie was looking at me intently. “You’re so hungry.”
I was starving! Like I’d give up a free meal?
Finding no silverware, I picked up the quail. It wasn’t very hot, and felt spongier than any I’d ever eaten. Still, I leaned in to take a bite—
Suddenly I heard Death’s coaxing voice: —Ask her about the game, Guthrie.—
When Guthrie saw me stiffen, he said, “You heard that too? His voice often fills my mind—has for months! Is he the devil?”
I huffed with irritation, tossing down my quail, making the plate rattle. “No, that’s a totally different card. You’re hearing Death. Because he always butts in when I’m enjoying myself. Earlier today, I was with Jack in a cave, and—”