His face had lit up when he spotted me, and he'd trotted toward me like a whipped puppy. Then, seeming to realize how silly he looked, he'd slowed and played it cool.
I tilted my head at him. "I'm the first girl you've gone out with, aren't I?"
His cheeks heated. He was cute when he blushed like that. I found myself teasing him a lot, just to get a blush out of him.
Instead of blustering (which he also did a lot), he grew solemn. "Because I had not met a lass as fine as you are."
After a few moments, I blinked, surprised that I'd been staring into his eyes. "Um, let me show you my favorite spot." I steered him to gaze out at the approaching storm. "Up here, there's all this static electricity. Can you feel it?"
His expression was excited. "I can. Is it supposed to give you a high like this?" Thunder rumbled, and a laugh escaped him.
"Hmm. Maybe some of us more than others."
A bolt of lightning flared in the distance, and he was riveted. "I've always fancied lightning."
"Have you? You're like the electrical guy from my sister's Tarot legends." I'd told him that Diya used to entertain me with tales of the Major Arcana. Easing him into my world--our world--I'd explained the basics of the game and most of the twenty-two players.
"The one called the Tower?" He grinned. "I thought I'd be Death for certain. Where's me scythe?"
I shivered at the mere mention of Death.
Joules gazed out as more lightning struck. "Cally, I've never felt more alive than I do right now."
"Then take a pic with me." I pulled out my phone. When he moved in closer, I put my arm around him and hammed it up for the shot.
He murmured at my ear, "Will you blackmail me with pictures too?"
I faced him. "Of course. You're going to have to stay with me."
He couldn't seem to take his eyes off my lips, so I licked them. But he didn't move in for a kiss. He'd definitely never had one before.
I said, "So young."
His eyes went wide. "No younger than you are!"
"Prove it. Kiss me."
He gazed around. "Here? Tere'll be cameras," he said, accent thickening.
"Nobody else cares."
Joules looked like he'd rather eat nails than kiss me here. But he let me maneuver him until I stood between him and the camera.
"Don't you want to kiss me?"
"O' course I want to, but it might lead to other tings, and I'm waiting till I'm wed." He was serious! "Cally, wait with me--"
My hand dipped down, and the almighty Tower gave a whimper. I rested my palm on the front of his jeans.
His voice broke higher as he said, "Jaysus."
When I moved my hand, his eyes rolled back in his head. A bolt struck nearby--as if from his emotions--and he groaned.
"Nobody waits anymore," I murmured.
"I'd always p-planned to." Another groan.
"I think you're just throwing out excuses. Maybe you don't want me to be your girlfriend."
"To have you as me lass?" He tried to steady his gaze, to meet mine, as if he was about to give me a promise. "Tere's nothing I want more! From the first second I saw you, I knew you were the one!" Though his body was shaking with need, he tugged my hand away--so he could hold it with both of his own. Gods, he was so sincere, so virtuous. "You're to be mine?"
A traitorous thought arose: What if I am his?
No, the game made that impossible. I hesitated, then lied: "I am."
His face lit with adoration, and bolts struck all around us. They reflected in his eyes.
_______________
Now
From my subway bench, I gazed at nothing. He'd actually left me. Was I more upset that I'd lost my choirboy than I was about losing the Tower?
Ridiculous. The number-one rule of the game? Never, never develop feelings for another player. What kind of future could two cards have if they loved each other? They aged as long as the game wore on. So two possibilities existed--if they managed to eliminate all the other cards--and both were awful.
Either one would die young, or one would live old until the next game began.
Unless . . . they could rope in another Arcana to outlive them both.
I dreaded going home and facing my sister. She'd be able to see I was pining for Joules. How had he gotten under my skin in such a short time?
Maybe I'd sleep on this bench.
When a hot wind blew down the subway tunnel, I glanced up. A train was stopping. Not a single soul hopped on? Weird. I hadn't seen anyone descend the steps since Joules had boarded his train.
I'd tried everything to stop him. I'd told him, "My sister said you could stay with us. You and I can share my room."
He'd sputtered, "It would no' be right!"
I'd told him that I was dying to sleep with him, but he'd cited marriage again, adding, "What if the condom broke? How could I support a family?" Plus he hadn't wanted to disrespect my sister by doing anything under her roof.
My virtuous Catholic Irishman. I'd tried to guilt him into it, saying, "Everything has to be your way. You refuse to budge an inch. I worry about what kind of relationship we'll have." He'd looked stricken.
But he hadn't come back with me to the apartment.
Then last night, out of desperation, I'd admitted that those Tarot legends were real. I'd explained everything: his role, my role, the history, the danger. I'd told him something bad would happen soon, and he might not be able to get back to me.
He'd stabbed his fingers through his hair. "The thought of being separated from you makes me barmy!" His heart had thundered; I'd heard it, which meant my senses were sharpening, and the game was about to kick off.
"But you don't believe me," I'd said softly.
He'd exhaled. "I don't know . . . it's a lot to take in. I believe you believe it."
All the pleasures I'd offered him, all the manipulative tricks I'd used, and I'd failed--
"Cally?"
My head whipped around. Joules was exiting the train! My heart leapt, and I ran to him.
He clasped me in his arms, burying his face against my neck. "I've missed you this half hour, lass."
I'd missed him too! "You'll never make your flight now."
He drew back to gaze at me. "I'm not goin'." He grazed his knuckles over my cheek.
"But you're out of money."
He grinned. "Then I'll bloody well rob banks." He sounded so confident. And it was sexy.
"Bloody? You just cursed, choirboy."
He nodded. "I'm goin' to loosen meself up a wee bit. You were right; I was pushing for things from you and not budging an inch. That weren't fair to you."
"But what about your mother?"
"I'll tell her I found a work-study program over here. Not a lie, since I'll be working on robbery and you'll be teachin' me Boyfriend 101." In a gruff tone, he said, "I'm new to all this. Have patience with me?"
"Same here, okay?" I couldn't remember the last time I'd been this happy. I laced my hands behind his neck. "I can't believe you're staying."
"If this game is real, I need to be here to defend you. If it's not, I need to be here to help you."
My lips parted. None of my tricks had worked; but his need to protect me had brought him back.
"I'm your fella, Cally."
Something twisted in my chest. I just . . . I just broke the number-one rule of the game.
"And you're my lass."
"I am," I told him, and this time it was the truth. We'll figure out the rest. I was like one of those people in his tableau, falling headlong from the lightning-struck tower. But unlike them, I might not give a damn where or how I landed--as long as he was beside me.
He pulled me closer and leaned in. "C'mere." He pressed his lips to mine. When I felt the first tiny sparks of his electricity, I smiled into our kiss.
Until something bit my ankle.
I jerked back. "Ahhh!" A rat was scampering away.
It wasn't alone. They were bubbling up from the depths all aro
und us.
"We're leavin'." Joules grabbed my hand and started for the exit.
A wave of rats crested over the top of the stairwell, squeaking madly and tumbling over each other in their haste. "No good! We're trapped down here!"
He pulled me to the bench, and we climbed atop it. "We'll be all right," he said, not panicked at all. He'd been much more nervous about kissing! "This'll get sorted," he told me with a confident nod.
Patrick Joules kept his cool.
Even when a spine-tingling roar up on the surface grew louder.
Even when wide-eyed dogs with trailing leashes dove down those steps, and bloodied zoo animals followed them.
Even when a silver baton appeared in his hand. . . .
The Devil (XV)
Ogen, Foul Desecrator
"I'll make a feast of your bones!"
A.k.a.: El Diablo, the Bloody Foul One Powers: Superhuman strength, animal aggression. Can morph his body, first into a colossal ogre, then into a giant. His thickened hide repels acid and poison.
Special Skills: Forging metal.
Weapons: None.
Tableau: A goat-man ogre leading tethered slaves.
Icon: Two black horns.
Unique Arcana Characteristics: Ten feet tall, a horned and hunchbacked beast with cloven feet.
Before Flash: Ohio teenager undergoing treatment for cutaneous horns and bony growths on his head.
The Star (XVII)
Stellan Tycho, Arcane Navigator
"I descend upon you like nightfall."
A.k.a.: The North Star, Supernova
Powers: Stellar embodiment and manipulation. Enhanced senses and night sight. Can generate stellar bombs, detonating himself to paralyze or destroy enemies. Echolocation, beacon emission, astronavigation.
Special Skills: Astronomy savant.
Weapons: None.
Tableau: A naked androgynous figure, gathering water under a bright eight-pointed star.
Icon: A white star.
Unique Arcana Characteristics: When he uses his power, his body vibrates until it grows indistinct.
Before Flash: Danish college student, traveling to Colorado to study astronomy.
Kobenhavns Lufthavn
(Copenhagen International Airport)
Day 0
"You have your books?" Mother asked me.
I nodded, depressed. I just wanted to get this farewell over with.
"Do you have your money for the trip over?" Father asked me.
I patted my jeans pocket. Another nod.
To everyone else, we looked like a regular family--two parents sending their oldest child to college, while five impatient younger siblings dreamed of their turn.
College was just a coincidence. In reality, I was going to the States--leaving behind my part-time job, my friends, and my potential girlfriend (two amazing dates)--to compete in a lethal game. Possibly.
More likely, this Arcana stuff was just my parents' insane fixation. Their craziness was our family's dirty little secret. Every family had one, right? Like my one friend's father who cheated on his taxes, and another one's mother who abused prescriptions.
At best, my parents were mentally ill and had no love for me.
At worst, they were sane and were forcing me into a contest that would most likely get me killed. And had no love for me. . . .
Astrid, the youngest of my siblings, whined, "Why does Stellan get to go to Colorado?"
Because my father "sensed" the game would be in the States this time. Could be worse. He could have "sensed" it'd be in Siberia.
I tweaked Astrid's chin. "Because I'm better than you," I said, joking, but my parents nodded.
Father told them, "Your brother's going to be famous for eternity."
Mother reached up to straighten my glasses, embarrassing me. "I'm so proud of you. All your study and hard work is about to pay off. From this moment on, your life will never be the same." She squeezed my shoulders as she hugged me. "Remember, take Death out first." She released me, motioning for my father and me to embrace.
He and I reluctantly complied. At my ear, he grated, "Come home with twenty-one icons, or don't come home."
Rovhul! Asshole! But I bit my tongue.
My dad considered himself a Tarosovo, a wise man of the Tarot, and my mom was supposed to be a chronicler, but neither of them was able to travel with me to record my theoretical deeds, because my parents spawned like asteroids, leaving them with a lot of kids and little money.
Then my mother had come up with a solution: "You can chronicle yourself! Use your phone to text us updates on everything you do. I'll download and organize your messages, entering them into the book."
That creepy, ancient tome: The Chronicles of the Arcane Navigator.
The pages were filled with accounts of betrayals and murders from centuries ago. I knew the book backward and forward, had been read the stories since I was old enough to remember. Now my "game" would be chronicled as well.
Via text.
"So here I go," I said, wondering if they might yet see reason. "If you stop getting updates, you'll know the Moon shot me through the heart or the Devil ate me." Or else I'd gotten sick of enabling their illness and refused to text any longer.
Mother pursed her lips. "That isn't funny, Stellan. Besides, you know better than to go up against the Moon." She chided me: "Only challenge players who must get close to you, especially in the beginning."
I gazed from her to my father. "You're really going to do this? Send me off by myself?" In their minds, the odds were against me living.
Which meant they were sending me off on a burning Viking funeral ship, except I was still alive and kicking, screaming for help.
"You think I should quit my job?" Father was reaching the limit of his patience with me, his face reddening with anger. "Maybe your mother should stop raising your siblings."
"No, I would never expect anyone else's life to drastically change." I'd reached the limits of my patience with him as well. We'd been arguing about this for weeks. Enough was enough.
I leaned down to kiss and hug my brothers and sisters, then told the five, "Watch each other's backs." Without another word, I headed toward the security line, ticket ready.
I made the mistake of looking back. They all smiled and waved like everything was normal. Like they were normal. It made me feel even crazier.
By the time I cleared security and hurried down the concourse, my flight was boarding. Sidling down the aisle, I found my seat and stowed my backpack. Then I took out my phone. Updates, Mother? Be careful what you ask for.
Stellan: First plane ride ever! Waiting for takeoff. Trying to decide which parent I hate more.
I didn't receive a response.
Stellan: Takeoff was smooth. The Viking funeral ship has sailed.
As the plane ascended, I gazed out the window and watched the fading shadow of the only home I'd ever known. Once the excitement of air travel dwindled, I nodded off. . . .
I slept the entire way to Atlanta, my connection city, waking as we were about to land. Despite the passage of hours, I was still furious with my parents. So I kept updating.
Stellan: Slept the whole flight. Drooled on passenger next seat over. Dreamed my parents were demented and had sent me to America to get murdered.
Mother: This isn't funny. Stop immediately.
I didn't stop.
Stellan: Thought about changing my next ticket from Colorado to Hollywood. Perhaps parents meant a different kind of star.
In the airport, I hurried down the escalator to catch the train between terminals, but just missed it. "Careful," an automated voice said. "Doors are closing and will not reopen. Please wait for the next train."
I took this opportunity to text my parents yet again.
Stellan: Heading toward a new terminal. Terminal can be an adjective as well as a noun. As in, Stellan is terminal.
No response.
When the next train arrived, I entered with everyone else
and reached for an overhead strap. "Welcome aboard the plane train," another automated voice told me. "The next stop is for E gates. E as in Echo."
Echo. One of my powers was supposed to be echolocation. If I developed supernatural abilities, I would theoretically know how to use them, but so far there hadn't even been a glimmer.
Not surprising. I was eighteen and still didn't need to shave.
The train got under way, moving at a surprisingly fast--and rough--clip through an underground tunnel. Father was a mechanic who'd worked on trains for as long as I could remember. And he'd traveled as little as I had. I wondered what he would think about this automated people mover.
The lights flickered, and the car slowed. I glanced up, searching others' expressions. Was this normal?
The train rolled to a hissing stop--between terminals.
Everyone was dialing their phones like crazy. Okay, so not normal, then. I tried to call my parents. Circuits were busy.
The lights flickered again. On and off.
On and off.
Darkness.
For some reason, this unplanned stop hadn't tripped the train's emergency mode. As far as the train knew, we were still chugging along.
Cell phones lit up the interior. People cast each other nervous glances.
When the tunnel rumbled, a woman cried out.
Weren't there killer tornadoes in Georgia all the time? Great, my parents had sent me to be mangled by a twister.
One big, sweating American yanked at his T-shirt collar. The shirt read: Orgasm Donor. He grunted the syllables: "Clau-stro-pho-bic." With a yell, he attempted to force open the doors.
I wanted to say, "Those won't open as long as our gear is engaged."
His eyes darted. "Can't do this!"
A uniformed airport worker said, "Sir, just stay calm. They'll have this figured out soon."
"Back the fuck away from me." People cowered from him.
The air was growing stifling, as if the temperature were spiking a degree a second. Sweat dripped from Big Guy's face, soaking his shirt.
The rumbling in the tunnel increased to a substantial quake. In the distance, I thought I heard . . . a roar.
Big Guy went nuts, banging on the doors, kicking the safety glass, which cracked into a starburst but didn't give.
Light shone from farther along the tunnel. The quality and intensity of the light seemed to come from a natural source of some kind. I thought it was . . . fire. Or even sun?