Eventually I started nodding off, catching myself dozing against Death’s armored chest. Each time I would pinch my arms, biting the inside of my cheek to shake my drowsiness. No use. Finally I went out like a light, didn’t know for how long.
I only jerked awake when my ears began popping. Sure enough, I was relaxed back against him. I sat up, scooting forward in the saddle.
As if in reflex, Death’s arm tightened around me, the four-inch long spikes of his glove hovering near my neck.
“Watch the gloves, Reaper.”
“They’re called gauntlets.” When he released me, he accidentally(?) brushed my new cuff, sending pain shooting down my arm.
I hissed in a breath, eyes watering. But knowing how much he enjoyed my suffering, I refused to let him see any more of it.
I tried to get my bearings as we wound along a narrow rocky trail, but the rain and fog were thick. All I could determine was that we were already above the tree line—or what used to be the tree line—and still ascending. Up here, it was barren. I’d wager no plants had grown in this dismal terrain even before the Flash.
The higher we climbed, the more Death seemed to relax, while I grew colder and colder. Just when I decided this was the highest mountain I’d ever been on, the path widened to a gravel drive, fronted with an enormous gate. A stone wall towered over us.
“And now we arrive.”
His lair was atop a mountain? Ogen lumbered ahead to open the gate, and we rode through. The horses’ hooves—and Ogen’s—clacked on a brick courtyard. A jaw-dropping mansion, almost a castle, came into view. Through the fog, I spied several stories and two sprawling wings.
Death lifted me from the saddle and plopped me on the ground, then dismounted. Lark did as well, and Ogen led the horses away.
“Come,” Death commanded, and I had no choice but to follow.
At first I was impressed with this stronghold. Yet as we neared and details came into focus, I thought, No, Finn, this is officially the creepiest place.
If someone had asked me to sketch my idea of the world’s eeriest mansion, I couldn’t have imagined the scene before me. Death’s home was so . . . Death.
Dwarfing Haven House, it was built of gray stone. Courtesy of the Flash, the walls were slashed with charred black. The slate roof had dozens of different pitches and turrets, with one looming above them all.
Chimneys climbed into the night sky. Rusted weather vanes squeaked. An unseen shutter thumped, like a spirit banging on a coffin lid. Fog seemed to be trapped in place, choking the courtyard, clinging to the walls.
As we approached, I detected animal calls growing louder and louder. Even some exotic ones. I jumped when I heard a lion’s roar. Somewhere on this mountain, creatures teemed. With that many to control, Lark might prove unstoppable.
How close was this menagerie? The fog lies.
I glanced up, caught Death studying my reaction. Did he actually care what I thought of his home?
Lark saw my look of horror. “Hotel California, Evie. You can check out, but you can never leave.”
“She’s right,” Death said. “You will never leave this mountaintop alive.”
I waved that away. “I thought your lair was gleaming black, with ruins from all different ages.”
“Ruins?”
“It looked like you, I don’t know, collected them,” I said as we climbed a few steps toward the huge copper-plated front doors.
“Then you saw inside my mind. I wonder why the Fool would give you access to me.”
Aghast, I said, “That’s what it looks like in your head?”
“Explain to me why it should look any different.” He sneered, “Do you really think Death should dream in color?”
“I doubt you have dreams.”
“Would it shock you to know I once did?” he asked in a strange tone—as if he were accusing me.
Before I could ask about this, we passed through the front doors into an opulent foyer, with a chandelier dangling above. He dialed on a wall switch, and the foyer went ablaze, crystals projecting prisms, lighting a grand staircase. If the exterior had been forbidding, the interior was quite the opposite.
I’d grown up in a stately southern mansion. As we walked deeper into this palatial building, I realized Haven would look quaint in comparison.
When the corridor intersected with one leading to another wing, Lark veered off. “See you in the morning, boss. Night, Evie.”
I glared. “I hope you die before you wake, Lark.”
She cast me a fake wince. “Ooh, burn.” She trotted off, leaving me alone with Death.
“Follow me.” The corridor wound seemingly forever. At last he stopped to unlock an oak door. Behind it lay a curving stairwell.
We climbed so many steps that I knew he had to be leading me to that soaring tower. The walls of the stairwell were cold, weeping moisture. I could only imagine what my cell would be like.
“Try to keep up, creature.”
“I have a name.”
“As you always do.”
“And what’s yours?” I asked. “Ogen and Lark have given names—don’t you?”
“Call me Death. That’s all I’ll ever be to you.”
The double meaning didn’t escape me.
At the top of the stairs was a stone landing with a single door. He unlocked and opened it, ushering me inside.
The room was . . . lovely.
The lofty ceiling and exposed beams were painted stark white, stretching to a tented point above. The queen-size bed had a costly crimson spread on it. Rich drapes in the same material bordered panoramic windows. Up this high, the wind gusted, pelting the glass with raindrops, but the lavish room was snug and dry. A plush rug covered the stone floor, and the grand fireplace had logs already set up for a fire.
Again Death studied my reaction. I scuffed over to a cedar wardrobe. Scores of clothes filled the closet? Most looked like they would fit me.
In an adjoining modern bathroom, I found fresh towels and toiletries. Unable to curb my curiosity, I turned on the shower’s hot water spigot. Almost immediately, the water began steaming.
A hot shower? I hadn’t had one since we left Selena’s house. When I experienced a little thrill, I went awash in guilt. My friends might be trapped in an icy mine, but I was looking forward to a shower?
And more, I didn’t trust Death’s motives for providing all this. “Why these kindnesses?”
“To keep you on edge. You’ll pine for these indulgences all the more when I deprive you of them.”
“You think I can’t escape? I could jump.”
“If you somehow made it past the outer walls of the compound and didn’t get swallowed up on the mountainside, you’d face the world with no abilities, at the mercy of any you stumbled upon. Besides, the glass here is fortified, unbreakable for one with such minuscule strength. Even Judgment would find it difficult to break you out.”
“Are you expecting Gabriel to try?”
“I hope he does.”
My heart was sinking even before he said, “In any case, you will have a guard.” He thinned his lips and gave a piercing whistle. Giant paws padded up the stairs.
You again, Cyclops? I’d noted earlier that he must’ve gotten zinged by one of Joules’s javelins; the wolf’s fur was now permed like a poodle’s.
“Try to escape the grounds, and the beast will make a meal of you.” Death’s eyes glittered, as if he’d be happy for me to try.
Enough. “Why do you have such a burning hatred for me? That night you murdered Calanthe—”
“Murdered? That’s rich. They ambushed us in an open field, with no cover from javelins—or from a winged soldier like Judgment.”
“Anyway,” I continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “when you beheaded Calanthe, you appeared weary, as if it was an unavoidable chore.”
“Perhaps it was.”
“But not with me.”
“No,” he said gravely. “Not with you.”
How had we gone from To my bed, Empress to this? “Will you ever tell me why?”
He turned to leave. “You’ll be dead before the impulse strikes me.” The door locked behind him, the sound panicking me.
No escape. A gilded cage. Like a haunted madhouse.
I’d been locked up for months at CLC. Now my freedom had been taken from me once again. At least at the center, I’d had a roommate and visits from my mom. Here?
A wolf that was looking at my legs like he wanted to gnaw on them.
26
DAY 265 A.F.
DEATH’S LAIR
—Crazy like a fox!—
I jerked up from my pillow, waking from my first night at Death’s. My eyes were gritty from holding back tears, my muscles sore with tension. I glared to find Cyclops beside me atop the bed, his weight straining the wooden frame. He blinked his eye, giving me a whatcha gonna do? look.
Had I heard Matthew, or dreamed I had? Barely daring to hope, I tentatively called, Matthew?
—You sound scared, Empress.—
I leapt to my feet. Matthew, is that you?!
—Why shouting? Inside voice . . .—
Tears leaked out of the corners of my eyes. Why haven’t you answered me?
—Hurt my head. Just wanted to sleep and sleep and sleep.—
Oh, God, are you going to be okay?
—Jack said I have a tête dure. Hard head. Said the boulder got hurt worse than I did.—
My mouth went dry. Is he okay?
—Everyone’s happy I’m awake. And frantic all the time. Jack thinks I’ll lead him to you.—
Tell me what happened.
In his confusing, stilted way, Matthew relayed the mine collapse. He described having to swim under fallen beams while dodging boulders. Having to dig to get at a shaft of light, before the water rose and cut off their air. Clawing at rock till they could see the bones of their fingertips.
I was horrified by what they’d been through, but so freaking proud of them for surviving. How are they doing?
—Finn. Leg healing. Heart broken. Lark tricked the trickster. The Moon sets. She failed to protect you; isn’t used to failing at anything.—
Matthew, if you knew this was in our future, why allow it to happen?
—Not all bad is bad. Endgame, endgame. We live. Hierophant dies. You are where you’re supposed to be.—
Go through hardship to get to the ultimate goal? That had been some serious hardship. And why am I supposed to be here? Death keeps threatening to kill me. Hey, he can’t hear my thoughts anymore, can he?
—I broke ranks! Renegade! Eyes empty of him.—
What about your past deal? Your debts?
—Jack is bellowing at me to tell him where you are. He is swearing to Christ a lot. I stare at my hand.—
Have you told him I’m okay?
— Told Jack you’re alive. Okay in lair of Death?—
True. But, sweetheart, maybe you could fib and tell him I’m completely safe?
—He wants to come for you.—
So Death could “gut” Jack? You have to keep him out of the Reaper’s way! You can’t ever show Jack how to reach this place. Lead him on wild-goose chases, anything to keep him from this man. Taking Death down is all on me.
—Always was.—
Then tell me how. With poison?
—Passion.—
That’s disgusting! In the words of Finn, are you humming my balls?
—You can’t fight Death with force.—
Um, that’s kind of the definition of fight. But, Matthew, he put a cilice on me. I can’t use any of my abilities.
—If he bound your powers, then your powers are already working.—
I don’t understand.
—He gave you that cilice because part of him thinks to keep you. You are the card that Death covets.—
The room seemed to spin. So that was what these new Empress dreams were supposed to teach me! The earlier dreams had instructed me how to use my arsenal; this one was to teach me how to use Death’s one weakness against him.
His attraction to me.
Matthew had said I would fight Death with my powers. I’d thought he meant some kind of attack. But the Empress also had the power to beckon and allure. You and all the other Arcana expect me to seduce him. I gave a bitter laugh. To win his trust. Was that how past Empresses got him out of his armor?
—You fight him with your powers.—
And now Matthew believed Death had already changed his course with me, planning some kind of sick captor/hostage future. A plan I would have to capitalize on?
At least up to a point.
Two problems. Death still hated me. And even if I could turn off my own aversion to him, I was in love with someone else. How could I flirt believably with someone I was plotting to take down?
If I win him over, the first piece of armor I’m getting him to shed is this cuff around my arm. It continued to pain me, as I was sure he’d intended. Matthew, Death despises me. What happened in our past lives?