He appeared uncomfortable with my gratitude. “You think I did this for you? In case you haven’t noticed, I enjoy watching you.”

I quirked a brow. “Enjoy is a bit mild for what you do, huh?”

He hiked those muscular shoulders. “It’s late. To your room, then.”

On the landing, I noticed he kept his distance. With a sigh, I asked him, “If I’m the weakest of Arcana, why this continued caution around me?”

“Perhaps because you’re the most tempting of Arcana.”

I smiled. “I’ll wear you down.”

With his eyes emotionless and dark, he said, “You cannot.”

Oh, we’ll see. Death didn’t know this about me, but I liked the occasional battle of wills.

Alone in my room, I lay in bed, lovingly tracing the ballet-shoe laces with my fingers. I couldn’t seem to stop smiling. Amazing. The more I was around Death, the more I liked him.

For the last eleven months, I’d been terrified of him. Now I couldn’t wait to wake up so I could see him again.

That night I fell asleep with my fingers threaded through the laces and a smile on my face.

When my dreams of Death arose, I welcomed them.

38

DAY 325 A.F.

Today, I went almost an entire hour without thinking about Jack. . . .

39

DAY 355 A.F.

“Do the dance you performed yesterday,” Death commanded with the authority of a man who was never denied. He had an arm stretched over the back of the sofa, so at home with himself, with his world.

“You liked that one, huh?” It’d been one of my more daring pieces. Over the last few weeks, I’d pushed myself hard, reclaiming most of the skills I’d lost. And Death had been there almost every day, watching each trickle of sweat.

As I started to dance, I reflected on my new life. Compared to the outside world, Death’s lair was proving to be a paradise. Here, I could dance, read, and even paint.

Courtesy of this man, I now had the supplies for that pastime as well. I’d started painting the walls of my room—because I had a room, a place where I could rest my head every night.

Scenes of sugarcane fields and verdant forests had begun taking shape, much like my mural at Haven. There, in the sunny days pre-Flash, I’d depicted dark clouds over fields. Here, in this shadowy apocalypse, I painted sun-dappled landscapes.

Just as Lark had told me, I could pad down to the kitchen, and there was always delicious food. Apocalyptic delicacies like fresh bread and butter.

In the afternoons (hard to call them that, since they were still dark), she and I would watch movies with dozing wolves, a fire crackling, and steaming popcorn. Sometimes we went “shopping,” combing the attic, which was filled with vintage clothes.

I regularly found myself laughing at her humor. Today she’d given me a broad wink about all the time I’d been spending alone with Death, then said, “I feel like a teapot who’s about to sing ‘Tale as Old as Time.’  ”

Maybe I was bonding with her because she reminded me of Mel, who’d been like a sister to me. Maybe it was because Lark was the only other girl here.

Or maybe I was learning that nothing was black and white.

Bad and good were getting blurred in my head. We were players in a game that would make killers of us all; and the man who’d been my standard of Ultimate Evil . . . had sourced ballet shoes for me.

Up was down. Down was up.

As the storms of the late summer raged, Death and I met each night. In his warm study, we would talk into the early hours or sit on his couch before the fire, quietly reading from his collection.

I’d started The Odyssey, had just gotten to the part where Odysseus and his men landed on the island of the lotus-eaters. Those who ate of the lotus didn’t mind their isolation, never wanting to continue their voyage.

Death had read the story in the original Greek. Naturally.

He and I were meshing more and more. There was no one else in the world that he could touch, and no one I knew who could discuss history and literature and art with me.

Being with him felt . . . inevitable. But in a good way.

He’d complimented me on how quickly I learned, seeming delighted to teach me more. If Jack had awakened my desire, Death was enlivening my mind, attracting me in a way I’d never experienced before.

I knew he enjoyed my company as well. Oftentimes I’d glance up from my page and find his gaze on me, eyes brimming with satisfaction.

Much as they were right at this minute, as he watched me dance.

My dreams of him continued, escalating into even more erotic territory. Last night, I’d dreamed he’d peeled off my workout clothes, lifting me atop the barre so he could lick my damp skin, wedging his hips between my thighs. . . .

Yet if I ever admitted to him how much fun I had with him, he’d grow distant. If he ever came close to laughing, he’d close himself off.

It was a constant push/pull with him.

Occasionally, he left the compound. I’d figured he must be out hunting, at least some of the time, but he hadn’t returned with a new icon, and I’d heard nothing on Arcana Radio. Plus, Lark’s laminated player list—the little twit actually did keep it on the fridge door—had had no updates since the Star.

Well, other than her scratching my title out and scribbling in “The Unclean One.” Har.

Whenever Death left, I was out of sorts. Missing him? I’d admitted to myself that I desired him, but could I be feeling something deeper for a man like him?

He was so often on my mind, I had little time to regret and pine for things that might have been. Though I’d reestablished contact with Matthew—sparingly—I still felt betrayed by him for looking away.

And by Jack.

Whenever Matthew popped into my head, he’d predicted more doom and gloom. At least, I thought he had. He was making less and less sense. Once it was —The lightning hides the monster.— And another time —You must slice yourself when the altar is empty.—

I’d asked him about my history with Death. His reply? —Better worry about your future. Devil is in details.— No explanation for that had been given.

Again, I’d instructed Matthew to get Jack somewhere safe, but the boy responded with gibberish. Though I’d tried to listen better, I’d grown increasingly exasperated, my head pounding. . . .

The days had been flying by. The summer-that-wasn’t waned, my seventeenth birthday nearing. The only drawback to this sanctuary was Ogen. I rarely saw him, and then only when he was tearing across the compound. I could have sworn one of his horns was even shorter.

Despite my continued uneasiness over the Devil’s fits, I felt this bleak manor was becoming—

“What are you musing about behind those pretty eyes?” Death asked in a low tone.

Without thinking, I said, “That your home is becoming mine.”

Looking like I’d slapped him, he rose, striding toward the door.

While I wondered why he was reacting like this, he grated over his shoulder, “You make me think dangerous thoughts, creature.”

Dangerous thoughts. In transition, or in turmoil? Would he now go train in the storm, burning off aggression in a frenzy?

I didn’t know how much longer we could continue like this before something gave.

40

DAY 365 A.F.

EVE OF YEAR 2

“Why did you not dance today?” Death asked.

I’d just taken a seat on his study couch, curling my feet up under me. “I didn’t sleep very well.” Yes, I’d had dreams of him almost every night, but last night I’d been bombarded by scenes so lifelike, I’d awakened confused to find myself alone.

When he sat beside me, though not too close, I swallowed hard. I wondered what he’d do if I kissed him.

He was studying my expression. Could he see my cheeks heating?

“You looked flushed. Are you ill? The mortal here worked in medicine before the Flash.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Very well,” he said, looking unconvinced. “I wanted to tell you that I leave tonight for another trip.”

My spirits sank. “How long will you be gone?”

“Two or three days. Will you miss me, Empress?”

Not to talk with him into the night? “Yes,” I admitted. “And I’ll worry about you. I wish you wouldn’t go.”

My answer seemed to rattle him worse than my wet T-shirt had. He moved to sit behind his desk, clearing his throat before saying, “Fauna tells me you both fear Ogen when I’m away.”

“You’ve had to dock his horns again, haven’t you?”

Curt nod.

“I wouldn’t fear him as much if you removed my cuff.”

His expression darkened. “You know I can’t do that. Would it make you feel better if I locked him out of the compound?”

Best I was going to get. “Yes, thank you.”

As ever, he seemed uncomfortable with my gratitude, changing the subject. “Fauna also tells me tomorrow is your birthday.”

“I suppose it’s not a big deal for you, since you’ve had thousands of them.”

“If you ask me for a boon, perhaps I’ll provide it.”

I rose with excitement. “Like a birthday present?” I sauntered behind his desk, trespassing into his comfort zone. I hopped up on the desktop beside his chair, my thigh inches from his hand.

He clenched his fist. “I’ve warned you. I won’t be seduced.”

I said softly, “If we weren’t competitors, perhaps you could be? Why do you insist on playing this game?”

“Because it is what we were born to do.”

A non-answer. “You don’t strike me as the type who would blindly follow the dictates of some long-ago gods.”

“It is so much a part of me I wouldn’t know how to extricate myself.”

“You called me willfully naïve, but you’re stubbornly stuck in the past. Won’t you even imagine a different future?” My temper was getting the better of me.

So was his. “I play—because there is no choice! You think I haven’t tried to upend the game?”

“You? You were one of the ones to make a truce?” My surprise appeared to infuriate him.

He shot to his feet, beginning to pace the study. “Talk of ending the game is a blasphemy—I was twice a blasphemer!”

“Don’t you, well, live for this?”

He raked a hand through his blond hair. “I wanted to change my existence so much, my bloody Tarot card is associated with change to this day.” Voice rising with each word, he said, “This game is a hell we’ve all been damned into. It’s designed to madden us. The most intelligent Arcana ever to play is called the Fool. The one who least wanted to kill was named Death. And you, Empress, rule over nothing!”

“You don’t need to kill?”

He turned to his vodka, drank. “Need. Want. Doesn’t matter. I do it.” When he refilled, the bottle clattered against the glass. “If any of these Arcana knew what awaited the winner, they would not be so keen to snatch a victory from me. They would thank me for reaping their lives.”

“I had no idea you felt this way.” Understatement. He wasn’t merely weary of killing, he despised it.

Another glass down. “You have no idea about me at all.”

“You’re right. And now that I’m thinking about it, I do want a boon. I want to ask you questions about your life and past, and have you answer them honestly.” Still atop his desk, I reached over and took the bottle from him to refill his glass.

“And so I am snared?” With an exhalation, he sank into his chair once more. “Then ask.”

“What do those runes on your skin mean?” The runes I’d dreamed of . . .

“As much as you watch me training, I’m surprised you haven’t deciphered them.”

I gave him a helpless shrug.

“They tell a story, one I can never forget—even if I die in this game. Each morning I look at them in the mirror to remind myself. And I’ll never reveal it to you, so don’t bother asking.”

I pursed my lips. “Will you tell me what you do between games? Please?”

Leaning forward aggressively, he said, “I wander the earth and see men age before my eyes. I read any book or paper I can get my hands on. I watch the stars in the sky; over my lifetime some dim, some brighten. I sleep for weeks at a time and chase the dragon.” When I frowned, he explained, “Opium.”

Made from poppy, one of the Empress’s symbolic plants. Their red blooms adorned my card.

“I take it any way I can ingest it.” He seemed to be daring me to say something about that, which I would never do.

I couldn’t imagine how harrowing his existence must be, thanking God—or the gods—that it hadn’t been my fate. Was that why I’d pitied him when I was younger? When I’d gazed at his card with fascination, I must have sensed something about this man. His horse looks sick, and he has no friends.