by G. Bailey
“Karma!” Mads nearly shouts my name, nearly making me jump out of my skin, and I realise that she’s been calling my name for several moments. She’s by the kitchen table now, a red envelope tucked under her arm as she watches me. “I’ve been trying to get your attention.” She glances over at the kitchen table, where Kit is now sitting, surrounded by little sandwiches, mini chocolate cakes, and other things that Mads has been cooking for him. The two of them appear to have quickly become fast friends, and he doesn’t bite her, no matter how much sass she gives him… lucky cow.
“What’s up, bestie?” I ask Mads with a little too much enthusiasm as she walks up to me, nudging me on my arm.
A burst of colour rises in my face, which doesn’t go unnoticed; she frowns, her brow furrowing. “You okay?” she asks.
“Hmm?” I clear my throat. “Me? I’m fine.”
“You’ve got this far away look on your face. And besides,” she laughs, “you never use that tone of voice unless you’re worried about something but trying not to let on.”
I sigh. What was I expecting? Trying to hide my emotions from Mads is like trying to block out the sun - impossible. “It’s nothing,” I reply, rubbing the back of my neck. “I was just thinking about everything that’s happened, that’s all.”
Mads turns and follows my gaze back out to the sweeping stretch of ocean in the distance. “Yeah,” she says dryly, shaking her head. “None of it seems real, does it?”
“It’s like a dream,” I agree, nodding. “Although I just can’t decide if it’s a good dream or a nightmare.”
“Well,” Mads replies slowly, turning away from the window, “this might swing the vote one way or another.” She holds out the envelope, which is a deep shade of red - nearly the colour of blood. Holding it closed is a red wax seal, stamped with a star shape in a circle… similar to the statues in the higher gods’ downstairs dining room. There’s a sinking feeling in my chest as I take the envelope from her; this can’t be good.
“Who is this from?” I ask, the envelope feeling like it weighs a ton in my hands.
Mads shakes her head. “I don’t know,” she replies. “Someone slid it under the front door. It has your name on it, though.” She points at the letter, which I flip over to see my name on the front. It’s drawn in a pretty way - almost like calligraphy - no doubt by the hand of someone as elegant and sophisticated as they are dangerous and precise. One of the higher gods - I have no doubt.
“This ought to be good,” I mutter grimly, setting my jaw and breaking the wax seal. Tearing open the envelope, I find a letter on red paper, which I pull out with hands that are shaking more than I would care to admit. Unfolding it, I see a note written in silver ink, in the same precise, dreadful handwriting as my name. I read it aloud - pointless, considering Mads is already reading it over my shoulder, but my disbelief overpowers common sense. “The second game will begin now. Come to the arena where we first met - and make sure you are alone. -Eenta Cyncus’.”
“Shit,” Mads breathes, her eyes wide as she looks at me.
“I guess I know what I’m doing with my day,” I remark dryly, resisting the urge to wad the paper up and chuck it over my shoulder. There’s no point in fighting it, though; the ball is in their court, and they’re about to serve the next match.
“I will get your family—” Mads says, turning to go, but I grab her arm before she can leave, pulling her back to face me.
“No,” I insist frantically, “it says I have to go alone.”
“Karma,” Mads protests, “what if something happens to you? They’re going to want to know, to at least be able to watch-”
I shake my head, my grip on her wrist like an iron vice. “They can’t come,” I tell her. “If I disobey the instructions, there’s no knowing what the higher gods will do to them - to you. I have to win it on my own, it seems.” I let out a long sigh. “Although that might be a good thing, considering the last game nearly got you killed.”
“Hey,” Mads says, “that wasn’t your fault. It was their sick trial. Besides, I’m holding up just fine.” She straightens up a little, although I can see that her injuries aren’t yet healed completely. “Besides,” she adds, her brows knitting together, “I don’t like the idea of you going on your own. This could be a trap - what if they try to hurt you or something?”
I chew the inside of my lip. She has a point, one that I don’t really want to consider - I didn’t go into this expecting the higher gods to play fair, and I don’t expect them to do so now. But this just illustrates the bitter reality of the situation we’re in: I don’t have any other choice. We’re completely at their mercy, and the best I can do - the best any of us can do - is to obey their demands and hope that they stay true to their word. It’s the only option we have, and I can see in Mads’ eyes that she knows it, too. She must agree with me that getting anyone else to come with me is a bad idea. I don’t want to put anyone else’s life in danger if I can help it.
Still, she protests, “Your family will be horrified if they find out you went to the next game alone. I don’t want to have to tell them where you went.”
“I know, and neither do I,” I say, putting the letter down on the sofa. It seems to mock me from its place on the clean white fabric, taunting me and threatening me all at the same time. “Make sure my family doesn't see this. They will just end up panicking.”
I look back up at Mads and see that her eyes are glistening with tears. My heart skips a beat when I see that, and when she moves to hug me, I don’t resist, snaking my arms tightly around her waist. “Be careful, Karma,” she murmurs in my ear, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re playing with fire.”
“I know,” I tell her, trying to keep my tone self-assured when on the inside it feels like my world is falling apart. “But so are they.”
Mads laughs grimly at that, but there’s not much humour in her voice. She gives me a squeeze before letting me go, even though I can see she doesn’t want to. I struggle not to look back over my shoulder at her as I leave the apartment, not wanting to see the fear and desperation on her face.
It’s a silent walk to the arena, that same silence that has filled the place for the past few days, like the higher gods are waiting for something… planning something. I suppose I know what that something is, now. The only people out in the halls are the silent guards, who remain as still as statues as I pass them by. I’ve never heard one of them say a single word in the near week that I’ve been here. It’s seriously creepy, and part of me really wants to know what’s under their helmets. The other part doesn’t even want to think about it.
I’m half-expecting to be attacked the moment I arrive at the arena, so I stop abruptly in my tracks when I see Seth and Killian waiting in the middle. Their arms are crossed against their chests, and they both look tense, their broad shoulders hunched with grim determination. Seth is wearing an immaculately-tailored suit, with a deep blue tie and a black jacket that brings out the magnificence of his gold eyes. Killian is his usual casual self, in low riding jeans and a tight black shirt that emphasizes the sculpted muscles underneath.
I glance down at my own clothes - a cardigan, white top, and skinny jeans - and wonder belatedly if I’m dressed appropriately for whatever the higher gods have in store for us. All that really matters is that I can move around - and fight tooth and nail, if need be. Still, that doesn’t stop me from feeling a little self-conscious… especially when I see how the higher gods are dressed.
Looking around as I approach the justice twins, I see the higher gods in the audience. Storm is in the front row, his face written with anxiety and his eyes narrow with worry. Eenta sits next to him, which I don’t like, as much as I tell myself not to be jealous and clingy - if Storm was telling the truth, then he has eyes only for me, after all. But it’s impossible not to be, especially not when all I can do is compare myself to her otherworldly beauty and wonder why the hell Storm would go for someone like me when he has the living example of perfec
tion sitting next to him. It’s hard, now that I know how much she likes him, and it’s clear that it’s more than just familial love. How am I supposed to compete with someone Storm grew up with, someone who might as well be the most gorgeous person in the world, with the power to match?
I grit my teeth when I see how she leans into him, making a show of brushing her arm up against his and letting her fingertips graze his hand. I can see she’s wasting no time getting back to the seduction, even after four hundred years of being away from him, and it’s enough to make my head explode. The deep red dress she has chosen to wear is extremely revealing of her perfect body and creamy white skin, and the worst part is that I know exactly why she chose it: it matches my hair. Her previous comment about how Storm should have told her he likes redheads echoes in my mind, making the jitters I’m already feeling nearly unbearable.
It’s not like he just likes redheads, some panicked part of my mind pipes up. His ex back in the prison was blonde, after all… Okay, no. Knock it off. Now I’m just making myself nervous. She’s trying to throw me off, and it’s working. I steel myself and make eye contact with her, my expression a silent challenge to try to use Storm to intimidate me.
Eenta smiles a little when our gazes meet, a cold smile that makes goosebumps pop up all over my arms. It’s all I can do not to pull my eyes away. “Little niece,” she croons, sitting up straighter in her seat, “I’m so happy you could make it. You got my note, I expect?”
“Yes,” I reply bluntly, squeezing my hands into fists at my sides, my nails digging painfully into my palms. “It was a little hard to miss. What, is just coming and telling me in person suddenly beneath you?”
Eenta laughs, the sound like a tinkling bell. “And here I was thinking we were starting to get along, little Karma,” she says. “It was a courtesy. Surely you would rather that than have the guards carry you out here?”
The subtle threat isn’t lost on me, and I struggle to maintain my composure. “What I would rather,” I tell her slowly, “is that you stop using the people I love as leverage to get me to play your sick games.” My eyes flicker over first to Storm, and then to the justice twins, who are watching the exchange with unreadable expressions on their faces.
“And where would the fun be in that?” Eenta replies, and puts her hand on Storm’s arm. I see that she’s painted her nails the same blood red colour as her dress, and a fresh wave of rage threatens to hit me, making me grit my teeth. “Besides,” she continues, “it’s so… fascinating watching your interactions with the others. You seem quite taken with them. And if I didn’t know better…” Her voice trails off as her gaze sweeps over Storm, practically undressing him with her eyes just as a way to spite me. I wish Storm would say something, do something - anything to reassure me that her so-called charms aren’t working on him, but he remains silent, his grim gaze fixed forward.
She has him in a box, too, I realise with a start, my eyes going wide. She’s threatening me just as much as she’s threatening him… and he knows it. For someone who claims to have feelings for Storm, she sure has a strange way of showing it.
I open my mouth to throw a jab back at her, but Storm meets my eyes at that moment, and gives his head the tiniest shake. It’s enough to make me hold my tongue… if only barely.
“I’m so happy you could make it,” Eenta says, and I nearly jump as Xur walks past me, followed by Gestune. I eye the red suit he has on, which is a shade darker than his hair and eyes. Gestune isn’t matching her brother and sister, choosing to wear a black cloak over a black dress with gold star clips. They move to go and sit next to Storm, almost like his bodyguards, while Eenta walks over to me as I get to the justice twins.
“My dear brother said I could decide the next game, wasn’t that nice of him?” Eenta sweetly says. I almost don’t see her as anything but poison wrapped up in sweet to fool you. She goes to place her hand on my shoulder, but I step back into Killian, who wraps an arm around my waist in a protective way. My eyes drift to Storm, who is tensely watching Killian and me. I know he said he couldn’t see this, and I don’t want to push him too far, too quickly. It would break my heart.
“We don’t have all day. Get on with it,” Seth growls, moving close to me and Killian, his hand brushing against mine.
“Fine, fine,” Eenta says and turns around. She clicks her fingers, making a table and three chairs appear. The circular table is gold, and the chairs are just the same. “Go and sit, and I shall explain.” Not that we have any choice, we move to sit on the chairs. In front of each seat are two silver-backed cards the size of my hand. The cards have stars on the back of them, but there is nothing else.
“What is this?” I demand. I’ve had enough of all this now.
“Just a little game. If you win, that’s one down. If both the twins win, that’s another game won, and then there would only be one left for your freedom you so desire,” she says, almost singing her words. Dear god, if this game turns into a musical, I’m going to jump off the nearest feckin’ cliff.
“Fine. Get on with the explaining,” I tightly suggest.
“This is my favourite game. See, the cards are magical, almost like they have a mind of their own. They know your fears, your desires and your deepest secrets from only one touch. To play the game, you each have to pick up your pair, and do what it asks. It might be a truth, it might be a dare...or it could be nothing. If you refuse, the cards will take payment, and it is never nice,” she says, and I stare down at the silver cards. Friggin’ hell, this sounds like a shite game.
“Who goes first?” Killian asks, looking between me and Seth. It’s clear who doesn’t want to go first. I’m also one of those people.
“I will,” Seth says when Killian and I are silent.
“Good luck!” Eenta says, a childish giggle escaping her lips before she runs back to the higher gods and Storm, who looks more uncomfortable by the moment. Why would they want him here? It seems like it’s done on purpose. I shake my head, knowing I need to focus on the game. It’s the only important thing right now. Seth looks at me, and I try to be strong for just a second for him. He takes a deep breath before turning the card over. It’s blank to me, nothing more than a white card, but the look on Seth’s face suggests it isn’t.
“What does it say, Seth?” I ask, wanting to touch him to comfort him a little bit. A tear runs down his cheek, and before I think about it more, I place my hand on his arm.
“It says my long-dead wife was pregnant when she died of cancer. It says that’s the truth I have to speak out loud to the people who I’m closest to and who can see right through me.” He barely gets the sentence out when the card burns away into gold dust. I place my other hand on his cheek, turning his eyes to me. That’s a secret he wanted to take to his grave, and he hates that so many people now know the extent of how much he couldn’t save her. Or his child. My heart hurts for him, but this isn’t the moment to discuss it. I almost hate that I can read him so well, because it means other people can do so as well.
“She loved you, and I bet she never once blamed you for that. Your wife and baby are safe now, in the sky where the dead dance to another song we won’t hear until we die. Seth, that wasn’t your fault, and she would not want you to live in guilt. You didn’t choose to be a god, to be immortal. I didn’t choose it either, and one day, I will have to watch my family die and pass on. My best friend will be gone. It will be us and Storm, and that’s what I hold onto. Can you do that?” I whisper all this to him, not wanting the higher gods to hear a single word.
“Thank you,” he tells me, and it’s enough that he can straighten his back and look stronger than he did a second ago.
“I’m next,” Killian says, though he is watching his brother in a more than concerned way. I pull my shaky hands back to my lap and watch as Killian picks up a card, and again it looks white to me as Killian reads it.
“Dammit,” Killian mutters, and he looks at me as he places the card down. “I’m in love with you, Karma
Kismet. I didn’t want to tell you right now; I’d hoped for a more romantic place with fewer people around, but these cards are shit. Don’t you dare say it back or anything right now. Not like this.” I gulp as the skies suddenly get a little darker, and the wind gets colder than it ever was. There is no way Storm didn’t hear that. My heart beats faster as I smile at Killian, and the card in his hand burns away.
“Your turn, Karma,” Seth says, though he is tense. Everything is more tense than I wanted to deal with. I pick the card up, and instead of a blank white card, there is black writing on mine.
“You must choose the one you love the most and stab their hand with the dagger on your lap,” the card says, and I look down, seeing a gold dagger on my lap. Feckin’ hell, this game is crazy. I gulp, putting the card down and picking up the dagger. Before I think about it anymore, I flatten my hand on the table and slam the dagger through it. I scream from the pain, hearing the twins and Storm’s shouts. I cry out as the dagger and the card disappear into dust, and I look back to see Xur holding his hand, and Eenta is stopping Storm from coming closer. The pain doesn’t go as Killian picks up my hand, putting pressure on the wound.
“Did it seriously just tell you to stab yourself?” Seth demands, pulling his blue tie off and handing it to Killian. He wraps it tightly around my hand, and I bite down on my lip to stop myself crying out when it hurts like nothing else.
“It told me to stab the one I love the most. Clearly, I love myself the most, so...” I say, and they both laugh, though they don’t sound all too happy. “Come on, we need to keep playing.”
