by Kresley Cole
Outside my cocoon, my surroundings were transforming as well. Heat seared the backs of my wings. I smelled flames and soot. I sensed fires, chaos, and destruction. Once I finally got free, would anything still be standing?
Would Febe still be alive . . . ?
Molting must have depleted me; even though I felt gripping fear for my sister, I couldn't keep my eyes open.
Sleep took me. Dreams arose. I saw myself spitting acid at foes and soaring through the sky with my new wings. I'd be able to defend myself with them; large hook-shaped claws tipped the ends of the largest flares. They would be razor sharp--
My eyes flashed open, and I was instantly awake. How long had I been asleep? Must've been hours. Movement nearby.
I sensed it as a predator would. Moaning sounded directly outside my cocoon. I could perceive wetness against my wings.
Moaning and . . . slime. Enemy, my new instinct told me. Destroy.
I needed to annihilate anything that came so close to me when I was vulnerable. I pictured using my wings to kill. I would corral my enemies with my large left wing, keeping them trapped as I struck with my right one.
This made perfect sense to me. Rightness.
At last the tight folds around me eased. My wings began to vibrate, the weighty hook claws tapping each other to make a rattling sound.
Like a snake, I was signaling that a predator prepared to strike. The sound pleased me, my own purr. I'd never killed before, but already I could tell I would enjoy it.
All was rightness in the world.
I leapt up, wings flashing out, knocking away people as I positioned myself. Wait--not people. Not anymore. They'd been turned into monstrous-looking creatures with filmy white eyes. Some more than others, all of them getting worse. They wore regular clothes, but their skin had the texture of a battered paper bag, as if they'd spent a thousand straight years in a tanning bed.
I readied to exterminate these bag-skinned creatures with my claws, and a sense of satisfaction hit me. This was what I was meant to do. No wonder I'd always felt like an outsider. I'd always been one.
I beheaded the first, then another. And another.
I recognized two things: I was as much a monster as these creatures. And I didn't enjoy killing; I adored it.
Behind them, the neighborhood was mostly gone. Only brick houses here or there still stood. The rest was ash. I sucked in a breath. Including my family's house.
Febe had been in the basement; she might have survived! Must get to her.
These things kept blocking me. As I downed more of them, I heard Febe's scream.
She did live! I used my wings to shove creatures aside as I rushed toward the remains of our home. I spotted her in the dark, could detect the warmth of her little body--as if I had infrared vision.
She was running from one of those bag creatures, wending between flaming trees. Her eyes were blank with terror. The red glow of her heart was racing; I could see it.
We met gazes. She was just as terrified of me. Must explain. . . .
Leaping upward, I clumsily flapped my wings until they scooped smoky air--like sails catching a breeze--holding me aloft.
Getting accustomed. Easier now. I was flying! Ah, the rightness!
Where was Febe? There!
I landed a few feet in front of her, holding up my palms. She skidded to a stop, horrified, clearly not recognizing me.
I parted my lips. A clear liquid streamed out of my mouth; it spattered her face.
Acid? As in my dreams. Her flesh sizzled, her eyes and features disintegrating. Her shriek pierced the night.
Wrongness.
The Hanged Man (XII)
[Inactivated card]*
Redacted Redacted , Our Lord Uncanny "Never redacted redacted I readacted redacted. "
A.k.a.: Redacted Redacted
Powers: Redacted Redacted Redacted Redacted Redacted Redacted Redacted Redacted Redacted Redacted Redacted Redacted Redacted Redacted Redacted Redacted Redacted Redacted Special Skills: Redacted Redacted Redacted Redacted Weapons: Redacted
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Day 0
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*Details hidden by the Fool.
The Tower (XVI)
Joules, Lord of Lightning
"Eyes to the skies, lads, I strike from above!"
A.k.a.: Master of Electricity
Powers: Can generate and control electrical energy. Can electrify his skin and create javelins that transform into lightning bolts.
Special Skills: Precise aiming and superhuman throwing. Singing.
Weapons: Silver javelins engraved with esoteric symbols.
Tableau: Lightning striking a turret, sending people falling.
Icon: Lightning bolt.
Unique Arcana Characteristics: Sparking skin.
Before Flash: A choirboy from Ireland in New York for a singing competition.
Temperance (XIV)
Calanthe, Collectress of Sins
"Crush you with the Weight of Sins."
A.k.a.: Sin, Collectress of Evils
Powers: Sin detection and pathokinesis (emotion manipulation). Her Weight of Sins power can magnify another's guilt and horror over past deeds. Is immune to the Empress's poisons. Enhanced senses, healing, throwing, and precise aiming.
Special Skills: Guile, social adaption.
Weapons: A pair of sai, handheld martial-arts weapons with three prongs.
Tableau: Androgynous robed figure standing on a pedestal, pouring water from one chalice to another; the sun and a bolt of lightning glow in the background.
Icon: A gold chalice.
Unique Arcana Characteristics: When she utilizes her power, a haze erupts around her and ripples of energy seem to flow from her, bombarding her target.
Before Flash: High school student from India, living in the States with her older sister, a chronicler.
New York subway platform
Day 0
"What were you thinking not to sleep with that boy?"
I sat on a bench, flinching as Diya railed at me on the phone. I could picture my sister pacing in our apartment, narrowed eyes flashing with anger.
"I thought I'd convinced him to stay," I told her.
Yet with his shoulders back and face stoic, Joules had left me, boarding the train to head to the airport for his flight home.
"You gave him no reason to stay, Calanthe." Diya made a frustrated sound. "You could have locked down an alliance with the Tower!"
My card's MO was to seek out a stronger player in the beginning of the game, exchanging the knowledge from my chronicles for that card's strength.
As with most Arcana, my ability grew as the game stretched on. The majority of players didn't want to harm others, at least not until the heat of battle was upon them, and the guilt was debilitating; my Weight of Sins power was directly proportional to their sense of guilt.
No matter what, I needed the Tower's help to challenge Death. As long as the Reaper lived, we were all just walking corpses anyway.
"Joules told me he loved me," I said. But he'd loved his large family back in Ireland more.
"Naturally. Because he wanted to sleep with you."
Yes, but only after a certain stipulation had been met. Would Diya laugh if I told her what he'd always planned?
She exhaled. "Something will pull him back into the game. He'll converge with the rest of you." Diya knew these things; our ailing mother had trained her to be my chronicler, handing down our line's Arcana chronicles into Diya's capable hands.
But how would Joules get back to me from across the Atlantic? Especially if some catastrophe loomed?
Diya said, "I just wonder if you made enough of a lasting impression to forge an unbreakable alliance."
So did I. . . .
_______________
Two weeks ago
I was on my way home from the dojo when a bus wheezed to a stop in front of my neighborhood's Catholic cathedral. A banner rippling above the church doors read: INTERNATIONAL CHORUS COMPETITION. A group of about thirty teenage boys in magenta gowns began filing off the bus, chattering and laughing as they made their way into the church.
Choirboys? I snorted with derision.
Until my gaze lit upon one kid among them. He had reddish-brown hair and dark eyes, and he was thin. Compared to the others, he looked poor. His ill-fitting gown had been mended repeatedly, his red collar was faded, and he was in need of a haircut. His shoes were polished but worn out, and his high-riding pant cuffs clearly were not meant to be a style statement.
So why did I find this unremarkable kid compelling--
An image flickered over him: lightning striking a stone castle tower and people falling from the turret. I was seeing . . . a tableau. My eyes went wide. He was an Arcana!
And not just any random card. He was the Tower.
One of the mightiest of all the Major Arcana was a scrawny choirboy!
I shouldn't be surprised by this encounter. As Diya had told me again and again, there was no such thing as "random" in the game. We were all thrown together.
Wait till she heard that I'd already found the Tower! This news would certainly cheer her up. Pensive about whatever catastrophe would soon befall us, she hated being separated from our older mother, and she despised New York.
The Tower caught sight of me and did a double take. Maybe he was seeing a faint hint of my own tableau. Maybe he was the same as all the other guys checking out my outfit: tight boy-short pants, a sports bra, and an open hoodie. The Empress wasn't the only one with mesmerizing looks.
And I had more guile than all the others combined.
He looked to be about sixteen, my age. I wondered if he knew anything about the Arcana. Players usually didn't. I could lock this choirboy down in an alliance before the game even began! He'd be putty.
I leaned against a light post. Twirling the end of my ponytail, I cast him a flirtatious smile.
He glanced over one shoulder, then the other. Frowning, he hiked a thumb at his chest.
I pointed at him and mouthed: Yes, you.
His lips parted.
I crooked my finger at him, and he started for me immediately--until a burly priest grabbed his arm to usher the boy inside. The Tower craned his head back to keep me in sight.
As if I'd let you get away, kid.
Once I heard singing, I entered the church. Despite my skimpy outfit, I sauntered down the aisle to a front pew. Every gaze in that choir fixed on me, including the Tower's.
I took a seat and shucked off my backpack. The boys around him noticed my attention and elbowed him.
Up on a stage, with that stained-glass backdrop, he looked so . . . virtuous.
Once he and I took out Death, I would use my particular ability on the Tower. After a good boy like him turned killer, he'd have no defense against my Weight of Sins.
I pulled a notebook from my pack and scribbled some words, as dark and bold as I could. Catching his gaze, I held up the notebook and turned the pages.
You
Me
Coffee shop across street
4 today
Face gone redder than his choirboy collar had ever been, he nodded.
_______________
At twenty-five till four, he entered the shop.
I'd gotten here at three.
His eyes darted until he spotted me, sitting in the back. His cheeks grew red again, and he whirled around, suddenly enthralled with the display of coffee mugs.
He was wearing a threadbare button-down and jeans. I'd bet he'd agonized over his clothes for the first time in his life.
I waited, but he was too shy to approach me. I wondered if he'd ever even kissed a girl. I called, "Hey, choirboy."
He turned slowly, then headed toward my table. When he stood before me, he swallowed thickly.
I kicked a chair out for him. "What's your name?"
He sat. "I'm P-Patrick Joules," he said with a thick accent.
"I'm Calanthe. Where are you from?"
"Oirland."
"How old are you?"
"Fifteen," he answered. With his gaze dipping to my plunging V-neck shirt, he added, "You must be eighteen or nineteen."
I teasingly asked, "Are my boobs staring at your eyes again?"
His head snapped up, his expression mortified. If blushing could kill . . .
I grinned. "All parts of me think you have really nice eyes." He actually did. "And I'm sixteen, for the record."
He canted his head, his blush relenting a bit. He cleared his throat and said, "Wh-whereabouts are you from?"
"I was born in India, but I grew up all over the place. I've been going to high school here for two years."
When I'd turned thirteen, my sister had made me apply to exchange programs in a dozen different countries, but they'd all been full.
Miraculously, a spot had opened up here. Which had led us to believe the game would be played out in this country. Bingo. Already players were converging. "What are you in town for, Tower?"
He frowned. "What's that mean?"
"You don't know about the game?" I studied his face.
"Game?" His confusion deepened. When I raised my eyebrows, he said, "I don't know about any game."
When I focused on a person, I could sense his or her sins; this boy wasn't lying. "I'm just messing with you. Seriously, what are you in the States for?"
"I'm here for two weeks for a choir competition."
I leaned forward and murmured, "I think you have a sexy voice."
It broke when he asked, "C-can I buy you a cup of coffee?"
As I stared into his earnest eyes, I felt a flare of something like pity that I'd have to murder him.
But I was the Temperance Card. The Weight of Sins had never bothered me. "Only if you promise to ask me out before I finish it."
_______________
Seven days ago
"What do you think, choirboy?" I asked Joules, standing in the eighty-sixth-floor observatory of the Empire State Building. Lights twinkled below and beyond. A storm was rolling in--just as forecasted; all according to plan. Except for a few mugging couples, we had the place to ourselves. "Pretty cool, huh?"
He and I had seen each other as much as possible for the last week--before and after his choir practice, and every night as well when he sneaked out of his dorm. I'd taken him to my favorite haunts, trying unsuccessfully to sleep with him. He hadn't even attempted to kiss me!
"Ach, how much did it cost you for this?" he demanded. I could tell he was amped (maybe literally?) to see the city from this height, b
ut he hadn't stopped scowling since I'd handed over our tickets.
I huffed. "Does it matter?" He always insisted on picking up the bill, though he couldn't afford it. By the way his stomach growled each afternoon, I suspected he was using his lunch money to pay for us.
Which kind of struck me as . . . romantic.
"It matters to me, Cally." That was his nickname for me; apparently it was a law in Ireland that everyone had a pet name.
"This isn't the eighteen hundreds. Girls take guys out sometimes." Even if there were no game, I'd probably want to see him. I'd been surprised by how much I'd enjoyed spending time with him.
I had so much more in common with him than with my fellow international students. They had college application essays to fill out; I had sai training. They wanted a diploma; I wanted icons.
"Those tickets must've cost you plenty for a view this grand."
"Fine. You really want to know how I paid for them?" At his nod, I told him the truth: "I marched into the guys' locker room at the dojo, snapped a photo of this one bully's junk, and blackmailed him." The guy had been so furious, I'd provoked him to charge me. At the last second, I'd stepped aside; he'd rammed a locker headfirst. Then I'd plucked a hundred from his wallet. "Let's put it this way: you and I are having pizza after."
I could all but hear Joules's thoughts: I canna tell if she's kidding. Please, Jaysus, let her be kidding.
I shrugged. "See? That's why you have to stay in New York. To keep me out of trouble."
More and more often, I'd broached the subject of his staying. At home, Diya was putting all kinds of pressure on me to solidify this alliance: "Bring him back to the apartment. I'll stay out all night. Get this boy locked down, Calanthe!"
Now he sighed. "I wish I could. But me mam has enough trouble with me hellion brothers." Five of them. "I should not add to her worries. Plus, I'm skint." At my frown, he explained, "Out of money. And I canna work in this country."
"You could borrow from me." Not that my sister and I had much to spare.
He scowled again. "Never'll happen."
Seeing he wouldn't be moved--for now--I said, "Then we need to enjoy every minute together." I'd been an hour early tonight, but he'd already been waiting for me.
