The Dark Calling

by Cole, Kresley

  She’d once recounted to me her brutal attack against Ogen, Fauna, and myself. She’d said she’d felt like a marionette with hatred pulling the strings. I felt the same now.

  Hatred would inoculate me against her floundering abilities as much as Paul did.

  Blood began to run from the Fool’s nose, his eyes vacant. —Tredici, know this: the only way you’ll win this game is to claim her icon yourself.—

  Otherwise, I would lose? Had I actually once decided to bow out of this Arcana game? To choke on defeat? Yes, because of her influence!

  If I lost, I would reincarnate with no knowledge of her evil. Ignorant and vulnerable, I would fall for her machinations yet again.

  —Last chance. She will die in the deep. Her torn heart will stop.—

  When will this occur? How long did I have? Urgency lashed at me.

  —How badly do you want her?— With that, he disappeared.

  No longer did I have a choice but to leave. Making my expression blank, I turned to my allies. In a casual tone, I asked them, “Care for a vodka?”

  Should they catch wind of my plans, they would try to stop me. Already Paul had disabled the vehicles. I recalled being outraged, until he’d explained that Fauna or the Archangel might be tempted to sneak away, weakening the sphere, and therefore our entire alliance.

  Within the hour, I would steal out on a pale horse—as Death had done so many times over the last two thousand years.

  Once I’d collected the Empress’s icon, I would return to my castle and settle into my new alliance.

  Though I would be traveling beyond Paul’s sphere of clarity, his powers against the Empress might hold. If not . . .

  Hatred pulls the strings.

  32

  The Empress

  “Hi, honey, your husbands are home,” Joules called, as the three walked into our new digs.

  I glared at him from the stove. “That never gets old, Tower. Truly.”

  For weeks, he’d made that crack whenever they returned from their shifts. For just as long, I’d bitten back retorts, feeling like one of Richter’s volcanoes set to blow.

  Yet now things were finally going to change . . . .

  My roomies always looked exhausted after spending sixteen hours at a time in the trench. Sometimes Joules fell asleep at the table. Kentarch’s outline would waver, his powers sapped from getting them out of whatever wormhole they’d crawled into that day. But tonight, the guys seemed even more fatigued than usual.

  Jack crossed to me, leaning in to give me a quick kiss. “Missed this pretty face.”

  I mustered a smile. His lingering looks and stray comments had finally convinced me that he was still attracted to me.

  He wanted me; I wanted him. But we had a ghost between us.

  Though he and I shared that pallet, we never touched as we both needed. The tension between us filled this tin can.

  As we’d lain together, we’d talked for hours. One night, wondering if he’d ever make a move, I’d teased him.

  “Aren’t you strung tight? Remember telling me that out on the road?” Imitating his voice, I said, “I been strung tight for days, bébé.”

  He exhaled. “I’ve done some growing up since then. You called me selfish, and I was. I would’ve done anything to sleep with you and make you mine.”

  “And now?”

  He tucked my hair behind my ear. “Now I’d give anything for you and Tee to be happy and safe.”

  I gazed at him, taking in his proud, tired face, smudged with engine grease, and I sighed. Since I’d first met Jack, he’d not only become a man; he’d become a great one.

  After pulling off helmets, coats, and gloves, the three sat at our rickety dining table. I’d served them pasta with a sauce of canned tomatoes. I’d grown fresh ones from the seeds, then chopped them up for garnish.

  What had taken me hours to prepare would take them seconds to polish off. We’d all regained weight since our arrival.

  “Were you safe down there?” I asked, sitting with them.

  Jack and Kentarch had grown even closer, depending on each other in that lethal maze. Even prickly Joules had been bonding with non-Gabriel males.

  Jack said, “Always.” As predicted, they were killing it at salvage. Despite the danger, he relished the work, considered it one new puzzle after another, and the man loved puzzles.

  Already he’d moved us from the worst tin can to the best double one on the ground floor, closer to Jubilee’s amenities—which I could never use. He still didn’t want me to explore the settlement without him.

  I passed my days doing domestic chores, which I sucked at. I did the dishes. In a bucket. I did the laundry. In the same bucket.

  And when I wasn’t trying to hail Circe and Matthew for help—they never answered—

  I spent hours wondering why Aric hadn’t loved me enough to break free of Paul.

  Every second convinced me: He isn’t coming for you, Evie. Our last phone call had cemented that realization in my mind.

  Between bites of tomato, Jack said, “We went to the BOL today.” Bug-out location. They’d been using the Chariot’s teleportation to smuggle supplies back to that cave. “It’s filling up all right. And we’ve topped off the Beast’s tank too.”

  Not so easy a feat. All vehicles that hadn’t been cannibalized for Ciborium parts were parked in a guarded lot.

  As much as Jack liked it here, he still believed in preparing to bug out. The Beast was a bug-out machine.

  “‘All right’?” Joules snorted. “Jackie boy’s got a nose for finding booty.” Side-eye at me. “Never seen anything like it. Everybody’s talking about the Cajun ace.”

  Kentarch raised a brow. “His sourcing sense is unparalleled. He’s sounded the horn more than anyone.”

  Whenever a salvager found more than his crew could offload, he’d invite everyone to come take a share. That all-hands-on-deck horn reminded me of the cannibal miners’ shift-change signal.

  Jack grinned. “I sound it so folks doan suspect we’re a bunch of selfish smugglers. Plus, it keeps all the prying eyes in one spot while we go plunder even more.”

  A total Finn ploy. Don’t look at this hand . . . God, I missed the Magician. Every day that I sat in here, I had too much time to think about all we’d lost. I wasn’t ready to lose more.

  “We’re closing in on a medical frigate,” Jack said. “I got a good feeling about it. Medicine’s like gold now.”

  “Enough about our exciting careers.” Joules smirked at me. “What’d you get into today? My dirty socks?”

  “Yeah. I used them to dry your plate.”

  His smirk faded.

  “Plank! Plank! Plank!” echoed throughout Jubilee. Again? This was the fourth execution since we’d gotten here.

  I stiffened in my seat when the victim screamed that he’d been set up. They always said that. Where there’s smoke . . . ?

  The guys kept eating, not even reacting—though they’d been breaking the law routinely.

  Joules shoved pasta into his piehole. “Lorraine came by our shift today. Gave us another pep talk.” Had he sounded braggy?

  If I heard another word about saintly Lorraine . . . My roomies were half infatuated with the ethereal woman. Whenever she spoke to the troops, they’d fanboy for hours.

  Apparently she’d been studying to be a psychologist pre-Flash, planning to help the world one case at a time. Now she considered herself a “protectress of the earth.”

  Evie called, wants her shtick back.

  My short-lived excitement over a female leader had waned even more. Yes, I was suspicious of shrinks after my stint in a mental ward—but it was more than that. My current helplessness made it impossible not to envy her power. To resent it.

  I was becoming a wreck here—just like the ships all around us. Why were my talents wasted?

  Inside this tin can, I relived what it’d felt like to be aflame with power. The Empress didn’t get collared or contained.

  Except
for when living in a container? “I’ll bet Lorraine pep-talked you. She needs all of you down there, risking your lives.” Though the Ciborium refused to share in those risks, they got eighty percent of the salvage! “You’re like mice nibbling at cheese in a trap. Sooner or later, you will get caught. You will die. Her house always wins, and she knows it.”

  Joules’s face turned red as he blustered: “She’s got a dream of rebuilding society! No one is forcing us down there.”

  “Something isn’t right about her and the Ciborium.” Lorraine and her crew might not be cannibals or mad scientists, but greed was a form of evil too. In my mind, that made them my enemies. “We need to be on our guard.”

  “Stop being an eejit. You’re up the duff and barmy to boot, and you’re never around her. Why should we listen to you?”

  I slitted my eyes. “One day, Joules. One day . . .”

  “Hey, now, you two.” Jack pushed away his half-eaten plate. “I thought we were managing here. We got a plan. Let’s stick to it.” Since he’d returned from the dead, his patience seemed to have no end. But his reasonable tone was driving me up the metal walls.

  When would he demonstrate frustration? When would he make demands about our relationship? Instead, he’d kept us fed and gotten us a better place. Whenever I had nightmares about my escape from the castle, he would stroke my hair. He’d diligently sourced for baby things.

  He slept with his hand over my growing belly, confident he’d feel Tee kicking soon and scared to miss it.

  Jack might be controlling his emotions, but mine were about to spill over. I’d figured that if I could keep from screaming when my mom had been dying, I could handle myself in any situation—even this tin-can solitary. But no longer . . . “Down on this level, I can hear people talking.” Today I’d heard a woman’s sobs.

  After deliberating, I’d pulled a hoodie over my hair and headed out to investigate. I’d gotten attention from male Jubileans, but nothing too bad. No one had nabbed me or anything.

  I’d found a crying woman in a black veil and worn snow gear.

  “What’s happened?” I gently asked.

  She sniffled. “My wedding day. To three strange men.”

  Finally! Proof that Jubilee wasn’t utopia. “Is the Ciborium forcing you to marry?”

  “Forcing?” The woman scoffed. “I’m a widow with a kid. I lost three husbands in the last Rift.”

  Now I stared down Joules, Kentarch, and Jack. “Today, gentlemen, I found out how often Rifts occur.”

  Cursing under his breath, Jack shared a look with the others.

  “Every twenty-one days on average.” Tick-tock. Approximately every three weeks, Jubilee suffered mass casualties, and called in an order for more workers to replace them. With one flare, people raced here to die. “Aren’t we overdue?”

  Joules sputtered. “What do you expect us to do? Not work? I bloody like eating. I don’t want to go back to the lean times.”

  Though my own recent starvation weighed on me, I said, “At the very least, don’t take double shifts. Limit the amount of time you’re in the trench.”

  “We’re safer than others,” Jack assured me. “We got Kentarch to help us out in a pinch.”

  “Excellent,” I said. “He can teleport your body back to me.”

  “Evie, just be rational about this. After filling up the BOL cave, we’re tapped out. You and Tee gotta eat. Which means we work doubles.”

  Jack continued to show such concern about the kid’s future. He’d met with Jubilee’s physician to get a sense of the man and came away unimpressed: The doc likes to be paid in liquor and had vomit on his coat. So Jack had tracked down a former midwife. He liked her better but wasn’t sure if he trusted her to examine me yet: Maybe this week. We can’t be too careful.

  After Paul, neither of us were too eager for me to see a medical professional.

  In the meantime, Jack had peppered the woman with questions. He’d learned how bad stress was for a pregnancy and what kind of food to be sourcing for. Based on information I’d given him, the woman had estimated my due date to be around Day 730 A.F., or Year Two.

  My own birthday.

  She’d provided Jack with a list of supplies we’d need by then, and he’d already unearthed half the items, stockpiling them at the cave—everything from diapers to baby food to a teething ring.

  He’d even put together a tiny bug-out bag to go with ours.

  One of my mom’s favorite sayings had been The difference between involvement and commitment is like ham and eggs. The chicken is involved; the pig is committed.

  Jack was ready to go all-in.

  But if we were going to make this work, I needed to pull my weight. “I’m getting a job,” I announced to the table. “The restaurant’s got an opening. When I start pulling in salvage gratuities, you can limit your exposure.”

  Jack leaned back in his chair. “Not happening.”

  I raised my brows. “I don’t remember there being a question mark at the end of my statement, Jackson.”

  “The men here are dangerous,” he said. “We didn’t want you to worry, but it’s not safe enough for you to walk around, much less mingle. And who knows what they’ll do if they see a pregnant woman?”

  If I untucked my shirt, I didn’t look pregnant yet. “I was out for several hours today.”

  Jack’s expression said, Dafuq?

  “No one messed with me. Besides, if anyone tried to hurt me, then your adored Lorraine would make him walk the plank.”

  Jack said, “The plank comes after somebody hurts you. You might regenerate, but will Tee?”

  I turned to Kentarch. “If I work, you could search more.”

  He’d shown around Issa’s picture, garnering some new leads. With each one, he would teleport away, often taking Joules with him.

  Whenever the Chariot was here, he would pace well into the night. If he did sleep, he would call his wife’s name.

  I told him, “I could monitor all the gossip, maybe even gather more leads.” And information on Lorraine. Damn it, something wasn’t right about her. Nobody could be that perfect after the Flash.

  Kentarch put down his fork. “Now is as good a time as any to talk about the future. The Empress is right—I’m spending more time searching for food than for my wife.” In his quietly intense way, he said, “Everyone at this table has known loss. But I might be able to reverse mine, just as the Empress did with Jack. I don’t want to be disloyal or selfish, but you three must understand my situation.” He asked Joules, “What would you do to reunite with Calanthe?”

  “Bloody anything. No offense, but if frying you blighters could bring her back, you’d be fricassee.”

  In a dry tone, Kentarch said, “We each have our personal boundaries, no?” He turned to me. “In any case, how much longer can we wait for Circe? I haven’t wanted to add to your worries”—quick glance at Jack—“but we can’t continue like this indefinitely.”

  As much as they tried to limit the pregnant chick’s stress, I still felt tons of it. “Circe’s reading every wall in her temple, all the fine print. That’s got to take time.” I told myself that over and over, but lately I’d begun to suspect she would never show, that her coffin of ice had closed over her forever.

  Shouldn’t I start considering the possibility that we might be stuck here? I gazed at Jack. Should he have to live with a ghost between us?

  Expression grave, Kentarch said, “How long, Empress?”

  “What are our options? Take away the fact that you need Lark’s abilities, and I need to free Aric—we all need the resources at the castle.”

  Kentarch drummed his five fingers on the table, clearly wanting to say more. Yet then he abruptly rose and took his plate to the dish bucket. Letting the subject drop, he said, “I have a lead I want to check out, but it will take some time, perhaps till morning. I will also stop by the castle.”

  The Hanged Man’s influence continued to spread, like the plague. But Kentarch could find no d
iscernible pattern of growth. Some nights Paul would gain an inch, other times a mile.

  “I’ll come with.” Joules hopped up, leaving his plate on the table. Dick.

  With a nod, Kentarch clasped Joules’s shoulder, and they disappeared.

  Jack exhaled a breath. “We’re on borrowed time with the Chariot. As soon as he runs out of leads, he’s goan to head out.”

  “We can’t lose him.” Another worry to put on the list.

  “I understand where he’s coming from. When Matthew got me out of that mine, I would’ve done anything to see your face. ’Bout went crazy, me.”

  I rose to put another piece of wood on the fire. Over my shoulder, I asked, “Then how could you decide to leave me behind forever?”

  He crossed to stand behind me. “I was trying to protect you from a breakdown.” He turned me to face him. “Never doubt that I longed for a life with you.”

  “And now? More than a month has passed since I found you, Jack. A month A.F. might as well be a year. We’ve been in limbo this entire time. You’re okay with that?”

  “Hell no, I’m not okay. You know I want you for my own.” Lowering his voice, he rasped, “Corps et âme.” Body and soul. That combustible heat between us simmered. “But at the end of the world, the last thing you need is more pressure.”

  “Maybe I want you to put pressure on me. If you believe Jubilee is such a great place—”

  “I believe it’s a . . . place. It’s got possibility. You’ll have the midwife to help you with labor. You have food you can keep down. A warm place to sleep.” Jack ran his fingers through his hair. “What more do you want from me?”

  “Limit your time salvaging.” Today when I’d explored Jubilee, I’d headed up to what the weeping bride had called the widow’s walk—the observation platform we’d first climbed to view the trench.

  I’d stared down into that angry depth, sea foam gathering around my feet. Against the strength of those waves, the Jubileans’ network of welded passages and scaffolding had looked like gossamer. A spiderweb quaking before a hurricane.

  Would I be the widow with the baby, marrying three strangers?

  “I can’t do that,” Jack said. “Having provisions stockpiled could be the difference for us. For Tee.”