Arcana Rising (The Arcana Chronicles Book 5) (5 page)

“Good. You can drive.”

_______________

What do you get when you mix two Baggers, a bloodthirsty toga-wearing card, and a half-mad Empress?

Road trip A.F.–style.

I was about to be living one of Finn’s jokes. . . .

With Sol’s Skins trapped, the Shirts had overrun the crops, Pops and his grandkid among them.

I’d freed a few Skins to supply us for the trip. Oh, if looks could kill . . . I’d dared to threaten their god, and they were pissed. I’d created a rose crown, a skittering halo above my reddened hair, to remind them of my own power.

Then I gave orders.

The only trucks Sol had were the large military ones I’d seen parked outside, so I commanded his followers to fuel one up and pack it with tanks of gas and water. I ordered a couple others to bring me packaged food for my bug-out bag and to find out what day it was.

I’d been rocked by the answer: 389 A.F. I’d lost a week. Add another two days to get to Fort Arcana.

Tick-tock.

Now as we awaited the truck provisioning, I told Sol, “We’re heading outside of your safe, warm coliseum. You’ll need layers and boots.” He was wearing Birks, for fuck’s sake. And a
sheet
. A useless wristwatch rounded out his ensemble.

He cast me his first smile. “Concerned for me,
querida
?” I’d bet he could be a charmer when not homicidal.

Same could be said for me.
“Your frostbite or hypothermia will slow me down.” I pulled the matching fingerless glove from my pack and drew it on. Before I concealed my hand, I noticed him noticing my icons, but he didn’t remark on them.

“I’ll suffer neither condition,” Sol said. “I’m forever warm.”

Must be nice. I recalled shuddering atop that antenna tower. “Glass can cut your bare feet.”

He glanced down. “They aren’t bare.”

“With your first step out into the Ash, mud suction will eat those sandals.” I surveyed him. “What about jeans? Denim would protect your legs from falls. And I don’t know how bonebreak fever spreads, but I wouldn’t want to be going commando if we pass a plague colony.”

He swallowed and subtly narrowed his stance.

“You must have a bug-out pack you want to bring.”

“Bug-out?” Sol blinked at me.

Had Jack felt this much frustration at my cluelessness? “A backpack. With survival gear. To keep you alive.”

Unconcerned shrug. “I suppose I could prepare for a more rugged environment. Care to come back to my apartments and dress me?” He gave me a heated look, and I almost laughed.

Barking up the wrong oak.
He had no idea how untouchable I was. “Get one of your men to collect some clothes and boots. If he’s not back before the gas cans are loaded, you can raid corpses like the rest of us.”

He waved a Skin over and gave him the orders. Then he turned to me. “What will you do to my worshippers?”

Really?
“They all committed murder—just to walk around without a shirt.” Most of them remained under my net.

“You heard them say
victi vincimus
?
That’s Latin for
conquered, we conquer
. Some of them might have killed in self-defense.”

Maybe some were good; maybe some weren’t. I answered, “Maybe some can get loose. Maybe some can’t.” None of this mattered anyway! “We’re on a clock.”

One of the Skins signaled that the truck was loaded.

I ordered Sol, “Load your pets into the back, then get in.”

With a wave of his hand, the two zombies marched up a loading ramp. I gestured to one of the Skins to close it, and Sol and I climbed into the cab of the truck.

He settled behind the wheel. “Now that we’re traveling together, shouldn’t I know your name?”

“No.”

His lips turned down. “My worshipper isn’t back with my clothes. After teaching me the error of my ways, you expect me to go without boots and jeans?”

“Not if there’s a body nearby when we refuel.”

“You can’t be comfortable in your own wet, muddy clothes,” he pointed out. “I can provide dry jeans and a sweatshirt. A warm pair of socks. What’s the rush?”

Get to Tess. Get to Tess. Get to Tess.
Eleven minutes on the carousel versus nine days. Thousands and thousands of minutes.

When I had forced Tess to reverse time and she’d narrowly survived, I’d been worried that she would hate me forever. But Joules had told me, “She’ll be glad she helped. Lass likes to help.”

That sweet girl had been
glad
.

Which meant she would be willing to
work
.

Together, we could do this! But I wouldn’t stack the deck against us by adding unnecessary minutes. I told Sol, “That’s my business.” I used a rose stalk to lash one of his wrists to the wheel, the other to the gearshift.

He sighed. “I’m down with kink, but these bindings are quite painful.”

“Oh dear. Are they?” I tightened them. “Go.”

Clenching his wide jaw, Sol clumsily ground the truck into gear. Could he suck at driving worse than I did? I’d never even gotten my learner’s permit—because I’d been locked up in a mental ward the summer before I turned sixteen.

After the Flash, Jack had driven most of the time.

In a grave tone, Sol said, “All you had to do was ask me to go with you. I would have, without your threats hanging over my head.”

“Did you
ask
your prisoners if they wanted to fight for survival? Now
drive
.”

He shrugged and gave the truck some gas. We headed for the highway.

I watched in the side mirror as a shirtless “worshipper” sprinted after us with a duffel bag. He hurled it toward the back of the truck. . . . The bag landed well short.

This just wasn’t Sol’s day.

“Since you refuse to give me your name, what should I call you?” Sol asked. We were climbing higher into the hills, the road getting more treacherous. “O Great Empress? The Blond One? How about the Green Queen?”

I’d been staring out the window in silence, ignoring his attempts at conversation. As I took in one Flash-fried scene after another, I alternated from Evie to full-on Empress—leaf-strewn red hair, rose crown, dripping thorn claws, glowing glyphs—and back. At one point, I’d drummed my claws on the armrest with impatience, absently stabbing holes in it. Poison had collected.

Sol had shuddered in horror.

“Call me Empress.”

“We’re not on a first-name basis? Fine. You can call me Illuminator.”

“Yeah. That will never happen,
Sol
.”

Snow began to drift down. Jack’s words rang in my head, his voice over the radio when I’d ridden out to meet him:
“So this is snow. . . .”
A bayou boy, he’d never seen it before.

I’d been delighted by the clean white drifts. After a year of ever-present ash, the white had seemed like a blank slate.

With our voices linked, Jack and I had marveled at the snow.

My chest twisted so hard I almost screamed.
Blinders!
I fully believed that I would get him back. But the mere
idea
that we weren’t on the same plane made me crazed.

Sol said, “I still can’t believe the Empress is a real girl. For months, I’ve been hearing all these voices in my head, and then up pops one of them—in the very lovely flesh.” He’d been hearing our Arcana calls.

Matthew had told me mine was louder than everyone else’s. Apparently, my call had broadcast all the way to Indiana. Yet I’d never heard Sol’s.

He imitated my voice, “‘Come, touch . . . but you’ll pay a price.’” He raked his gaze over me. “Who wouldn’t pay it?”

Jack had. He would still be alive if he’d never met me. Or if I’d let him go after my battle against the Hermit Card.

Aric had paid over and over again.

He still hadn’t contacted me. Maybe the Arcana switchboard was down once more. After all, I hadn’t heard Sol’s call from mere feet away. Which would mean I had no mental link to my allies and friends.

And no idea where my enemies were.

Or maybe I just couldn’t consider the alternative: that Aric was too injured to respond. It wouldn’t matter anyway, because of time travel. Once I went back, I would keep him safe.

God, I could go nuts thinking about this! For days, I’d had zero sleep and little food. I wasn’t exactly tracking well. And the Sun’s leer wasn’t helping. “Are you done, Sol? Just pay attention to where you’re going.”

He wasn’t done. “I saw an image flash over you. You had your arms open, were beckoning me.” My Arcana tableau. “Some of the Azey soldiers spoke of supernatural people called Arcana. Even after so many baffling events—and my own powers—I scarcely believed.” I hadn’t either. “So if the voices are real, then the game must be too. I’ve heard enough to glean the basics. There are more than a dozen of us, right? And we’re all supposed to fight? To take each other’s—what are they called?—
icons
.”

I could confirm that a hand marking accompanied each kill. Instead, I shrugged. I didn’t trust this card whatsoever; keeping him ignorant seemed wise.

“You have icons, right? I thought I saw something on your new hand before you covered it.” When I didn’t answer, he asked, “Will there be other gods at Fort Arcana?”

Other gods. Ugh.
Aric had called me a goddess, but he’d meant it figuratively.

“That makes sense,” Sol continued. “This fort of Arcana must shame my humble Olympus.”

The fort didn’t look like much, but it was strong. Jack had built it with his own two hands. “Fort Arcana was constructed out of anything available by people scrapping for a better life out in the Ash. Not everybody got to stroll into a ready-made stronghold.”

In a way, Sol was like the Hermit Card, a worm who slithered from one shell to another.

“Who started the game?” Sol asked. “What happens if you don’t wish to fight anyone?” Casting me a significant look, he said, “I’m a lover,
querida
, not a fighter.”

“No, you just make
others
fight. For your entertainment.”

“I could’ve drawn you a map to the fort, and then you could have killed me. Why kidnap me? Because I helped you regenerate?”

“I have plans for you.” If I was going to use Sol in the past to face the Emperor, would he need to be on Tess’s carousel with us? Would more people make it harder for her? Maybe I could go even further back in time, then drive up to Olympus to snag Sol before the clash.

Time-travel conundrums made my head hurt. I’d figure something out. . . .

Sol said, “Plans for me? Like using, then killing me?”

Bingo. But I didn’t want him to think his number would soon be up. “Drive faster.”

“Again, what’s the rush? We must be hurrying to meet other gods.”

I was stuck in this cab with a guy who thought he was divine. “Why don’t you concentrate on the road?”

“
Sí.
Okay.” Two minutes later: “Where are you from? With that drawl, I’m thinking Deep South.”

My heart ached to think of my native Louisiana. I tucked my hand into my pocket, touching the red ribbon.

Despite my silence, Sol said, “I’m from Barcelona. I came to the States for college. Do you speak Spanish?” Nope. Cajun French. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

Once upon a time, I’d been bubbly and friendly to everyone I’d met. “Maybe I just don’t talk much with murderers.”

“That’s rich, coming from you. I’ve learned enough about the game to say: takes one to know one, Empress.”

“I’ve killed in self-defense. You forced others to kill for sport. Even children.”

“Or perhaps I weeded out my followers based on their actions in that fight. I was well aware of the crying boy. My Bagmen referees wouldn’t have allowed the child to be hurt, and anyone who’d targeted him would’ve been disqualified from Olympus.”

“Yet there were no kids in your stands? Don’t lie to me again.” I tightened the Baggers’ collars in the back.

When they wailed, Sol clenched the steering wheel, and sunlight flickered from his face.

Thanks for the top-off.
My body vine sprouted from my neck, nuzzling my cheek.

He grimaced at the sight, then said, “I sent children and parents on their way.”

I raised my hand to hurt the Baggers some more. I was glad I had
two
zombies to work with. I might have to gank one, just to show Sol I was serious.

“It’s true, Empress!
Mierda!
I swear it’s true.”

Maybe it was. But . . . “What about those injured prisoners who couldn’t get out of their cages fast enough? Your guards shot them in cold blood.”

“A mercy,” he said firmly. “Anyone injured A.F. is in a literal world of misery. Besides, I’d say eight out of ten of those men have murdered.”

I couldn’t quite disagree. I’d rarely met decent people out on the road. But that didn’t give me an excuse to round them up and play games with them.

Didn’t matter anyway. I wasn’t going to befriend this card. Sol might be better than the Lovers or Richter, but that bar was as low as Circe’s abyss.