Endless Knight (The Arcana Chronicles) (10 page)

As he reached for me, he yanked off his fingerless gloves, as Death had done in my dream.
Block that out.

Jackson lifted the hem of my shirt, baring my torso to little bites of rain—and his avid gaze. With his muscles tensed as if he might have to leap away at any moment, he tentatively touched me.

I gasped at the contact.

Growing bolder, he skimmed the backs of his fingers along a glyph as it floated across my damp skin. His hooded eyes followed the path of his fingers.
“Hypnotique.”
His breaths were short puffs of smoke in the cold night, his expression fascinated.

With infinite slowness, he stroked until I was panting, until I ached. I bit my bottom lip to keep from moaning out loud. I needed him to kiss me. I needed those strong arms, squeezing me to him.

“Your skin is so soft.
Satinée
,” he murmured. “You goan to drive me crazy before it’s all done, ain’t you?”

“Jack, please.”

“Please what?” He looked up, met my eyes.

Accept me, kiss me.
I moistened my lips.

He noticed. Though his brows drew together as if he were pained, he didn’t give me the kiss I craved from him. Yet his fingers still traced my skin, higher, higher.

When he bared my bra and grazed his knuckles over me, I couldn’t stand it anymore—I scrambled to my knees, grasped his broad shoulders, and kissed him.

His muscles stiffened beneath my palms. Against his lips, I murmured, “Kiss me back?”

Heartbeats passed.

Then, with a groan, he did. Slow slants of his lips over mine grew more heated, more urgent. He leaned me down over his arm, laying his rough palm on my cheek to hold me steady for his kiss.

Groans broke from his lungs, moans from my lips. As ever, the fire between us stoked into an inferno. That combustible chemistry. He kissed me like he wanted to brand me—

Someone cleared his throat.

When Jackson released me and drew back, I saw Matthew standing awkwardly at the entrance to the hut.

As I pulled my shirt down, Jackson grated to me, “You taste like my Evie, feel like her. But you’re not her.” He swiped the back of his hand over his lips.

Ah, and here was the rage.

“We’re out here with no protection from Baggers, no lookout, and I’m still a heartbeat from taking you! You mesmerizing me too? That’s the only goddamned reason I’d still be thinking about you after all this shit. All my life, I never went looking for trouble, but it always found me! You’re just the latest helping of grief.”

My eyes pricked with tears. “I didn’t want it to be like this.”

“Then let me go! End this hold you got over me.”

“I didn’t mesmerize you. I wouldn’t.” Surely I wouldn’t?

“ ‘Come, touch, pay a price?’ That’s your call? Well, I
did
. I’m paying it still.”

He snatched up his bow and bag and strode away into the dark, leaving me trembling, cold, adrift. I stared after him for long moments. When I pulled my knees to my chest, Matthew crossed to sit beside me. “Not Arcana.”

“Can you see Jackson’s future?”

“I see far.” He frowned. “Not with him. Unknown. Variable. Strike from equation!”

“Would he be safer away from us?”

Matthew gave me a raised-brow
really?
look. Stupid question. Then he tilted his head. “More dreams of Death?”

I forced myself to stop staring in Jackson’s direction and pay attention to Matthew, who sounded relatively coherent. “Yes. The same encounter with Death, after he’s stabbed me.” Again, I’d noted that he looked younger then. “If he’s immortal, how does Death age?”

“Duration of the games. Game begins—he ages. Game ends—he stops.”

“He doesn’t look that much older now. How long do these games last?”

Matthew sighed. “This will be one of the longest.”

“If I can regenerate, then is his Touch of Death the only way to kill me?” Or maybe I was like the Bagmen, taken out with a shot to the brainpan?

Shrug.

Change of tack. “Does he always kill me?”

“Not always. And Lady Lotus didn’t die once.”

I swallowed. “Meaning others have slain me—and I actually won a game?” I almost wished I hadn’t known that. “How many did I personally take out then?”

Hesitation. “More than anyone before. Or since.”

I was a record-holder. No wonder Selena worried about me getting a word out when we met new Arcana. They’d all be after my head. “Who else got me?”

Matthew studied his hand, hard, end of subject.

“At least tell me how many times Death has done it.”

“
This
Death? Two out of last three.” Matthew’s brown eyes were so grave as he said, “Practice makes perfect.”

9

DAY 254 A.
F
.

SOMEWHERE IN THE APPALACHIAN MOUNTAINS

“If it seems too good to be true . . .” Jackson muttered to no one in particular.

We’d come upon an abandoned homestead, a quaint cabin perched high on a rise, with rocking chairs on the front porch and a nearby barn. It looked like it’d once belonged to someone who’d smoked a corncob pipe, wore “dungarees,” and called bears “bars.”

At the sight of a man-made shelter, I almost salivated. We hadn’t had a proper roof over our heads since the hut five days ago. As usual, everyone except Selena was soaked and freezing. My teeth were chattering again, my stomach growling. At these higher altitudes there was more bone-chilling fog and even frost.

But we were all wary.

“Even if it’s empty, can we risk staying here?” Finn asked, looking at the place as longingly as I was.

Zombies continued to trail us, and we still had a couple of hours before dusk. “The Baggers sh-should have trouble on that l-last rise, right?” I asked.

“Just like you, Evie!” Selena said brightly.

Bitch. There’d been a sheer rock face to scale. We’d had to use a rope! I’d never climbed a cliff in my life and had flailed like a trout on a line. I’d been as worried about Matthew as about myself, but compared to me he was a mountaineer.

Jackson didn’t join in the discussion, just started toward the cabin. When we followed, he said, “I go alone.”

In the past, Selena would’ve trotted after him anyway, but she’d been remaining close to me. Like gum on the bottom of my boot.

I told him,
“Fais gaffe à toi.”
Watch out for yourself.

Jackson’s gaze cut to me, and I saw some emotion flicker there before he masked it.

As I watched him stride off, crossbow ready, I wondered yet again what was going on in that head of his. We hadn’t spoken since I’d kissed him. Did he still regret kissing me back?

After that night, I’d thought he was done with me, but I kept catching him staring at me. Sometimes his expression was filled with bitterness, as if I’d wronged him. But on the whole, his looks hadn’t been as withering, more . . . troubled.

Like he was trying to bring to light an unsettling mystery.

On the way to the cabin, he inspected the small barn. It must’ve gotten the all-clear, because no one got shot. Then into the cabin . . .

Please be safe, please be safe.

Not long after, I saw smoke curling from the chimney. My knees went weak with relief—and excitement. He was safe, and we’d have a real roof, a real fire.

Finn said, “I can disguise the smoke.”

Selena shook her head. “No need. We’re up in the clouds. Which J.D. knows, or he wouldn’t have lit it.”

He emerged from inside. With a chin jerk, he indicated for us to join him.

Self-respect flew out the window, and we ran for it like it was a friendly country’s border.

Though dusty inside, the snug little cabin had a bed, a wooden bathtub, and now a fire in its potbelly stove. We’d passed a full rain barrel on our way in. A dented pot hung above the stove. Cords of wood had been stacked alongside one wall by some owner who’d never returned. Put all that together . . .

Hot. Bath. I even had a travel-size bottle of shampoo and body wash.

This was such a bonanza, such a turnaround from our usual circumstances, that I was paranoid—like this cabin would slip from my grasp, running off to join the circus or something.

“Rock-paper-scissors decides who gets the first bath,” I announced, but it was only between Finn, Selena, and me. Matthew was too psychic to play—he’d settled into one of the rocking chairs on the front porch—and Jackson wasn’t interested.

“Goan grouse hunting,” he said, setting off without another word. His tone and demeanor said,
And I’m goan by myself.

The odds of him finding grouse were so slim I considered telling him to keep an eye out for yeti while he was at it.

Selena gazed after him with a concerned look, reminding me that Jackson might not come back at all.

For days, she’d been pining for him. It was so obvious. At first I’d been irritated, but then I’d put myself in her shoes. When Finn had tricked her, she’d thought that Jackson had chosen her. That her dream had come true. In her mind, she’d experienced his arms around her.

How strange for her, to be traveling with the boy she’d thought she’d kissed—and also with the boy who’d deceived her.

Now that everyone seemed to hate Selena, I was starting to feel sorry for her, even after the shit she’d dealt my way. Days ago, I’d realized nobody wanted to be a monster—yet that was how we were treating her.

Though she’d tried to draw Jackson into conversation again and again, he’d continued to ignore her, as if he couldn’t even hear her. With his hood over his head, he’d trudged on, seeming lost in thought. He hadn’t committed to anything.

I was past caring. I
was
.

Don’t think about him.
I planned to make the most of this windfall of water—and time—to wash the ash away. Sometimes I felt like that ash was becoming a part of me, obscuring me, just as it had overcome Haven House, my home in Louisiana.

When I won the first round with the bathtub, Selena rolled her eyes.
But she did sit outside with Matthew, settling in to whittle arrows. Finn ambled toward the barn, sourcing for supplies.

I shut the door and turned to my task. How hard could it be to boil bathwater? I’d watched an episode of
Little House on the Prairie
once. Ergo:
Let’s do this bitch
.

Four burn wounds and an hour later, I was lowering myself into the little tub, waist-deep water steaming around me. Bubbles from my bath wash pillowed over the surface. If my blistered feet hadn’t been stinging as they regenerated, I’d have sworn I was dreaming.

And if I hadn’t felt dread over Jackson’s leaving.

In front of the crackling fire, I soaped and rinsed my hair, reflecting on the last week.

Each day we’d hauled ass away from the Bagmen, but were forced each night to hide out. The Baggers did just the opposite, eating up the miles every night before dawn drove them into the ground, a thought that still gave me chills.

Our stop-start race had gone on for days. We were strung out on too little sleep.

I’d been constantly wary, unable to relax for a second. And I was still weakening. Yes, my blisters were regenerating, but more slowly. I’d figured out that since my skin returned to its state prior to any injury, I would never build up calluses.

Which meant I’d always have blisters. Beauty.

I wasn’t the only one who was wary. As a huntress, Selena always seemed hyper-aware, but now she was completely on edge. Each morning she would backtrack to scout the Baggers behind us. Yesterday, she’d told us, “Their numbers are still growing. They must be absorbing any stragglers they come across.” It was like a snowball, amassing size through contact with more snow. If that horde caught us . . .

Finn too grew antsier, but he was more like an addict coming off gear. What would happen if he
didn’t
pull a trick soon?

When we’d first met, he’d been a fun-loving jokester. Now he was
always nervous—insisting on checking and rechecking our map to make sure we didn’t sidle too close to the mines.

He was over Selena, hadn’t spoken more than a few words to her, and he seemed determined to get Jackson and me back together, as if he was the sole cause of the dissension between me and the Cajun.

Good luck. I feared this was past even the power of magic.

Matthew had grown increasingly withdrawn, often gazing at Jackson with a speculative look. I had difficulty getting the boy to eat, and he was no longer making any sense in conversations.

If I asked him if his head was hurting him, he’d answer, “Beware the Touch of Death.” One night he’d torn at his hair, screaming, “Water! Water!” I’d scrambled to get him my canteen before he hurt himself, but he’d chucked it away.

Surprisingly, Jackson had been the one to calm Matthew down. As if he were talking to a spooked horse, Jackson had said, “Whoa, boy,
tracasse-toi pas. Prend-lé aisé.
” Don’t you worry. Take it easy

Whenever I could catch a couple of hours of sleep, I’d had more dreams of Death, all set in that same desert, all of that same encounter. With his hand reaching ever closer to me, I would scent the burning sands and his sweat-lathered horse. In the last dream, I’d looked up at the sky, and through my tears I’d seen the Judgment Card circling above.

Death had popped into my head less and less. I guessed he’d gotten busy or something. Right now my mind was blissfully free of him. . . .

Fauna’s three wolves continued to stalk us, their eyes gleaming in the darkness, like freaking cartoon fossa. But they never moved in enough for us to get a good look at them.

Yesterday, Fauna’s Arcana call
—Red of tooth and claw!—
had begun to echo louder than all others. Which meant she was finally within striking distance.

When would she make her move? Why not attack with her beasts?

My sense of foreboding grew. The stress of our situation was nearly
unbearable. Wolves flanked us, Bagmen pursued, and we were skirting close to subterranean cannibals.

To top it off, the constant faint drizzle of rain was so irritating. Despite Matthew’s warnings, I almost wished it would pound down from the sky. Now it was like someone was poking your arm, going, “Nyeh, nyeh, nyeh.”