My other powers sucked against zombies. Poison only worked on living things. A thorn tornado would flay their skin, but couldn’t kill them. Maybe it could slow the Bagmen down. Though my thorn glyph was dark, I raised my hands to call on the barbs once more. I sensed them vibrating on the pavement . . . bees struggling back to life . . . then nothing.

“T-tapped out.” I told Finn, “Create an illusion, make it look like we’re running the other way.”

“I’m almost tapped out too! I disguised our jeep for forty-eight hours. A moving jeep, without letting the Cajun driver in on the secret. But I’ll try.” He began to whisper his mysterious Magician language, the air around him heating.

Soon we were rendered invisible, while five illusions of us appeared to run down the front porch steps and beyond. The closest Bagmen followed them. For now.

Unfortunately, Finn couldn’t disguise our scent.

Jackson did a double-take at the illusions. “More Baggers are coming! The house’ll be surrounded in seconds.”

My gaze was drawn to the right, toward the basement steps.

Jackson followed my gaze and started for them. Selena hurried after him, motioning for me to stay close. I followed them, Matthew and Finn right behind me. But at the threshold, I resisted returning to that lab.

Finn reached past Matthew to give me a little shove. “Come on, Eves!”

I swung around on him. “The last boy who pushed me down these steps became a smear.”

Finn held his hands up, eyes wide. “No problem, chica. ’S’cool.” He created another illusion, this one of a lantern to light the way. “Everything’s better with a little light, yeah?”

Farther down, Jackson scowled at the magic. So tonight was the first time he’d witnessed it? We’d agreed to keep our powers secret from non-Arcana.

Secret? Guess I blew this bitch wide open.

He and Matthew both had to duck under the doorframe. After we all filed inside, Jackson eased the basement door closed, then slid a metal table in front of it.

We backed away, deeper into the lab, closer to the blood-spattered plastic drapes separating the dungeon. The others peered around, their gazes flickering over the Bunsen burners atop a long steel counter, the shelves of jarred body parts. Left over from my battle with the Alchemist, broken glass and spilled serums covered the packed earth floor.

Finn said, “It’s official—this is the creepiest place I’ve ever been. Some mad scientist just called, wants his lab back.”

You haven’t seen the worst.

Once the rancid smell from the dungeon hit them, Finn covered his mouth. “What the hell’s back there?”

“A corpse,” I answered tonelessly. “It’s . . . decomposing.” My shivers started anew.

When Matthew put his arm around my shoulders, I pressed my face against his damp shirt.

As if they couldn’t help themselves, one by one, Jackson, Selena, and Finn slipped past those spattered curtains.

Matthew led me to the back wall, using his battered tennis shoes to shuffle glass from a spot on the floor.

When we sat on the chilly ground, I said, “You already know what’s back there, don’t you?”

“A butcher’s block. Drain fields. Bone saws and cleavers. Rusted shackles dangling from the wall.” He shrugged. “I see far.” He’d shown me visions of the past, present, and future—of Arcana and even non-Arcana.

But he’d once told me the future flowed like waves—or eddies—and that it was difficult to read. “Did you know I was going to defeat the Alchemist?”

He shook his head. He seemed less confused than usual. “I see far, not all.” He grasped my right hand, tapping the new marking. “I bet on you to take his icon.”

I supposed those symbols were a way to keep score in this sick game.

I thought I heard a gasp from the dungeon, and tried to imagine that space through their eyes. Would seeing the chained-up corpse make them understand what I’d faced?

If I’d gotten to Arthur’s earlier, maybe I could’ve saved that girl. I tipped my head back and stared at the low ceiling. How many others were out there in chains, waiting to be freed. . . ?

3

Finn stumbled out of the dungeon first, hand over his mouth. “About to Technicolor yawn.” He retched but kept it down.

Selena’s expression was blank when she exited. Without a word, she took a seat atop one of the counters.

When Jackson emerged, he looked like he was struggling to control his rage. For a boy who so often resorted to his fists, he despised violence against women.

He crossed to the table blocking the door, then sank down on the ground to sit against one of the table legs. To reinforce his blockade? Or because it was the spot in the room farthest away from me?

He seemed to be thrumming with frustrated energy, like a tiger prowling a cage. And like a trapped animal, Jackson now had nowhere to go.

I tried to put myself in his shoes. What would I do if I thought he was one way and he turned out to be something supernaturally different? I knew well what I looked like in the throes of my powers—I’d been horrified to see a past Empress in my nightmares.

If I’d been revolted, how could he not be?

Skittering sounded from above us, then a boom! as if furniture had been upended. “They’re back,” I whispered. Bagmen on our trail.

We all gazed up at the ceiling, Jackson and Selena raising their bows. How many were there? Would the decomposing body down here camouflage our scent?

After several heartbeats passed, they roved on. Selena and Jackson gradually lowered their weapons.

With a sigh of relief, Finn took a seat right beside Selena, clearly still infatuated; she glared.

“I’m guessing we’ll be here awhile,” he began, “and I need some questions answered. Like why you two were acting like you wanted to kill each other. Some of the last hot chicks on earth, I might add.”

“Tell them, Selena,” I bit out. I was still regenerating, which meant pain was radiating throughout my body. “Tell them everything you know about the game—everything you’ve hidden from us all along.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk!” Selena gripped the bow in her lap as if she was longing to fire on me.

“What do you mean by game?” Finn asked. “Strip poker’s a game. Quarters is a game. Games are fun.”

As though the words were dragged from her, Selena said, “Every few centuries, a contest begins, pitting twenty-two kids against each other in a life-or-death conflict. We’re called Arcana, and we have special powers, the same in each game.”

Finn held up his hand. “Whoa, you said before that you didn’t know why we had powers.”

“I lied,” she said without an ounce of shame. “The last one standing gets to live until the next contest, as an immortal. Our histories were recorded—on Tarot cards.”

I glanced over at Jackson to see how he was taking all these revelations. His eyes were narrowed, the wheels turning. Yes, Cajun, we all hid secrets from you, me most of all. Yes, we’re not totally, well, human. And, oui, you’re stuck in a cellar with the freaks.

Selena continued, “Some families keep logs of the players and battles, detailed chronicles. My family did. Evie’s as well. Her grandmother’s a wisewoman of the Tarot, a Tarasova. Yet for some reason, Evie says she’s forgotten everything about the game.”

“I forgot because I was young!” I snapped, though this was far from the whole truth. No need to confide to her that I’d been “deprogrammed” at CLC, an Atlanta loony bin. “I was eight the last time I saw her.”

Selena pointed to my hand. “Now Evie’s entered the game for real. She made a kill.”

Finn asked me, “So the guy out in the yard—the mad scientist—was an Arcana? How did you find him?”

“I heard his call, and I followed it.”

Selena explained to Jackson, “All Arcana have a catchphrase, like a signature about their character. We can hear each other’s. It’s how we communicate, I guess. How we can tell who’s getting closer.”

To find the Alchemist, I’d learned how to block out some calls and home in on others, like dialing in a station on an antique radio. Even when I wasn’t tuned in to the Arcana Channel, the broadcast would still play for others. “That’s right, Selena,” I said. “And yet you told us that you’d never heard voices, called us crazy.” Finn gave me a damn straight! look.

As if I hadn’t spoken, she told Jackson, “We can even hear some thoughts if they’re accompanied by sharp emotions.”

Right now the Arcana were abuzz, and we were all hearing it:

—Empress made her first kill!—

—Alchemist no more!—

—She’s worth two icons now.—

The others fell silent when Death spoke: —The Empress’s blood is mine to spill. Govern your game accordingly.—

Having been threatened by him for months, I wasn’t even fazed by his words. Death wanted to gank me? Must be Tuesday.

Finn asked, “How come Death gets to talk to everybody?”

Like Matthew, Death could mentally communicate with all of us. But especially with me.

“He’s won the last three games,” Selena said. “He’s over two thousand years old. I’m sure he’s figured out some tricks.”

I supposed as the last victor, he was king of the airwaves or something. Did that explain how he could read my thoughts?

If Selena expected Jackson to enter the dialogue, she was disappointed. He didn’t reply, didn’t ask a question. Why? He was a puzzle-solver, and if there were ever a puzzle to be solved . . .

“The guy you offed was the Alchemist, huh?” Finn asked me. “What? No Serial Killer Card? Or The Deranged Murderer?”

I shook my head. “Also known as the Hermit Card. He had healing serums and potions to give him superhuman strength, but he didn’t even know about the game. He told me he was archiving folks’ stories of the apocalypse and promised me a meal if I let him tape mine.” A total ruse. “I noticed that he’d drugged my drink, so I played along, acting out-of-it, because I thought I’d heard someone in the basement.” My eyes darted to the dungeon. “He had four girls chained in there, experimenting on them. One hadn’t survived it. I freed the others.” I turned to Matthew. “Will they be safe tonight?”

“The girls are fleeing Requiem. Two will live. Third wouldn’t in any scenario.”

My heart sank.

Selena said, “So you made the Alchemist pay.”

Seriously? “I didn’t want to hurt him, never wanted to kill anyone. Part of me refused to believe that only one of us was getting out of here alive. Not until he told me to dig my new collar out of those remains and put it around my neck!”

“Duuude,” Finn murmured, the word imbued with sympathy. “Looks like the Alchemist dicked with the wrong chick.”

I didn’t deny that, because, well, he had.

“Now I get why Matthew keeps talking about killing bad cards,” Finn said. “Are most of them homicidal? Are those freaks going to be coming after us for that immortality prize? And hey, why were you two talking about killing each other?”

Matthew stage-whispered, “Kill the bad cards.”

When he’d first said that a few days ago, I’d thought he meant a battle between good and evil. How naïve of me. In a way, we’d all been born to do evil.

“Bad cards, Matto.” Finn raked his fingers through his sun-bleached hair. “We’re not bad. So nobody’s offing anybody. We’re all friends. Right, Selena? I mean, yeah, I broke apart our new little fam unit with my ill-timed illusion,” he said, his dudebrah accent thick. “But I’m hereby saying I’m sorry. I screwed up—my bad. Guys, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Ill-timed illusion? Had he used his powers to make himself look like Jackson, then kissed Selena? I’d begun to suspect as much—or rather, to hope. “Finn, that was you, with . . . her?”

Finn gave a pained nod; Selena stared daggers at him.

I recalled that same night when Finn had asked me how to win her over. He’d told me he would “devise something.” God, had he ever.

Then where had Jackson been? We met gazes. He lifted his chin as if to say, You had me all wrong.

How did I feel about him, knowing he’d never kissed her? I tried to take a mental inventory of my emotions. Everything was raw and numb. But it didn’t matter how I felt about him. He’d revealed his disgust with me.

The sign of the cross, Jack? Really? Did he think I was some sort of demon to be warded off? Should he? I looked for my red ribbon. At some point he’d either tucked it into his pocket—or discarded it.