by Sarah Piper
Thirty-Eight
STEVIE
“Is that what I think it is?”
Standing in my bedroom doorway, Kirin holds up the coffee tray and offers his sweet, captivating smile. “I thought you might be ready for a pick-me-up.”
“You must be psychic.” I wave him in, grateful for the latte as well as the company. Isla just left—in fact, she must’ve let Kirin in—but Kirin’s basically my oldest friend here, and I was starting to miss him.
I haven’t seen him in three days—at least, not while I was coherent. Not since that day in the lab when I left without saying goodbye.
But seeing him now, standing there in a Dark Crystal T-shirt, his glasses askew, holding those lattes, I hardly remember why I was upset with him in the first place.
I take a deep breath. If all the crazy visions I’ve experienced over the last few days have taught me anything, it’s that here at Arcana Academy, nothing is what it seems, everything is a fucking mystery, and I don’t know jack shit.
So until I know at least a little more shit, I’m willing to give the mages the benefit of the doubt—for now.
Beaming up at him from my bed, I return his smile, thankful that Isla made me take a shower this morning and helped me braid my hair.
He sits down in the chair next to my bed and hands me a latte, which I greedily sip, practically moaning into my cup.
“This is the first time I’ve felt human in days,” I tell him.
“You look good,” he says. “I mean, not that you ever look bad, but… You know. Your color is back now.”
He sips his own coffee, dodging my gaze, his cheeks darkening. When he meets my eyes again, I feel a little jolt, straight to the heart.
Ridiculous.
“So I’m supposed to tell you that Baz sends his regards,” he says.
“Um… okay? Send mine back?” I’m not sure if Baz was here during my three-day, snake-bite acid trip, but I haven’t had an actual conversation with the man since we made out at the rocks.
Since we almost…
I close my eyes, sigh through my nose. Whatever Baz said about things being continued? Pointless. I’m sure he’s come to the same conclusion I have: it was a bad idea to begin with, probably best left buried.
A new thought enters my mind, making my heart skip.
Did Baz tell Kirin what happened between us?
“Stevie? You okay?”
I open my eyes, force a smile. “Right as a rockslide.”
“I’m not sure what that means, but as long as you’re not slipping into a coma…”
“No, nothing like that.” I take another sip of latte, watching him over the top of the cup. When our eyes meet again, hot pinpricks of guilt race up my spine.
Which is ridiculous, because it’s not like I betrayed him. He may be my oldest friend here, but we aren’t together—not like that. We still hardly know each other.
Why am I so tangled up about this? Do I have actual feelings for him? For Baz?
For both of them?
All I know is that when Baz kissed me, my heart felt like it was going to explode. And now, when Kirin looks at me with the sunset-behind-the-saguaros eyes I’ve loved for so long, I feel that same rapid-fire burst in my chest.
Sipping the drink, I let the honey-cinnamon sweetness wash over my tongue. I’m being crazy. There’s no way I could have feelings for both of them—not serious ones. It’s just this place. The stress of all the new experiences, the expectations with translating Mom’s prophecies, the insane shit that’s been happening.
Hell of a first week.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” Kirin says, picking at the rim of his cup. “We were all really worried. When Cass and I found you on the ground like that, I just…” He closes his eyes for so long I start to worry he’s falling into a coma.
I reach out and squeeze his hand. “But you guys got there in time, and now I’m all good. Crazy trip, but I think the worst of it is over.”
“Let’s hope so.”
“I assume Dr. Devane filled you in?”
“On all the fire and brimstone?” Kirin tries to laugh, but it sputters out halfway. “Yeah, he told me.”
“Any idea what the hell’s happening in this crazy mind of mine?”
His eyes darken, his jaw tightening. “We think it might be connected to one of the old legends. The rise of the Dark Arcana.”
“Dark Arcana? That sounds… dark.”
Kirin gazes out the window, his eyes going far away. When he finally comes back to me, he stands up and says, “You up for a trek to the library? There are some things I’d like to show you.”
“Are you kidding me?” My heart leaps at the idea. “I’ve been cooped up in this suite for three days. I’m more than ready for some hot action between the stacks.”
“Well, I don’t know that I’d call paging through dusty old manuscripts ‘hot action,’ but…”
“I would. That sounds like the best date ever.”
Kirin presses a hand to his heart. “Marry me.”
I hold out my left hand, wriggling my fingers. “Put a ring on it and we’ll talk.”
“Hey! I brought you a honey cinnamon latte!”
“Point taken. Let me think about it.” I laugh again, but then my smile fades. “Dr. Devane said I need to be on bedrest until Monday. Think we’ll run into him?”
Kirin flashes a conspiratorial wink. “You leave that old codger to me.”
“Done and done!” I jump out of bed so fast, I forget I’m not wearing pants. Just a T-shirt that barely skims the tops of my thighs.
Kirin’s eyes go wide, his cheeks blushing once again. He clears his throat and stares down into his coffee cup so intently it’s like he’s divining the future in his espresso grounds.
Putting the poor man out of his misery, I grab my jeans and say, “Give me twenty minutes to get dressed, then we’re busting out of this place.”
Thirty-Nine
STEVIE
When we get to the library, we spot Professor Phaines outside, walking Carly and Blue down the main steps. Both women look like they’ve been crying, and for about three seconds, I feel bad for them. But then their energy hits me, a tangled mess of anger and deceit, self-preservation, betrayal.
The usual.
Professor Phaines nods when he sees us, then holds up his hand, indicating we should wait for him.
He wraps it up with the Claires, then jogs over to us.
I bite back a smile. Pretty spry for an old mage in wizard robes.
“Stevie! How are you feeling?” He puts a hand on my shoulder, his concerned energy wrapping around me like a grandfatherly hug. “Dr. Devane tells me you’ve had quite an eventful week.”
I almost laugh.
Eventful? Oh, not really. Unless you mean the part where I basically tried to seduce my mental magicks professor in front of the whole class, nearly drowned in the River of Blood and Sorrow, discovered I have a familiar that can fly me around campus and spy on secret society meetings, almost fucked one of my super-hot classmates, and got bitten by a rattlesnake who may or may not have been the Princess of Swords warning me about the end times…
“Nothing I can’t handle,” I say.
Behind him, Kirin winks at me.
“Good, good,” Professor Phaines says. “Listen, I’m glad I ran into you both.” He gazes out across the pathway in the direction Carly and Blue headed. “I want to share this news with you before it becomes fodder for the rumor mill. A witch was detained last night on charges of murder in Taos, New Mexico. They’re saying she butchered her three children in a blood offering to the devil. Terrible business.” He shakes his head, his shoulders slumping. “Her name is Danika Lewis. She’s Amelia Weatherby’s aunt, the poor girl.”
“Oh my Goddess,” I say, remembering the redhead in Carly’s clique. Of all of them, she seems to be the least horrible, and now this? “Is Amelia okay?”
“She’s taking the rest of the month off to be with her f
amily. I don’t suspect this will be an easy time for any of them, or for her friends, for that matter. Carly and her group seem to be very close-knit.” He looks down the path again, then shakes his head. “Always good to lean on friends at a time like this, but I do worry about the morale of the group as a whole. Anyway, I just wanted to share that with you in case you see the girls in your classes. Might be a good time to reach out.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, not making any promises. “Thanks for letting us know.”
We part ways, and Kirin and I head straight up to the archives lab, where he’s already left a stack of books on the legends he was talking about.
“I’ve been reading up while you were resting,” he says. “I was able to find some books on the legend of the Dark Arcana. Specifically, the Dark Magician. The books can explain it better than I can.”
“You’re already familiar with the legends?”
“Somewhat. They’re difficult to study because there are so many different interpretations, and so much of our real history has either been hidden, lost, or destroyed. What some historians call facts, others call legends, others call lies, and on and on it goes.”
“Well, most legends have a grain of truth. I guess that’s what we need to find.”
We take chairs side by side, and Kirin opens a book to a passage he’s marked with a Post-It.
“Okay, listen to this,” he says, reading aloud. “The true source of magick has been debated since the earliest recorded times, and magickal occult historians have never agreed on a single accounting. But in the broader magickal community, it’s generally accepted that magick was gifted to humans by the source elemental beings many eons ago—salamanders, presiding over fire magick; undines presiding over water magick; sylphs presiding over air; gnomes presiding over earth. It is unknown whether these beings operated in a hierarchical structure, but historians have postulated that emissaries from each elemental group were elected and sent to interface with humans, particularly as mankind began to encroach on natural lands in greater numbers, posing a threat not only to the elemental beings, but to the natural world at large, despite the fact that mankind was and continues to be part of that natural world.”
“I feel like we’re the only species stupid enough to shit where we eat,” I say.
“Yes, and we’ve been doing so for millennia.”
“Keep reading.”
Kirin flips the page. “The more the humans interacted with the elemental beings, the more they began to desire their own power, their own elemental magick. Eventually, some sort of bargain was struck between the humans and the elemental beings, though we do not know all of the details. This is where most of the legends diverge, the most popular and widely accepted version being thus:
“One of the larger factions of humans sent a tribal elder to negotiate. The elemental beings warned him that magick would come at a great cost, but he was prepared to sacrifice his life so that his people could come to power, and he accepted the terms without question, diving into this new journey with childlike wonder and innocence.
“As part of the sacrifice, he gave his bones to create the first pentacle, representing earth magick; his skull for the first chalice, and his blood to fill it, both representing water; his last breath to stoke the flames that forged the first sword, representing air; and the energy of his final ecstasy through forced ceremonial orgasm, representing fire.”
“Like what you told me about on the tour,” I say.
“Exactly.” Kirin continues reading. “From there, these ancient artifacts were said to channel all elemental magick, and the man’s spirit became the ultimate essence of that magick, known thereafter as the First Fool from which all magick flows. Most magickal practitioners honor this legendary sacrifice every year on April 1st—First Fool’s Day.”
“So at what point does Tarot come into play?” I ask, struggling to make sense of it all. No wonder the historians couldn’t agree on a single accounting—after just a few pages, I’m already totally overwhelmed. “Other than the Fool reference, I can’t see how the elemental magicks connect in with the Arcana.”
“Ahh, but the story continues.” With an adorably nerdy gleam in his eyes, Kirin closes his book and grabs another one, flipping to another marked page. He adjusts his glasses, then reads: “The system of Tarot—through which modern practitioners channel their own magick, create a wide range of spells and curses, and divine the future—is said to be a written and pictorial accounting of the First Fool’s journey through the stages of magickal development, from novice to ascended master, which he then bestowed upon his family members and fellow tribesmen, essentially choosing them to become emanations of the Major Arcana. So, as he became the First Fool, his son became the First Magician, his wife the First High Priestess, his cousin the first Hierophant, and so on. Many historians consider these Major Arcana emanations as gods and goddesses, while the Minor Arcana were said to have evolved into the elemental affinities magickal practitioners identify with today. Together, the Major and Minor Arcana are said to represent both the magickal-spiritual as well as the mundane journeys and challenges of all human life.”
“And here I thought it was just a deck of cards,” I tease.
“Maybe at Madame Zelinski’s House of Whimsical Wonders in Los Angeles, yours for the bargain-basement price of just $19.99, all sales final.” Kirin laughs. “But it’s a little more complicated than that for us.”
I rise from my chair and pace the floor, an excited buzz running through my veins. The more I learn, the more I want to learn—the legends, the facts, the hypotheses, all of it.
I’m starting to understand why Kirin devotes so much of his life to research. Being a Tarot magick nerd is kind of badass.
“Okay.” I stop pacing, tap my lips. “So we’ve got the First Fool, a brief and sordid history of the Tarot… When does the Dark Arcana creepshow start?”
Kirin holds up a finger, then rifles through his stack of books. “Damn, I guess I didn’t grab that one. It’s in Arcana Mythology, one level up. I’ll go find it.”
“Hey, I’m coming too! You promised me some hot action in the stacks, and so far I haven’t seen a single stack.”
Kirin blushes again, his smile nearly overtaking his face. “You’re insatiable.”
“Just call me your favorite little book slut.”
“You’re definitely my favorite, Stevie.”
With that, I follow him back out through security and up the stairs to the next level. This floor doesn’t have the centralized open space where students and researchers can work—just bookshelves. Rows and rows of beautiful, majestic, gleaming oak bookshelves, their polished sheen a stark contrast to the dusty tomes that line them.
We’re all alone up here, and I take a deep, lemon-oil-and-old-book-scented breath.
Heaven.
The Arcana Mythology section spans several large shelves, and I follow Kirin as he runs his finger along the bottom of each row, searching for the book he wants. It’s taking all of my bodily resistance not to start grabbing random books off the shelf to take back to my suite; my to-be-read list is already out of control, and I’ve only been here a week.
“Eureka!” Kirin says, which is pretty much the cutest, dorkiest thing ever. “Son of the Fool: The Rise and Fall of the Magician in Modern Arcana Mythology.”
“Sounds like some real light reading,” I say with a laugh. “Is there an H.E.A.?”
Kirin’s brow furrows, his glasses sliding down his nose.
“Happily,” I say, pushing them back up, “ever after.”
He grabs my finger, offering an apologetic frown as if my question was serious. “This isn’t that kind of story, Stevie.”
“You think?”
“Tell you what. After we figure all this out, I’ll make you a reading list of my favorite books—the ones with an H.E.A. Sound good?”
“Sounds amazing.”
“In the meantime, we’ve got the Dark Magician.” He release
s my finger and flips open the book, paging through to whatever section he wanted to share.
“Let me guess,” I say, peering over his shoulder. “Broody emo boy, lots of Daddy issues, too much free time on his hands?”
“Pretty much,” Kirin says. “Remember, we all honor the First Fool for his sacrifice, but he was still just a man—a tribal elder who left behind not only his tribe, but his family. A wife and three children, including his eldest son. Listen to this.” He runs his finger down the page, then reads, “The tribesmen held a feast in honor of their elder, whose great sacrifice would grant them power beyond their wildest imaginings. But this young boy, no more than sixteen years of age at the time, was in no mood to celebrate. What others saw as heroic, he saw as desperate and irresponsible, a selfish father who’d abandoned his entire family in pursuit of magick and glory. The boy had watched helplessly as the source emissaries carved and desecrated his father’s body, wringing every last bit of life force from it and assuring—in accordance with the predominant belief at the time—that the family would never be reunited in the afterlife.
“When the spirit of the First Fool made his son the First Magician, the boy developed a new appreciation for power, though not in the way his father had intended. Instead of serving witches and mages on their magickal paths, the Magician vowed to take his vengeance. He claimed that because his father had abandoned his responsibilities to his family in exchange for the gift of magick, then it stood to reason that the gift of magick was, in fact, the boy’s inheritance. The other Arcana did not see it this way, and assassinated the boy before his plans for vengeance could be executed. For this reason, while practitioners honor the Fool on April 1st, we devote Winter Solstice to the Dark Magician, thanking him for his family’s great sacrifice and leaving elemental offerings to ensure his spirit doesn’t become restless—tobacco or herbs from the earth, wine to represent water, a candle for fire, incense for air.”
“And that’s supposed to keep him at bay?” I ask. “Doesn’t sound like a fair trade for his father’s life—or for his own.”