Amelia and I follow him out into the night air, finding ourselves in the back of the inn. A quick check confirms we’re alone out here. So, hoping the Wanderers are still occupied searching through room eight, we creep along the back of the inn toward the front parking lot.
“Well, you’ve earned the right to learn the true power of the Wanderers, if you still want to hear it,” Cain whispers as we stride forward.
Obviously our priority needs to be making a clean getaway, but I figure it also couldn’t hurt to learn as much as possible before we escape. Amelia seems to think the same, since neither of us protest.
“Perilli made his decks as an artist and a teacher, but also a prophet,” Cain continues. “He believed his cards could unlock hidden potential within those who read with them. He also gave each Corner different wisdom, so only we faithful Wanderers know this: Perilli made his decks and hid cards to seek out the worthy, who must be called to face a time of sharp growth. Wanderers believe Perilli’s cards provide the answers to grow through struggle, through an age of peril.”
Hearing Cain, half of me thinks this just sounds like the stuff of mythology, or science fiction. Or the kind of charismatic fear-mongering that breeds loyal followers. However, the other half of me recognizes an idea Gran Flo herself always repeated: The fluid truth of the tarot is a tool to unlock what you truly think of yourself—and what you need to do next. Looking to Amelia, I can tell she senses all of this as well. And that she has something to say, finally.
“Cain, do you really believe your dad is—” Amelia begins, before pausing to change tack. “Do you really believe this card will change anything?”
Cain looks over at Amelia, trying to maintain as much eye contact as possible as we reach the end of the inn’s sidelong stretch.
“My dad taught me to have faith in things I can’t see, that can’t be proved yet. He believed the tarot holds power we don’t understand,” Cain whispers. “And Perilli’s decks are obviously special. You see the influence they hold over people. So, yes, I do believe that card will bring my dad peace. But I also hope it will help bring me some purpose. That’s the hidden potential I hope to find, using the lost Prince.”
I can’t see Amelia’s reaction as Cain finishes, because we round the corner into the front lot. I don’t know if she believes any of this or if this makes her feel differently about the choice I made on her behalf. But I do know Cain believes all of this, to his core. To me, right now, that’s what counts.
We don’t say another word as we cross the parking lot, knowing we’ve entered the most dangerous stretch of our escape. Every step back toward Charvan feels like a mile, like we’re prey crossing the path of a lurking predator. But not only do Amelia and I make it back unseen, we also find Cleo and Logan waiting for us inside.
Once we’ve taken down Cain’s number, it only takes a second for Logan to start the engine and roll Charvan out into the desert night. As we leave, I turn back to take one last look at Cain. I see him standing in the driveway, watching us go with a fiery determination burning in his eyes. In this moment, I really do believe he will repay us someday, however he can.
At least, I really hope that’s true.
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The words leave my mouth, and with them I know so many implications will follow. Ultimately, I don’t believe the missing Prince will help Cain the way he hopes. Besides, it’s now our responsibility to protect the value of these cards, for so many reasons.
Still, I turn to Amelia before delivering on my promise, to give her the chance to disagree. She stares back at me with wide eyes… but she doesn’t say anything.
Which means it’s beyond time to exit this cramped room and sneak back to Charvan. I step toward the door, but the second I do, Cain lunges toward me. He reaches out his hand, aiming to grab the Prince I still hold.
Reacting on instinct, I tighten my grip and try to pull away. Whatever happens next, Cain must drop his lighter, because suddenly the room goes dark. I can feel Cain’s fingers on the Prince, pulling as he struggles against me.
But I do not let go.
In the next second, light pours into the small room. I turn and see Amelia has gotten the exit door open. In that same second, however, I hear a sound that cracks my heart.
I hear the sound of the Prince of Wands ripping in two.
Cain then falls to the ground in the room, banging against the far wall with a loud thump. Fury blazes in my chest like a furnace. All I can think about is rounding back on Cain to pry the half-Prince from his treacherous fingers.
“Chase,” Amelia hisses, trying to keep her frantic voice low. “Let’s just go!”
All of my instincts tell me to charge Cain, but I realize Amelia is right. The Wanderers inside must have heard that crash. They’ll be after us now.
There’s no more time to think.
So I run, following Amelia as she sprints along the backside of the inn. I run, even when I hear the shouts coming from behind us in room eight. I run, fueled by fear and anger and fiery determination.
It’s only a few more seconds before Amelia and I reach the front lot. Every churning step back toward Charvan feels like a mile, like each newly parked car in the driveway could be a booby trap. I can’t shake the thought that more unseen Wanderers might spring from the shadows to steal from us again.
But when Amelia and I make it safely to Charvan, we find Cleo and Logan waiting for us inside. They both stay silent, but they look just as simultaneously frantic and relieved as we must.
It only takes another few seconds for Logan to start the engine and roll Charvan out into the desert night. As we leave, I turn to take one last look out of the back window. Mercifully, I don’t see any Wanderers flooding the road to chase us.
All I see is the Joshua Tree Inn disappearing into the darkness.
I finally exhale, very ready to leave this deserted land of Wanderers behind.
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PART TWO
COUPLED
CHAPTER FIVE
AMELIA
IN THE TAROT, every ending is a new beginning. If that’s true, I hope this next beginning won’t be anything like our last ending.
My heart never hammered harder than it did on our way out of the Joshua Tree Inn. It wasn’t until we were miles away that I felt I could breathe. Even then, I knew what was coming next, at least for me.
I learned last year that my body doesn’t work quite like everyone else’s, that it stores anxiety like a bathtub. It might take a while to fill up, but once it does, all I need is a shot-glass worth of stress to overflow. Ever since a string of nasty panic attacks last year, I do everything I can to keep my anxiety from accumulating—but last night’s events didn’t exactly decrease my stress levels.
Once we were far enough away from the inn to be sure we weren’t followed, Chase and I filled Logan and Cleo in on what happened with Cain and the Prince of Wands. Well, Chase mostly did. I could still feel the emotions and the nerves rattling my veins, jumbling everything. I didn’t actually speak much, but I figured Chase had already taken it upon himself to act on my behalf…
After that, Charvan fell eerily silent. It was like we were all drains, opened and emptied. The only conversation we had was agreeing to drive all night to our next destination, in case any Wanderers picked up our trail. This pointed us toward Solvang, a tourist town near where Anwar moved. I then pulled my phone out of the shoebox to check the location of the shop Cain mentioned, Azure Tarot, the supposed hub of Perillian knowledge. One quick search confirmed Azure Tarot is located in Summerland, a town just south of Solvang.
This new town sounded familiar to us, so we rechecked the coordinates for the next missing card, the Princess of Cups. Sure enough, we pinpointed its location off the coast of Summerland, on the chain of Channel Islands. Those islands are supposed to be uninhabited, but this was another mystery we filed away for later. For that moment, it was enough to know our next steps all converged in one place.
I knew we should keep talking about what happened, but I just felt so exhausted. I kept trying to process things, but every time I grabbed hold of anything, my thoughts seemed to evaporate. I knew I was in no condition to talk to Chase about the choice he took from me.
Everyone must have felt the same way, because our silence stretched deep into the midnight drive. Chase and Cleo eventually managed to doze off while Logan drove, fueled by podcasts and gas station coffee. But I certainly didn’t doze. Residual adrenaline supercharged my limbs, making my heart pound long after our departure. I tried to tell myself that this was normal, at least for me. That it was just my fight-or-flight reactions lighting up long after they were actually necessary.
Still, I spent much of the drive warding off a panic attack with breathing exercises, pulling my hand away from my hair every time I began twirling strands. I learned the hard way that tugging at my hair was one of my automatic coping mechanisms. To their credit, both Cleo and Chase woke up at some point and checked to make sure I was okay, knowing the deal with my panic disorder. But I just nodded at them both—there wasn’t much anyone could do once I got like this.
The only thing that ended up calming me down was going over the tarot cards, sitting in Charvan’s back bench under the warm glow of the string lights. I focused on The Lovers for what must have been hours. This was one of the cards the toolset singled out, the one marked with invisible coordinates for the missing Princess of Cups. But really, I fixated on this card because The Lovers was Grandma’s Major Arcana expression, standing for relationships and love and flow—just like she did. I couldn’t stop asking myself: What would she make of all this, if she were still here?
Right now, as we drive through the mountain pass behind Santa Barbara, everything feels collected into a pool stagnating in my brain. The panic has finally dissipated from my system, but in its wake I feel flattened.
The sun just begins to rise over the peaks around Charvan. Our surroundings are stunning on this winding valley road nestled between the steep hills. All around there’s craggy brown and leafy green and even the shimmering blue of a hidden lake, dazzling in the morning sunshine. Still, all I can think about is our night in the desert. I now sit in one of the back seats beside Cleo, willing myself to finally start speaking.
“Okay, I know we’re all tired,” I say, my tone dull and cool. “But we should really talk before we get to Solvang.”
“Chase, I really need to know how you could give the Prince away without even asking me first,” I say, the words practically tumbling out of my mouth on their own.
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“Chase, I’m not sure it was right to take the Prince. And we paid the price for your decision,” I say, the words practically tumbling out of my mouth on their own.
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Maybe a better-rested version of myself could temper my reaction, but this version is majorly depleted.
“Right, because how could I ever make an independent decision without clearing it with you first?” Chase snaps from the front seat.
I know Chase. So I know he only gets defensive like this when he thinks he might have screwed up. But right now, that’s not enough.
“No, don’t do that,” I return. “You know what you did was selfish. You know what this deck means to me.”
Chase turns in his chair to face me.
“Of course I do. Why do you think I let you off the hook that way, not having to make that kind of impossible choice?”
“Is that what you think you did?”
“You have every right to be upset that I gave away the card without asking you first,” Chase answers. “But I only did it because I could tell how conflicted you were. You care so much about other people and about Gran Flo’s cards, I knew either choice would have torn you up. There was no time to think, so I did a very not-Chase-like thing and followed my gut. And I thought you’d stop me if you disagreed.”
Anger flushes my exhausted muscles. Am I just looking for someone to blame for losing the card, for losing what feels like another important piece of Grandma? It doesn’t matter.
“It’s not like I was going to take the card back from Cain once you gave it to him,” I say. “You didn’t leave me much choice.”
“I…” Chase takes a breath, looking out the window instead of at me. “You’re right. I should have let you decide.”
Chase delivers these words with an annoyed-sounding edge, but I know that’s only because he hates being vulnerable.
“So you would have kept the card?” he asks, turning back to me.
I freeze. This is the part where I know I lose any high ground.
“I honestly have no idea,” I finally answer. “So maybe it was best you were the one to make the call? I don’t know.”
Chase processes this a moment.
“Maybe. But how likely is it that Cain will actually return the card?”
“I know we weren’t there,” Cleo suddenly jumps in. “And if it were me, I probably would’ve kept the card. I don’t think it has any power to give him peace. That said, giving Cain the card was the kind thing to do. That can’t be too wrong.”
“For what it’s worth, I agree,” Logan adds. “Besides, that card will find its way back to us if it’s meant to be.”
Hearing Logan’s words surges back my emotions. I can accept a lot, but I can’t stomach his destiny fantasies right now. Before I can say anything else, Chase reaches his hand out to place on mine, sensing the tides turning under my skin.
“If you’ll indulge me a minute, I spent some of our drive sorting something out,” Chase begins.
I remember he did spend some time scribbling away in his journal early this morning, transcribing more secret thoughts. Despite myself, I’m always eager to hear those.
“I know giving the card to Cain, on some level, makes it seem like I agree with Logan about the cards being fated. But coming so close to those Wanderers, then getting out of the desert and focusing on The Lovers, it reminded me of my favorite thing Gran Flo always used to say when we did readings. The tarot is meant to be fluid. There is truth to be found in the cards, but you must interpret the truth for yourself. The thing mostly everyone gets wrong about every spiritual system is the idea that there’s just one truth. Wouldn’t that be easy?
“So, really, disagreeing with each other doesn’t mean we’re choosing sides. It’s probably better that we disagree, because it just means we get to see more angles of the same fundamental thing.”
I take a few moments to digest Chase’s words. Once I have, I nod—but not because I think he is completely correct. Really, Chase is saying a version of what Cleo did in the diner bathroom, but this time his actions directly affected me. Part of me still isn’t really okay with the way he handled things with the Prince, but I’m hoping some actual sleep and distance will change that. Another part of me believes splitting the middle doesn’t count the way Chase hopes it does, but I don’t want us to spend our last few weeks together arguing. So I stuff these feelings down and hope they will also disappear with time. And I muster a smile for Chase, who has tried so hard to express himself just now.
“You know, you’re really annoying when you get all ‘much older soul’ on us,” I say, meaning some of it.
“Lies,” Chase laughs. “But actually, we can thank Gran Flo for that one, by way of this mysterious Perilli guy.”
“Yeah, okay,” Logan says, turning to wink at me. “But Chase, who do you love more, me or Amelia?”
I force a laugh, this time for Logan’s sake. “Very funny.”
Not funny at all.
“Easy,” Chase says. “I obviously love Cleo most of all.”
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I’m not sure this reaction is entirely fair, but holding the half-ripped Prince of Wands in my hand, part of me needs to blame someone for its destruction.
“I know you, Amelia,” Chase says, turning in his chair to face me. “I could tell how conflicted you were. You care so much about other people
and about Gran Flo’s cards, I knew either choice would have torn you up. But mostly I know if you thought giving Cain the card was the right thing to do, you would’ve stopped me.”
“That’s not the point,” I try, knowing this is probably exactly the point.
“It’s not my fault Cain ripped the card, Amelia,” Chase says quietly.
Again, he is right. But that doesn’t feel satisfying. The satisfying thing would be to blame him for tearing this lost piece of my grandma we finally found.
“I think we all have the right to be freaked after last night. It was more intense than any of us expected,” Chase continues. “I didn’t mean to take the decision from you. I honestly just didn’t want anyone else to have to be the bad guy.”
I reach out my hand and place it on Chase’s, hoping the gesture will speak the volumes I currently can’t. Usually I’m the one to lead the charge while he thinks everything through, but last night was quite the role reversal. On top of everything else, something about this shift doesn’t sit quite right in my gut. Like this might be first tangible sign of the waves of change barreling our way.
“For what it’s worth,” Cleo suddenly jumps in, “I think you did the right thing. That card won’t give Cain any peace. That’s something he needs to give to himself.”
“Well, if we’re sharing,” Logan adds, “I would’ve given the card to Cain.”
I look to Logan in the driver’s seat, feeling that familiar flush of animosity rear its ugly head. However, I then catch a glimpse of Logan’s face in the rearview mirror and I can see it—he feels left out. He wasn’t there for the action last night, and then Chase keeping the card honors my way of thinking over his, in some ways. Seeing Logan’s reaction manages to soften some of my edges.
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