by Kresley Cole
" . . . A seven nation army couldn't hold me back. . . ." My thoughts exactly.
As the music boomed, a platform ascended from below that stage. Little by little a man in his early twenties became visible, first his head--he had black hair, dark eyes, and a handsome face--and then the bronzed skin of his nearly bare chest. He was tall and built, wearing only a knee-length toga.
Two Baggers flanked him, a male on one side, a female on the other, both well-dressed in normal clothes.
A gasp hissed through my lips when an image flickered over him--an Arcana tableau: a child wrapped in a waving red pennant, surrounded by sunflowers and summer wheat. In the blue sky above, the sun had a face, and it was menacing.
Sol. Sun. I'd found the Sun Card. My lips curled. I'm gonna serve it to you. . . .
4
Sol raised a hand, and everyone fell silent, the music fading. "Welcome to Olympus! I am El Sol!" he bellowed. Spanish accent? "In a world of darkness, I bring you light!"
With his sun-kissed followers and crops a-growing, Sol must be able to emit sunlight. So how would that ability affect me? Charge me up or dry me into a husk? I racked my damaged mind to remember. I hadn't heard this card's call. Had he heard mine?
The men in the stands drummed their feet, chanting, "Victi vincimus." Whatever.
They quieted when he yelled, "Hail the Glorious Illuminator! Next to me, all is shadow."
The men chanted, "Next to him, all is shadow."
"I am your god!"
Wow. Even Guthrie, the Hierophant Card, had considered himself only a shepherd guiding his flock. El Sol believed he was an actual deity. Considering his toga and his coliseum lair, I'd wager a Roman one. Were we to be his sacrifices?
I pinched the bridge of my nose, muttering, "Crazy-ass Arcana." But could I really talk?
Once Tess and I returned from our trip back in time, maybe I'd just shatter into little Evie pieces.
For now, I would be opting out of the sacrificial part of tonight's program. I had a mission. Sol stood between me and my three goals. Which meant he stood between me and Jack. Sol might as well be murdering him in front of my face.
My claws sharpened. I'd already linked with every plant in this stadium. Would I be strong enough to fight off so many Skins?
The Shirts could be just as dangerous. Word seemed to be spreading among them that I was a female.
Sol continued, "Only worthy gladiators will find a home amid the riches of Olympus! Prepare to battle for your place!"
I had to give it to him: he knew how to put on a show, a real entertainer. In my present mood, this performer was about to break a lot more than his leg.
The would-be gladiators all around grew antsy as they comprehended their plight--a fight for survival. How many died in each contest?
No wonder all those Skins were big and scarred. To earn their spot in the stands, they'd had to emerge alive from a free-for-all.
I might not have to take Sol out. But I wanted to. What was one more icon?
No, focus! Tick-tock.
Sol waved his hand, and the Bagmen lurched forward. They deposited those crude weapons on the field--pikes, hoes, axes--then returned to the periphery, as if they were being choreographed. The Sun must have control over them, the way I controlled plants! Which made sense--after all, Bagmen had been created by solar radiation during the Flash.
When the sun had shone at night.
Among the Shirts, gazes darted and fists clenched, men readying to fight. When should I strike? Would I have enough spores to knock out a thousand Skins? And what about the Bagmen?
Sol raised his hands, and his body began to . . . glow.
Empower me or burn me up?
All around me the Shirts gasped in shock. Sol's followers lifted their faces and basked as light radiated from his body--stronger and stronger in intensity. It grew so bright, I nearly cried out. I closed my eyes, bracing myself. . . .
When my glyphs shivered, I opened my eyes. Soon those swirling lights on my skin were shining almost as brightly as Sol. The Sun was supercharging me! But no one noticed; they were all too busy staring at him.
I shoved my hood back, and vines flared behind my head, cobralike once more. My claws dripped with poison. My broken bones and wounds were mending faster, faster. The vines in my sleeve made way for my growing arm as flesh built on itself. Already to my elbow!
Deep within me, the red witch stretched and purred.
The bleacher crops stirred in readiness. I could turn this into a bloodbath if I chose. Jack had been one of my last links to humanity, to goodness. Until I recovered him . . . the red witch might slip her leash.
A supercharged Arcana. With zero humanity. And an icon up for grabs. If only taking down the Emperor could be so easy--
I frowned. Richter. What if he wasn't invulnerable after all? Maybe . . . I simply needed a portable solar battery. I could take Sol back in time with me on Tess's carousel. But could I control the Sun enough to keep his powers in check? What was the extent of his powers?
Sol dimmed his light, then he and his two pet zombies took seats on the stage. Suddenly, a game buzzer sounded.
Yelling men ran for those weapons. Fights broke out. A melee erupted around me. The crude weapons made murder a grisly business. Blood spurted, hacked limbs dropping.
Behind me, Pops's grandson cried hysterically. I tossed a vine toward him and Pops. It branched out in front of them--a shield of green.
Attention back on Sol.
He'd linked his fingers with those Baggers' on either side. Did Sol care about those two? If so, I could use that. But first I needed a distraction.
As I'd learned to do in the Lovers' basement, I snatched another vine from my neck and lobbed it in the direction of the Bagmen guards on the periphery. My own grenade; I fueled it from within me. The vine spread, forking out to climb up bodies and spear skulls. Bagmen dropped like dominoes.
Nearby Shirts jerked back from me. Good. I was about to need the room.
I invoked the red witch--and could almost pity my enemies. I AM the red witch, some part of me thought. Evie is a sliver of ME.
Other Baggers mobilized to locate the threat, shoving through the mass of men.
From my cobra's hood, I straightened the end of a huge vine, another spear. It shot outward, jabbing a Bagger through the eye.
More creatures turned toward me, wailing as they attacked. I speared another one and another. Soon I was using two spears. Three spears. Ten. Like a hydra.
I'd never felt more monstrous. Glowing. Vicious. Claws overflowing with poison.
Shirts yelled and dove out of the way, more afraid of me than anything else in this place. Bandana stared at me with revulsion and fear.
I smirked. But I thought we were gonna date?
One green spear pierced a Bagman, then caught the two behind him. Dead zombies piled up. The stench almost made me retch.
The red witch craved her carnage, demanding total control. But my mission was too important to give her free rein.
Struggling to focus on what mattered, I sent barbed rose stalks creeping toward the stage. Sol didn't notice as green slithered up his chair and his companions'.
Stalks suddenly coiled around their necks. I used them to lift the two Baggers high into the air.
Sol yelled, "Nooo! Stop!" He clenched the stalk around his throat and pulled, so I tightened all three barbed collars.
The Bagmen on the field ceased their attack. The melee slowed, until everyone was staring at my handiwork.
With a flick of my hand, those terraced plants swelled. The Skins in the bleachers reacted too late; from behind them, a surge of green overran them, my own terrifying wave. The vines snared them, a vast living net. The more the men struggled, the more trapped they became.
A spotlight seemed to shine from Sol's eyes as he swept his gaze over the crowd to identify his attacker.
I stepped into that light and moaned. God, it felt amazing.
"Who are you?"
he demanded, bleeding fingers curled around his collar. "What are you?"
My gore-covered vines cleared bodies out of my way as I strode toward the stage, closer to that delicious sunlight.
Even with all these plants, I'd only been able to regrow half of my arm. Now I raised the stump to his spotlight. My flesh regenerated before our eyes. Even my icons returned.
Gasps and whimpers sounded from all around me.
I flexed my new fingers and claws. Rolled my wrist. With my restored hand, I pointed at Sol. "You're coming with me."
5
"I'm the Empress, and you're my prisoner."
When I continued forward, a different beam shone from Sol's eyes. This one did nothing for me, nor to me. But the men closest to me screamed. A few balled up and rocked in the bloody grass. One sank to his knees, battering his fists against his head.
Sunstruck? Had Sol just maddened them? Power number three.
I tightened the Baggers' collars; the pair wailed in the air. "Try anything else on me, and those two will lose their heads."
"Wait!" Sol raised his palms, dimming his gaze. Accent thick, he said, "I've stopped. Just don't hurt them, por favor!"
"They'll be safe as long as you do what I say."
His eyes were panicked. "Anything!"
I beckoned him with a crooked finger. Still collared in rose stalk, he descended the stage to the field, his Birkenstocks squelching in the blood and Bagger slime.
When he stood before me, heat radiated from him. He was even taller and more built than I'd thought, so I used another stalk to bind his wrists and tightened the one around his neck. Blood ran down his neck and bronzed chest.
Taking a page from the Lovers' playbook, I told him, "Your collar--and the ones on your two pet zombies--are pressure-loaded. If I die, or go crazy, or lose control in any way, the three collars will snap closed, beheading you."
Brows drawn, Sol asked, "What do you want from me?"
"A truck, with all the gas it can carry. You and your two Baggers will be coming along as my hostages. If we get to my destination safely, I might not kill you."
"Where are you taking us?"
Unfortunately, I had to reveal where I wanted to go; couldn't reach it otherwise. "To a place called Fort Arcana. I want you to ask your men if anyone has ever heard of it."
"I have heard of it."
I narrowed my eyes. "Continue."
"From captured Azey soldiers. That's the Army of the Southeast--"
"I know who the Azey are." Jack had been marching them down to Louisiana to establish a settlement around Haven. A refuge.
"These soldiers camped across the river from this fort." He was telling the truth! "We plan to raid it in the future."
Good luck with that. "Where are those men now?"
"Didn't survive."
Shit. "How far is the fort?"
"Two days."
Days! So many minutes! "Do you have a map?"
He shook his head. "But I know the way."
I should probably get him to draw a map anyway, but we didn't have time. Besides, navigating was not my strong suit. "Why should I believe you?"
He shrugged, wincing as thorns dug into his shoulders. "If I don't get you there in two days--barring unforeseen roadblocks--you can kill me."
I rolled my eyes. "Can I? Thanks for the okay." I had a thousand other questions for him, but I could interrogate him on the way.
He gave me a strange look. "Even if I had a map, I like the idea of being useful to you."
"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.
6
"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.