Kresley Cole: Endless Knight

“ This Death first met you then.”

“You mean Death in this reincarnation?” His present life had started thousands of years ago. I might have come back as three different Empresses since then, but he’d simply endured and survived year after year, game after game. “Okay, fine, so you want me to have these memories. Then why are you piecemealing this information, Matthew? Why not just give me all the memories?”

“I did. Two games’ worth. Your mind resists. Dreams relent. Safety valve.”

“Wait . . .” I was struggling to keep up physically—and topic-wise. “So I have all the memories from two games, I just have to dream them? Why can’t I see them all at once?”

He gave me an indulgent look. “Then you’d be like me. Crazy. You are Death’s weakness.”

“So you keep telling me. Does he happen to know my weaknesses?”

“As well as his face in the mirror. Pay attention to your dreams. I’m in his pocket, so he’s in my eyes.”

It wasn’t the first time Matthew had told me that, but I hadn’t understood him. Now I did. Death could see me through Matthew’s eyes, so he always knew what was happening with me. And though I didn’t understand how , Death could drop in on my thoughts at will. Our last exchange had been during this morning’s harried climb:

—You deserve every second of this misery and fear, creature.—

And you know where you can shove your scythe.

It was one thing to have the others broadcasting in there, or to have silent conversations with Matthew. But Death poking around unnerved the hell out of me. “How can Death hear my thoughts?”

“Through the switchboard.”

Recalling Selena’s comments about Matthew jamming frequencies, I asked, “Do you consider our calls and thoughts frequencies?” I’d termed it Arcana Radio. Maybe it was really Arcana Switchboard. With a nervous laugh, I said, “You’re not the switchboard operator, are you?”

As if talking to a child, he said, “I’m the Fool.”

“Then how are we connected?”

“Through me. The switchboard operator. The Fool is the Gamekeeper.”

I sputtered, “But you told me that you weren’t . . .” I trailed off. He hadn’t actually denied it, had he? “So that’s one of your abilities?” No wonder he was so often confused.

“ Respons ibility.”

“You need to disconnect this circuit, Matthew!” I’d thought mind reading was simply one of Death’s powers. Then I recalled the Reaper once telling me, “Matto remembers his debts. He’ll show you to me. . . .”

“Inside voices are important,” Matthew insisted.

“Why would you allow him in my head?” I couldn’t comprehend this. “A couple of weeks ago, he said something about you paying your debts?” Nothing. “Do you let him hear everyone’s thoughts?”

“Death only wants yours. Death possessing Life. I’m in his pocket.”

“So let me get this straight. You connect the Arcana calls. You let Death communicate with us all. And you allow him access to my brain alone—because of some debt?”

Matthew offered me a charred pinecone.

Patience! “You do understand that Death will always know what we’re planning.”

“Doesn’t care about what we plan. No more than you would care what cannibal ants in mines plan. He laughs at our plans.”

“I don’t want a killer like him in my head!”

Matthew slowed, looking down at me with an expression that seemed far wiser than his years. “I do things for reasons.”

Gaze darting, I said, “I’ve got to tell the others. This is a huge weakness! I can’t form an alliance against an enemy when he knows all our moves in advance.”

“You feel his presence. Learn when he’s home. Death knew my gaze. Learn his.”

“I can learn to tell when he’s snooping?” When Matthew had showed me that last vision of Death battling Joules and his friends, the Reaper had sensed us. And didn’t I perceive a heaviness whenever he was about? “Until then, how do I know Death won’t try to prevent me from reaching Gran?” I asked, hoping that Matthew might confirm she was even alive.

“Bores Death. He doesn’t believe in her as you do.”

“Can you please tell me if she’s safe?”

“Define safe ,” Matthew said with a look at his hand. Subject done.

She had to be alive. I had to believe Matthew cared about me enough not to let me go on a wild-goose chase.

“Why does Death have such an interest in me, anyway? There are other cards to terrorize.”

Shrug.

“You know, but you’re not telling me.”

Smile. “Crazy like a fox!”

“Matthew, come on—” A branch snapped some distance to my right. I jerked around but saw nothing. A clammy feeling crawled over my nape. “Are we being watched?”

He blinked at me. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Are we in danger?”

He chuckled, shaking his forefinger at me. “Sense of humor.”

Yeah, I guessed we never got out of danger. I kept walking. “Is Jackson going to leave us?” As soon as I’d asked this, I regretted the expenditure of breath. I knew the answer to that question.

He’d been taking point, trudging onward, with his hoodie pulled up. All day his expression had varied between enraged and more enraged. Like he was getting pissed off anew every few minutes.

He wasn’t talking to me, but he also ignored Selena and Finn. Yep, he’d checked out mentally. I figured he’d get ghost as soon as we made the next town.

“Should’ve said good-bye. Arcana and non-Arcana mix poorly.” Matthew sighed. “Dee-vee-oh stares at you when you don’t see. Hunter. Watching. You’re the angel atop the Christmas tree that he can never reach. Gift beneath that he can’t unwrap.”

You’d have thought I’d be used to Matthew’s ramblings. I wasn’t.

“All his life, all false faces. Born of a false face. You showed him yours.”

Jackson still carried the scars of his poverty-stricken childhood. His father had refused to pay support, or even to acknowledge his destitute son. His mother had been an alcoholic who’d entertained drunken lovers. Those men had abused her—and beaten Jackson, teaching him not to trust.

Teaching him to be ruthless and to communicate with his fists.

All he’d ever known was deception and violence.

How could he not see me as deceitful and violent, as more of the same? Before his eyes, I’d turned into a viney-skinned, poisonous monster—one who’d been cackling to slit some scrawny Irish kid’s throat.

Matthew said, “Think less about Dee-vee-oh, more about game.”

Toiling up a steep incline, I considered what I remembered about the cards. Last night, when I’d gazed at my new icon, memories of my grandmother had flooded me in a rush. They were still fragments, but growing more fully formed with each hour.

I could recall her telling me about players who controlled animals as I did plants. I remembered cards that could manipulate the elements.

Her voice seemed to echo in my head: “The details of the images are important. They’re to be read like a map.” “Study the cards. Memorize them. The symbols are all there for a reason, Evie. They tell you about the players.”

How I wished I could lay hands on a deck. I knew the cards were chock-full of dots to connect, threads in common. Some cards had animal images on them, some plants. Others had water or fire.

I recalled Gran humming as she’d shuffled her deck, preparing to quiz me. “Which cards are the best spellbinders?”

I’d chirped, “The Hierophant and the Lovers. And me!”

“The strongest in body?”

“The Devil! The Devil is so strong!”