Every memory, every echo—I channel it all into fuel.
Deeper I plunge. Darker. In my mind’s eye, the sun in the Ace of Wands card dims, then dies, the sky turning black, all the light sucked away until nothing remains but pure anguish.
In that agony, where those old wounds still fester, still burn, I find therealfuel.
I open my eyes and let out a roar torn from the darkest, most terrifying recesses of my soul.
Casey gasps and drops her gun.
And with no further warning than another wry smile, I thrust my hands forward and set the night ablaze.
Three
STEVIE
“Is that, like, a metaphor?”
I stare at Lala, waiting for the explanation that will make all of her craziness coalesce into some logical thing, some definite answer I can grab onto—and maybe beat the shit out of.
Because I didnotcome all this way—under extreme duress, mind you—just to be told by some mysterious age-defying oracle that I’m about to bite it.
I fold my arms across my chest and continue the glowering, but instead of a response, I get a Tarot card. It slips out from between the pages of her grimoire and lands at my feet.
“One of Mom’s, or one of yours?” I ask.
“The messenger matters not.” Lala lowers her eyes, silence engulfing us as I crouch down to examine the card.
On its face, an old woman draped in a green cloak holds a skull before a steaming cauldron. Just beyond her window, a black raven circles.
Death. Trump Thirteen. The same card that filled up my bathtub after I dreamed of my mother, right along with Judgment, thousands and thousands of tiny images whispering the same ominous warning in my mind.
The darkness is already rising. Judgment will come for us all.
I stand up straight again, leaving the card on the ground. It promptly vanishes.
“It’s a spiritual awakening, right?” I say, fighting to keep my voice steady. “That’s what this all means. I will quote-unquotedieso I can be reborn. Close one door, another opens, the seeds fall in death so that new life may bloom, etcetera, etcetera. Yes?”
“Alldeath is an awakening,” Lala says, calm as ever. “But no, Starla. I’m afraid this is about your literal death—one rising on the very near horizon. Your mother foresaw it long ago, before you even chose her to bring you into this world.”
“Choseher?” I squeeze my eyes shut, desperately trying to maintain my questionable grasp on reality.
“The rebirth of an ancient Arcana soul is a complicated—”
I hold up my hand to stop her, certain my brain can’t handle a deep dive down the rabbit hole of Arcana reincarnation right now.
“Let’s get back to the part where I croak. How does it happen?” I open my eyes and tap my lips, pondering the exciting possibilities of such a ridiculous outcome. “A mix-up in potions class that melts off my entire face? No, too gruesome. Professor Maddox assigns another essay on Tarot cups as a symbol for the womb, and I write myself into an irreversible coma? Wait, maybe it’s a more epic end for Starla Milan. Death by toppling cheese fountain?”
Lala’s frown deepens.
“Oh, come on, Lala. I can think of worse ways to die than drowning in smoked gouda.”
“Your sense of humor is admirable,” Lala says, glaring with a look that’s anythingbutadmiring, “but this is no laughing matter. Your mother—a great seer with abilities far beyond even my comprehension—witnessed your death as clearly as she witnessed your birth. She passed that message on to me, where it remained in safekeeping until the proper time for its emergence.”
“And you decided that proper time istonight? In the middle of a hostage situation, two Arcana mages gone MIA in the dream realm, an explosion at a popular campus bar, sanctioned witch hunts, the militarization of half our non-magickal cities, and a near-impossible search for the magickal objects that could very well destroy us all?” I gape at her, incredulous. “For a bunch of so-called prophets, you witches haveshittiming.”
Without breaking her calm demeanor, Lala says, “It is only now that the images in your mother’s vision make sense to me—only now that all other forces have aligned to make that particular outcome possible.” She picks up her grimoire and heads through the stone gateway. “Follow me.”
I do as she asks. Down at the shoreline, the tide eats up my footprints, water nipping at my bare toes and soaking the hem of my wedding gown. Far out across the sea, the turquoise water slowly bleeds into a deep navy blue, its tranquil darkness rippling with a phosphorescent glow.
