“What?” Harvey asked sharply, certain his betrayal was obvious in his expression.
“It’s the game. The players all have their cards, but I haven’t set the game in motion yet—not really. They still don’t know their targets. I’m going to explain the rules at the meeting with Fenice so they can tell the other players. That is, if the Bargainer doesn’t come to me before then. And it’s just that...”
“You already know who the targets are,” Harvey finished, growing sicker. Harvey didn’t understand all the rules of Bryce’s game, but he knew this much: every player had a target. “So who is yours?” Whoever they were, they wouldn’t live to see December. Bryce had already killed so many to make this heinous plan work—what, then, was one more life?
Unless Harvey stopped the game. He could do more than warn the other players—he could stop all thisnow. Every time Harvey had stood complicit, Bryce had built a list of debts. Harvey could Chain Bryce to this prison where he rightfully belonged. He could trap Bryce and free himself. Heshould.
Bryce held up his Shadow Card. Red words were scrawled across the gold foiled back.
THE FOOL
Harvey stiffened and squeezed his card tighter.
“You told me the targets were random,” Harvey rasped.
“They are. The shade devised them all. I guess you could call that fate.” Bryce gave him an isn’t-it-romantic smile, but no, it really wasn’t. Not to Harvey.
“But you’re the malison. Rebecca is the shade-maker,” Harvey sputtered. “I don’t understand how your target beingmecould be random—”
“I promise I didn’t have a hand in this—or her. You’d understand if you ever wanted to learn how my talent actually works.”
It was true; Harvey had never wanted to know. According to everything Harvey had been taught, malisons and shade-makers were unholy, a crime against the Faith. Harvey had avoided the subject whenever Bryce brought it up. The boy he loved was more than his talent—no, he wasn’t his talent.
But maybe it’d been a mistake to think that way. Harvey might need to understand Bryce’s talent better if he decided to stop him.
“You know what happens if we don’t collect our target’s card,” Bryce whispered, averting Harvey’s eyes.
“We die,” Harvey answered flatly. If he didn’t give Bryce his card, then Bryce would perish in his own game. It wouldn’t happen now, but it would when the game finished, once another player had collected a string of five cards. It could take days. It could take months.
“You know the game’s rules. If you hand over your card to me willingly, your life is bound to mine. Which means that if I die, so do you,” Bryce said, his voice cracking. “I didn’t—”
“And my target?” Harvey asked.
“Judgment,” Bryce answered. Harvey didn’t recognize that card—between the three of them, Harvey had only delivered Enne’s and Levi’s. “But I swear that I never planned it this way. I would never... I want you to know that you can say no. I made you play this game, but I won’t make you die for it. For me.”
Harvey’s mouth tasted grossly of chemicals, of the noxious smells of Rebecca’s room. “You’ve explained this all to me a thousand times. Twenty-two players. A string of five cards. But I still don’t think I understand it. I don’t understand how this will convince the Bargainer to find you and cure Rebecca. How all this death will get you what you want.”
Bryce hesitated, and Harvey wondered fearfully if Bryce didn’t trust him with the whole of it. And he shouldn’t, considering how Harvey was contemplating betraying him.
Then Bryce asked grimly, “Do you want to understand?”
Harvey’s knees quaked a bit. Whatever the reason Bryce thought the game would bring the Bargainer to him, it must’ve been terrible for Bryce to sound so grave like that. And even with all the sinful acts Harvey had seen, Harvey haddone, he didn’t really want to know. Harvey’s life philosophy was simple: if he closed his eyes, then he couldn’t see the blood on his hands.
That was the terrible truth of it; if it came down to his conscience or to his wicked heart, Harvey would choose his heart, every time. Harvey had loved better boys than Bryce Balfour, but he’d never loved any of them more. And maybe Harvey had listened to too many of Bryce’s sappy radio shows, but no matter how bleak their story got, Harvey still hoped that they would have their happy ending.
He didn’t want Bryce’s secrets. Not if they could ruin that.
“I guess I don’t want to know,” Harvey murmured.
Then he handed Bryce his Shadow Card, his own feculent, rotten heart pounding furiously.
Complicit.
Complicit.
Complicit.
Bryce clutched it with a trembling hand, then he threw his arms around Harvey. He leaned into him like a man who had gone days—months—without rest. Harvey knew the feeling well.
