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Vesper leans against a narrow door and slides their hand around the knob. “It would be deeply lucky if the shop owner left this unlocked.” A flash of purple and the door opens soundlessly, allowing us inside and off the street.
It’s clear the moment my eyes adjust to the dimness inside that Vesper intentionally chose this particular business. There are racks upon racks of clothing. Some of it is even identical, clearly in different sizes. It boggles my mind. “What do they do with it all?”
Cato snorts. “Wear it. Obviously.” Despite his asshole attitude, he walks to a little sitting area next to several curtained rooms and sets me down carefully on one of the chairs. “Good work with the Hermit.”
“You wanted to leave,” I mutter.
“I did. I guess I was wrong.” He’s doing that thing again, where he’s watching me closely as if his opinion of me has shifted. It’s not a comfortable experience to be seen, let alone by this man. He nods, almost to himself. “It really is your first time, huh?”
I swallow the acid trying to climb my throat. “I’ve been in fights before, but not like this. It happened so fast. And the blood—”
He crouches down in front of me and catches my chin in a strong grip. It’s both the same as when he touched me before and entirely different. There’s no flirtation, only solid strength. “Kestrel, look at me.”
I blink, too stunned by the intense way he’s staring at me to tell him to back the fuck up. “What?”
“You can break down and sob your heart out over killing a woman who was in the midst of attacking your ally later. The night is young and I need your fucking head in the game. You have a few minutes to lock your shit away, but no more. Do it or I’ll leave you behind. For real this time.”
The rush of anger that rises in response to his words is so welcome I could weep. “Fuck. You.”
“That’s right. Get angry. It’ll keep you moving when everything else fails.” He releases me and stands. “Vesper, where are you?”
“Here.” They walk up with some clothing draped over one arm. “I couldn’t find anything black or gray—Pentacles, ugh—but I found some dark brown that should do well enough.”
I’m already shaking my head. “I’m not changing.” There’s no reason to think the clothing given to me by Priestess is magical or protective, but as my thoughts start moving at a closer-to-normal pace, I can see the value of continuing to wear my Moon costume. Even with the blood. “Just help me clean the blood off my face as best we can.”
Cato grabs the top piece of clothing from Vesper and walks away. “I’ll get this wet. Talk some sense into her.”
Vesper dumps the clothing on the low table in the middle of the sitting area and gingerly sinks down onto the chair next to me. “He’s an ass, but he’s right.”
“I know.” I go to wipe my face, remember the blood, and abort the motion halfway through.
“Kestrel.” Vesper takes a deep breath. “Thank you. The Hermit caught me off guard, but that’s no excuse. If you hadn’t come, she likely would have bludgeoned me to death.”
I don’t want to go back to that moment; not watching the life leave the Hermit’s eyes, but seeing Vesper go down. It scared me more than anything else that’s happened so far, and I don’t know how to deal with that knowledge. I can’t. “Why didn’t your luck save you? It has before.”
“It did.” Vesper smiles tightly, their dark brown eyes worried. “It sent you.”
The Fool supposedly represents new beginnings, to the point where sailors used to burn small offerings in an effort to gain Their favor before long voyages. And yet Their champion is a monster, a creature of fangs and claws, as bloodthirsty as the rest.
—EXCERPT FROM THE MAJOR ARCANA: A TREATISE ON THE HISTORY OF THE OLD GODS
CHAPTER NINETEEN
VESPER LEADS US on a twisting route through the Pentacles District—clearly just as familiar with it as they are with the Cups District. I expected to hear sounds of fighting, but whatever battles erupted in the wake of sunset have long since ended. The remaining champions are either hunting … or hiding.
“How are we going to find the Fool?” I ask softly as we skirt the edge of one building and duck into a narrow alley. Our original plan—such as it was—had been to follow him until we could get him alone and then attack. It’s kind of difficult to attack someone when you don’t know where they are.
“We aren’t going to have to find him. He’s going to find us.” Vesper’s voice is even, not giving the slightest indication that all this walking is hurting them. “You’ve aggravated him twice in two days and you killed the Hermit before he could. He’s going to come after you with his full strength.”
I very much do not want to think about the Fool hunting us, his body transformed into that horrifying mix of human and creature. “I cannot stress how much that is not a plan.”
“It’s the best we have,” Cato snaps. He’s filled with aggressive energy, ranging ahead and behind us as if spoiling for a fight. I don’t tell him to stay close; he won’t listen to me even if I do. “If he can track by scent the way you say, then he’ll find the nice trail we’re leaving, even though I carried you for a short time. We need a place to stage an ambush.”
I can still feel the imprint of Cato’s fingers against my chin. It would be so easy to hate him for his harsh words, but they were exactly what I needed to hear in that moment. Vesper’s practical, but they’re so much subtler than Cato when it comes to comfort—if what happened in the wake of my killing the Hermit can be called comfort.
There’s plenty of softness in the Dregs if one knows where to look, but I’ve never been accustomed to it, personally. Mouse does his best, but he’s a gruff old man. He would have told me to get off my ass and get moving, would have reprimanded me for forgetting what I’m in the Trials to do. My hands were never destined to remain free of someone else’s lifeblood.
Mara would understand. I talked with her at length about my reasons for pushing back against this particular training Mouse insisted on. Before that point, she was vaguely supportive of my plan to join the Tarot Trials. After? She started campaigning hard for me to find a different way. She never wanted this for me. I glance at my hands, the Hermit’s blood crusted into my nailbeds. I don’t want to know what Mara would think of me now.
