he knew that even though her paralysis was almost gone, Tella wouldn’t have moved if he’d left her. Maybe he knew she’d have lain on the steps leading up to his house even after the sun finally fell and the night turned cold enough to make her numb once again. Because now that she had all her feeling back, it hurt. Everywhere. Her emotions were bruised and bleeding. And for a moment she hoped that they’d bleed out. Then maybe it wouldn’t feel so impossibly painful, or so hard to breathe and think and feel anything but agony.
The door before them swung open. They stepped inside and the wretched blue sky was replaced by a ceiling covered in gold chandeliers that dangled lights over walls papered with black and red symbols from playing cards. It was a den of gambling, full of dealers who smiled like tigers and players eager as cubs.
People were laughing and clapping and rolling dice on tables with whoops and hollers, and all of it had never sounded so wrong. It was a blur of gaming chips, and fizzing drinks, discarded cravats and clacking wheels of misfortune and chance. When someone won, confetti made of diamonds and hearts and clubs and spades rained down on everyone. The room was alive in a way her mother was not.
If anyone thought it odd that Jacks was carrying a hysterical girl, no one remarked on it. Or maybe Tella just didn’t notice. The drawn windows might have managed to block out the sun, but all the noise and chaos of Jacks’s gaming parlor only intensified the piercing emptiness inside of her.
Jacks’s arms tightened around her as he wove through the crowd. Multiple people approached him. “Can’t you see my hands are full?” he drawled, or simply just ignored them.
A few steps later and they were on the stairs. The carpets went from plush to threadbare the higher they climbed. Jacks had redecorated the ground floor for his guests, but left the upper levels unchanged. Not that Tella saw much of them. Her eyes mostly stayed on the ground and Jacks’s scuffed boots until he carried her through another door.
It looked like a study. There was an empty fireplace with a decorative amber rug marred by several scorch marks in front of it, a worn whiskey-brown leather couch, and a scratched desk with a lone plant underneath a glass dome. Jacks continued to cradle her as he sat slowly on the deep couch.
Tella could have pulled away. It was wrong to let him touch her—he was the same type of creature that had killed her mother in front of her. And yet she feared that Jacks’s deadly arms were the only things still holding her together. She didn’t want his comfort, but she desperately needed comfort.
Jacks’s shirt had quickly dampened against Tella’s cheek, but rather than push her away, he held her closer. He rubbed circles around her back, while his other cold hand wove through her curls, carefully untangling them with gentle fingers.
“Why are you helping me?” Tella finally managed. Unlike Legend, who either hid his feelings or pretended to have them when he didn’t, Jacks never pretended to care. When he had an agenda, he just made threats to get what he wanted.
“You’re not fun when you’re this pathetic. I can’t torment you if you’re already miserable.” His hand left her hair to press against her cheek and brush several tears away. The touch was as soft as the last kiss her mother had pressed to that very same cheek, and Tella lost what she’d been able to keep together.
No longer were tears just falling from her eyes. She was crying harder than she ever had in her life, sobbing with so much force she felt as if she might break. It was too much emotion to hold on to and too much to release.
“It was all for nothing,” Tella moaned. “Everything I did to save her only worked to destroy her. I should have never tried to change the future I’d seen in the Aracle. The first time I saw her, the card only showed her in a prison. If I hadn’t tried to alter that future, she’d still be alive.”
“Or maybe you’d be dead too,” Jacks said. “You don’t know how things could have turned out differently.”
“But they could have been different.” Tella pictured all the other ways her mother’s story could have ended. If Tella had listened to her mother as a child and never