Tarot Academy 4 - Sarah Piper Page 0,47

Baz’s voice booms, so loud and horrifying it rattles my bones. Vengeance floods his energy, so dark and powerful it nearly knocks me over. I can’t even sense Doc or the others. For now, there’s only Baz. Only darkness. Only fury.

“Where is she!” he demands again, flipping one of the chairs. “Where!”

But he’s not asking for me. He can’t be. Not like this.

“Baz,” I say softly, reaching out for him. He takes one look at me, then storms right past, as if I’m not even there.

He reaches for the basement door, damn near tearing it off its hinges.

Doc strides toward him. “Baz, don’t—”

But it’s too late. The door slams and bolts, a hot pulse of boundary magick sealing the deal.

“What’s going on?” Doc asks. “When did you get back.”

“Just now.” Kirin rights the chair Baz tipped and drops into it, bewildered and exhausted. “We literally just walked in the front door. He was fine. Totally fine. He was asking for Stevie. Then he just… I don’t know. The switch flipped.”

Carly tosses her spatula in the sink, her shoulders slumping.

“My mother,” she says softly. “She heard them come home. She called out for him from the basement, and that’s all it took. The sound of her voice… She brought out the beast. He’s… he’s going to kill her, Stevie. I can feel it. I know it.”

Dread fills me up, head to toe. I want nothing more than to shatter that door, run down the stairs, take him into my arms, and stop whatever madness is about to unfold.

To stop Baz from taking a path he’ll never return from.

But I can’t help him. Not with this. Not now. I know it, just like I knew about the Chalice.

I pick my way across the kitchen and reach for Carly’s hands.

She doesn’t pull away.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispers, more vulnerable and open than I’ve ever seen her. “What to say. I’ve never seen him like this.”

I squeeze her hands and offer a small, encouraging smile, drawing on strength from my Princess of Cups. My brothers. My friends.

And on Carly herself, on the promises we made to each other in the café after Harvest Eve dinner. On our shared love for the man we’re all going to lose if she can’t find a way to reach him.

“You love him, Carly,” I say simply, nodding toward the basement door, knowing I have to let her do this alone. “You’ll figure it out.”

Seventeen

BAZ

They’re banging on the door, but they won’t get in. With a little help from the stone walls surrounding it, I made damn sure of that.

The basement is my domain. Rock and dirt and darkness, hell yes. All the better to hide the monsters—the ones we fight, the ones we become.

With every step down the stairs, the gaping wound in my chest burns a little hotter, hurts a little more. But this time it’s not the red-hot blaze of Judgment’s wand. No, this is all me, totally aware, totally lucid.

I just have a job to do. Something I’ve put off for far too long, telling myself its completion would turn me evil.

Maybe I’m already there. Maybe I can no longer afford to give a shit one way or the other.

Stevie… Goddess, the look this will put in her eyes… The thought of it damn near stays my hand. But no matter how bright her light shines, it’s not for me. There’s no redemption for me. My blood is tainted, my fate sealed a hundred times over.

I’m the Devil, baby. I was born for darkness.

“Baz…” The voice calls, echoing against the stone walls. “Tell me it’s really you, sweetness. Tell me I’m not dreaming.”

“It’s me.” I approach the cot, barely able to contain my disgust at the vile piece of filth lying in it. “Dreams really do come true, huh Janelle?”

She reaches for me, her eyes glazed and unfocused. But that’s okay. She doesn’t need focus. I’ve got plenty enough for both of us.

“Help me,” she says softly. As close to begging as I’ve ever heard.

“I’m sorry—haven’t you heard?” I flash her a wide grin, one that probably borders on maniacal. “I’m not here to help you. I’m here to end you.” I pull up the rolling chair and lean on my elbows, so grateful to whoever put her in this near paralyzed state. “But not just yet.”

“What… what are you talking about?”

“I used to fantasize about this, you know,” I tell her, taking more pleasure in the confession than I probably should.

I