The Last Sun (The Tarot Sequence, #1)

by K.D. Edwards

A normal job went like this: I went somewhere I shouldn’t, I tried not to get caught, and if I did, Brand shot someone in the head. It was a good day when the corpse had pizza money.

“Matthias, this isn’t an eighties sitcom. I can’t casually accept an orphan into my house for comic relief.”

“It’s a cock ring,” Brand told Matthias. “Godsdamnit,” I said. “It’s a sigil. I have a Shatter spell in it. Do you know how few scions can pull off Shatter?” “His magic cock ring,” Brand said.

While I am sparing in my protection, I am very

generous in my reckoning. Such is the nature of Justice.”

The bartender gave us a glance as we approached, and he swiped his way toward us with a dirty rag. He was very handsome and not wearing a shirt. He said, “Hey, love. What’s your poison?” “Something with an antidote,” I joked, lamely, because he was handsome and not wearing a shirt.

I said, “Promise, no matter what happens, that you won’t go in after me. You promise me.” Even in shadow, he had the bluest eyes in the world. Then he closed them against me and said, miserably, “I promise.”

My fucking Brand.

Addam said, “You’re lovely in firelight. You really are as beautiful as I’ve always heard.” “For the record, the seer was drinking eggnog when she made that prediction.” “I was not speaking in terms of prophecy. I was speaking of this real, breathing moment.”

“I don’t think it will be easy at all, Hero. I think what would be easy for anyone else is a very great challenge for you; just like I think you routinely do things that would be impossible for others.

The released spell hit like the back of God’s hand.

“Do you know what happens to your body when you’re afraid?” I asked. “You sweat, your heart rate increases, your adrenaline level spikes. Do you know what happens when you’re angry? Sweat, heart rate, adrenaline. And when you’re exhilarated? Sweat, heart rate, adrenaline. It’s all fuel, Addam. It’s all energy and willpower. Use it. Dance and be afraid. Dance and be angry. Dance with me.” “You meditate. You don’t dance.” “I can do both,” I said.

Brand said, “Shut the fuck up and start yelling ‘Polo.’ I’M COMING TO YOU.” I smiled and said, “Meet you in the middle.”

For a second, I thought I was laughing, but I wasn’t. I was crying. Because I’d failed.

I thought about the time I’d made Brand ride a big wheel down the stairs. I thought about my father standing with me on the roof of the house, pointing out the edges of our little kingdom. I thought about how warm Addam’s lips had been.

I thought about what had happened in the carriage house, and how I’d spent twenty years ready for this moment. Ready to close my eyes without the weight of knowing they’d reopen.

“Fuck Geoffrey,” Brand said. “He’s lucky I’m not hiding outside the sanctum, making ghost sounds. What’s happening now?”