Page 118 of Tempest

Clover’s excited to present our progress to Professor Morgan in class today. Clover was undeterred by our botched séance and moved us into TFU’s library instead. I was relieved to take up residence in the occult section rather than suffer through another attempt at contacting a dead Anderton—or figure out an excuse not to go back to Tempest’s house. Ever.

We pored over the joke of a trial the Andertons endured and were fascinated by the sketches of Sarah Anderton. Her daughter was drawn with a blank circle for a face. I stared at that white space for what seemed like hours, imagining my features with Tempest as the judge, sentencing me to an eternity in Hell.

But I’m not a child anymore, and I can’t hold anyone else accountable for my actions. With my kidnapping, I could. With Mila’s accident, I could. With what I discovered about Tempest and my professor, I only have myself to blame for any consequences.

“Ardyn? Did I lose you again?”

“I’m here.” I pull down my shirt and finish buttoning up my jeans. “Let’s go.”

Clover doesn’t move.

“Aren’t we going to be late?” I ask, grabbing my packed bag off my bed.

“Not until you tell me the truth.”

I play dumb. “Sorry?”

“You’ve been acting weird, Ardy. Weirder than normal. Spacing out and withdrawn and … keeping secrets. Is there something going on you’re not telling me about?”

So much. It’s so wrong of me to debate which is worse: telling Clover her brother isn’t who she thinks he is or confessing I’ve slept with him. If I can’t be straight with her, I should at least be honest with myself—I’m being selfish.

“Are you reliving your past again? I hear you at night, crying out.“ Clover leans forward, clasping her hands on her lap. “Talk to me. I’m worried about you.”

Clover has unwittingly given me an excuse, but I’d hate myself even more for using it. “I’m adjusting to this new, independent life at college. It’s been hard, I’m not going to lie.” Liar liar liar. “But you’ve played a big part in keeping me sane.”

Clover straightens but doesn’t take her eyes off me as she rises. “You were gone a long time when we were separated after our sèance.”

“I told you. I got lost trying to get back. The only reason I made it to the cottage was because you were leading us.”

“Uh-huh.” Instead of moving with me to the door, Clover opens her bedside table.

“Clo, do we really have time for this?”

“Always.” She pulls out her deck of tarot cards, closing her eyes and shuffling them. “Is Ardyn lying to me?”

“Clo—”

“Shh.” She lays out three cards.

Despite my realism and certainty that none of this matters, my stomach clenches as I wait for her to read them out loud.

“Death, the past. The devil, present. And the three of swords, the future.”

My answering swallow is forced and dry. The names of the cards alone are enough to paint me as a traitor.

“Death is the ending of one phase of your life that could bring about a positive change. Not so bad. The devil—”

Is your brother

“—means you currently have an unhealthy addiction. Or it can be fear-based. Something’s holding you back. It’s essentially a warning to change your life.”

All too accurate.

“And the three of swords”—Clover runs her fingers down the intricate drawing of blades that look like they should be held by Medieval knights—“means loneliness, betrayal.” She meets my eye. “Heartbreak. You’re lying to me, Ardyn.”

My gaze bounces between the benign cards laid out on her bed and her searching eyes. I scoff, flapping my hand at the cards like they’re nothing but child’s play. “You’re going to take the word of your cards over me?”

She doesn’t blink. “Yes.”

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