Reversed by Alexa Grave Page B

of the candlelight.
    Past the stairs, and at the end of a long stretch of rug,
wooden double doors stood, beautiful carvings etched in the cherry-brown.
Darney squinted at the etchings – they were familiar. He pulled out one of the
cards from his pocket. The Hanged Man. He flipped it over, not wanting to consider
the implications of his draw. Sure enough, the pattern on the back matched the
carvings in the doors.
    The doors slid open, disappearing into the walls. Movement
rippled in the shadows through the opening.
    Darney shoved the card in his pocket and took a step back.
    A small man stepped out. The top of his head was as high as
Darney’s armpits, at most, and Darney was no giant. His long hair glinted white
in the flickering flames, and a tattered once-purple robe hung on his slim
frame. He clasped his hands together and beamed a smile. “Welcome.”
    Was that the mage everyone feared and fled from? No, it had
to be a servant. But by the disarray of the house, no servant tended to the
place.
    Darney looked closer and saw the hardness in the man’s black
eyes. Not black; a deep purple that almost seemed as dark as a moonless night
sky. Welcome, indeed.
    Darney flourished a bow, even as acid from his stomach
burned up his throat. “Good evening, Mage Jasp.”
    Jasp wiggled a bony finger. “Ah, a smart boy. I don’t get
many visitors here because most of the people who seek me out are dumb as dirt.
Can’t get past the magic.”
    Dumb or not, Darney was sure there weren’t many seeking him
out in the first place. But managing to get past the magic gave him hope that
one day he’d kindle some of his own.
    “What can I help you with, boy?”
    It was time to deliver his plea, beg for aid, but he
couldn’t produce words from his mouth, his tongue stuck behind his teeth. The
warmth of the cards on his hip turned cold, as if he were too late and they had
all perished due to his dalliance. He reached for them, desperate to make sure
life still coursed through them. In his haste, they spilled out of his pocket,
scattering across the dusty rug. The Magus card, again reversed, glared up at
him.
    The cards whimpered and moaned, then screamed.
    That coldness had been all in his head – they were just as
before, no worse.
    “Tarot cards,” Jasp said. “Are you Delilah’s boy?”
    Darney nodded, still struck dumb. He hoped Jasp wasn’t the
father Delilah had hinted at, but a hunch in his gut told him that probably
wasn’t the case.
    “They’re wounded.”
    Darney didn’t think nodding in agreement would do much good.
    “Why did you come to me? You should be able to heal them
yourself. Actually, where are their protective enchantments? I sense none.”
Jasp plucked at his robe, and his smile turned to tight-lipped sternness.
    Finally Darney found his voice, but it was a shade of his
true one. “I can’t.”
    “Not as smart as I thought, then. Eh?” He slid closer,
peering down at the cards, then waved his hand over them, long fingernails
clicking together.
    The cards vanished. The screams ceased.
    No. An emptiness immediately filled Darney, the
instant loss scoring him deep. “What have you done with my cards? Where are
they?” He grabbed the little man by his threadbare robe and pulled him close
before he considered what he was actually doing. No one manhandled a mage,
especially one such as Jasp.
    “Kindly unhand me, boy. They are safe. More than I can say
for their status when they were with you. If you can’t protect them, you don’t
deserve them.”
    Darney released his grip, and Jasp stumbled and fell on his
backside. The mage’s words stung, even though Darney knew they were true. What
a failure he was.
    “I said kindly.”
    “Give me my cards back, and I’ll consider being kind.” The
missing feeling of the seventy-eight tiny hearts broke him, enough that he was
still being stupid. He knew he acted an idiot, but he didn’t care. Without his
cards, he was nothing. He could read them like no