*Details hidden by the Fool.

The Tower (XVI)

Joules, Lord of Lightning

“Eyes to the skies, lads, I strike from above!”

A.k.a.: Master of Electricity

Powers: Can generate and control electrical energy. Can electrify his skin and create javelins that transform into lightning bolts.

Special Skills: Precise aiming and superhuman throwing. Singing.

Weapons: Silver javelins engraved with esoteric symbols.

Tableau: Lightning striking a turret, sending people falling.

Icon: Lightning bolt.

Unique Arcana Characteristics: Sparking skin.

Before Flash: A choirboy from Ireland in New York for a singing competition.

Temperance (XIV)

Calanthe, Collectress of Sins

“Crush you with the Weight of Sins.”

A.k.a.: Sin, Collectress of Evils

Powers: Sin detection and pathokinesis (emotion manipulation). Her Weight of Sins power can magnify another’s guilt and horror over past deeds. Is immune to the Empress’s poisons. Enhanced senses, healing, throwing, and precise aiming.

Special Skills: Guile, social adaption.

Weapons: A pair of sai, handheld martial-arts weapons with three prongs.

Tableau: Androgynous robed figure standing on a pedestal, pouring water from one chalice to another; the sun and a bolt of lightning glow in the background.

Icon: A gold chalice.

Unique Arcana Characteristics: When she utilizes her power, a haze erupts around her and ripples of energy seem to flow from her, bombarding her target.

Before Flash: High school student from India, living in the States with her older sister, a chronicler.

New York subway platform

Day 0

“What were you thinking not to sleep with that boy?”

I sat on a bench, flinching as Diya railed at me on the phone. I could picture my sister pacing in our apartment, narrowed eyes flashing with anger.

“I thought I’d convinced him to stay,” I told her.

Yet with his shoulders back and face stoic, Joules had left me, boarding the train to head to the airport for his flight home.

“You gave him no reason to stay, Calanthe.” Diya made a frustrated sound. “You could have locked down an alliance with the Tower!”

My card’s MO was to seek out a stronger player in the beginning of the game, exchanging the knowledge from my chronicles for that card’s strength.

Until I could do away with him or her.

As with most Arcana, my ability grew as the game stretched on. The majority of players didn’t want to harm others, at least not until the heat of battle was upon them, and the guilt was debilitating; my Weight of Sins power was directly proportional to their sense of guilt.

No matter what, I needed the Tower’s help to challenge Death. As long as the Reaper lived, we were all just walking corpses anyway.

“Joules told me he loved me,” I said. But he’d loved his large family back in Ireland more.

“Naturally. Because he wanted to sleep with you.”

Yes, but only after a certain stipulation had been met. Would Diya laugh if I told her what he’d always planned?

She exhaled. “Something will pull him back into the game. He’ll converge with the rest of you.” Diya knew these things; our ailing mother had trained her to be my chronicler, handing down our line’s Arcana chronicles into Diya’s capable hands.

But how would Joules get back to me from across the Atlantic? Especially if some catastrophe loomed?

Diya said, “I just wonder if you made enough of a lasting impression to forge an unbreakable alliance.”

So did I. . . .

_______________

Two weeks ago

I was on my way home from the dojo when a bus wheezed to a stop in front of my neighborhood’s Catholic cathedral. A banner rippling above the church doors read: INTERNATIONAL CHORUS COMPETITION. A group of about thirty teenage boys in magenta gowns began filing off the bus, chattering and laughing as they made their way into the church.

Choirboys? I snorted with derision.

Until my gaze lit upon one kid among them. He had reddish-brown hair and dark eyes, and he was thin. Compared to the others, he looked poor. His ill-fitting gown had been mended repeatedly, his red collar was faded, and he was in need of a haircut. His shoes were polished but worn out, and his high-riding pant cuffs clearly were not meant to be a style statement.

So why did I find this unremarkable kid compelling—

An image flickered over him: lightning striking a stone castle tower and people falling from the turret. I was seeing . . . a tableau. My eyes went wide. He was an Arcana!

And not just any random card. He was the Tower.

One of the mightiest of all the Major Arcana was a scrawny choirboy!

I shouldn’t be surprised by this encounter. As Diya had told me again and again, there was no such thing as “random” in the game. We were all thrown together.

Wait till she heard that I’d already found the Tower! This news would certainly cheer her up. Pensive about whatever catastrophe would soon befall us, she hated being separated from our older mother, and she despised New York.

The Tower caught sight of me and did a double take. Maybe he was seeing a faint hint of my own tableau. Maybe he was the same as all the other guys checking out my outfit: tight boy-short pants, a sports bra, and an open hoodie. The Empress wasn’t the only one with mesmerizing looks.

And I had more guile than all the others combined.

He looked to be about sixteen, my age. I wondered if he knew anything about the Arcana. Players usually didn’t. I could lock this choirboy down in an alliance before the game even began! He’d be putty.