" A rat, Evie,” she murmured. “A rat on my table . . . gnaws the threads . . . the salamander stares at me from the shadows . . . the serpent coils around the tree . . . and chokes its roots.”

How had she gotten so much worse in such a short time?

Her gaze darted. “Spite couldn’t spit . . . and the Devil knew his verses. The cups see the future . . . in a chalice of blood.” ...“Only you can bring us back. You must win . . . the earth depends on it. Cards know it . . . beware the Fool . . . dark dealings. The dark calling, the calling dark.”

When she started on another rant, I touched her arm. “What about the Fool?”

“The wild card! The game keeper.”... “You have to kill Death. He will turn on you—they all will. Death is poisoning me!”

I read until her chest no longer rose and fell. My grandmother was at peace.

For some reason, I turned to the last page. Gran had updated the chronicles. The first entry:

The cunning Empress has beguiled Death, until all he can see is her. He reunites an Arcana with her Tarasova, courting his own destruction.

Another entry:

They are murdering me, but the Empress turns a blind eye. Though they have tricked her, I see clearly. She won’t do what’s necessary, so I have put the end into motion.

She can never be with him. She has no idea what Life and Death become. . . .

What had she meant by that? And what “necessary” thing had she put into motion?

I left you clues, Evie. Nothing is as it seems. Midnight serpents choke the roots. The Agent. The ro— "

― Kresley Cole , Arcana Rising (The Arcana Chronicles, #4)