BLAINE AND CAT SEARCHED for the others for a long time, but in the end they had to admit defeat. Although the fog had lifted, trails of vapor made it hard to see far ahead. Several times they slipped into pools where the mud sucked oozily, until at last they managed to reach higher, stonier ground. But though they called for Flora and Toby until their voices were hoarse, nobody answered.

“Do you think they’re … safe?” Cat faltered.

“Toby’s smarter than he looks, and Flora’s tougher,” Blaine said brusquely. “They’ll be all right, wherever they are.” He rubbed his eyes. “But I don’t understand. The Priestess told us to start with the Eight of Cups. The guide—”

“There was never any guide,” said Cat. She was angry, but mostly with herself. “It was a lie—I see that now. The Priestess always tells one lie in every prophecy.”

Blaine swore. “God. Of course. You told us about it in the café.”

“That’s why I had to face the Minotaur the first time around—to find out which bit of the prophecy was dodgy. It’s my fault. I forgot.”

“We all did. And even if we hadn’t, it wouldn’t have done us much good. The Minotaur might’ve known when his sister was lying, but he wasn’t around to ask, was he?”

“I guess.” Cat looked down at her hands. “Blaine … who did you think you saw? In the mists?”

“My stepdad.”

“I saw my aunt. I—I thought it was my mum at first. That bit was like something from a dream. But Bel felt—acted—so real. Solid.”

“Yeah. It’s just the usual Arcanum mind-messing crap.”

Messy, but effective. The encounter with the phantom had stirred up fears Cat wasn’t ready to admit to. I’m so sorry, Cat. I didn’t mean for it to happen. I didn’t know what I was getting into.… What had Bel got into, though? Cat was beginning to realize that there was a lot about her aunt that was still a mystery. Like the fact that Bel hadn’t told her she’d lived in London before. It was the latest in a line of revelations, some big, some small, that nagged at the back of her mind. The way Bel had freaked out over the Tarot book was odd, too, almost as if …

But, no, she was being ridiculous. Of course Bel didn’t know anything about the Game that had caused the death of her sister and brother-in-law. If she had, there was no way she’d have joked about Misrule’s scratchcards. “This triumph card gimmick,” she’d called it, and laughed.

Blaine was right, Cat decided. The Arcanum was making her paranoid, and she had to resist it.

“All right. So what do we do next?” she asked.

They looked at each other somberly.

“We go on,” he said, “and hunt down these four creatures from the prophecy. Just like Flora and Toby will be doing, wherever they are. And whether it takes four of us, or two, or one, somehow we’ll find a way of making things right.”

Cat nodded. No matter what dangers lay ahead, she was ready for them. Although the state she was in when Blaine found her—collapsed and weeping, helpless as a child—should have been the ultimate humiliation, somehow she wasn’t embarrassed. They were beyond that now.

“OK. Somewhere in the Arcanum, there’s a bull, a lion, an eagle and a man. And the prophecy gave us clues to where we might find them.”

“Right,” said Blaine. “The man would be the knight in a tomb, presumably. Then the lion’s the king of the beasts, and the bull must be the creature ‘led in triumph by its horns.’ What was the eagle again?”

“Something to do with empires.”

Blaine frowned. “I’ve got an idea the Triumph of the Emperor has an eagle on it but I don’t have the card. How about you?”

“Nope. Nor the one with a woman taming a lion. The Triumph of Strength, I think it is. Toby or Flora must have those two. But my Four of Swords has got a knight’s statue on a gravestone. He could be our man.”

“It’s a start.”

“And you know what?” Cat added. “There mightn’t be a bull on any of the cards but there is one loose in the Arcanum. Or half of one, at any rate. The Minotaur.”

“I thought you drowned him.”

“The High Priestess didn’t think so; she seemed pretty sure he’s wandering around the Arcanum, just like her. It must be because of Misrule messing with the Game—the boundaries between moves are breaking down.”

Blaine flipped through the stack of cards he’d drawn up with his amulet. “Um … OK … How about trying the Six of Wands, then? There’re no animals on it but the illustration is of a triumphal procession. And our bull is meant to be led in triumph, right?”

They exchanged tentative smiles. It felt good to be working out the prophecy together, as if it was merely a puzzle or a crossword clue. Something abstract and manageable.

“So d’you want to start with trying to find the man or the bull?” Cat asked. “My Four of Swords or your Six of Wands?”

“If the High Priestess is looking for the Minotaur, too, it might be a good idea to get him out of the way first.”

“Fair enough.” Cat dropped a mock curtsy. “Lead on, Your Majesty.”

Blaine grinned, and rolled the die. A new threshold, another move.

The Six of Wands took them into the middle of a carnival. The pavements were packed with people cheering a street parade as the sun blazed and a succession of floats trundled past to the oompah-pah of a marching band.

After the traumas of fire and mud, the party atmosphere should have been a relief, but Blaine and Cat found it overwhelming. All the noises were blaring and all the colors were gaudy, from the holiday clothes of the crowd to the garish floats and the town houses painted in vibrant pinks and yellows and blues. Every building was decked with bunting bearing the image of wands, and there was a hot, sharp smell of frying meat, exhaust fumes and burned sugar. Someone presented Cat with a stick of cotton candy and Blaine with a bottle of soda; somebody else placed cardboard crowns on their heads.

The carnival displays were on the backs of trucks or on platforms towed by cars, with a few on horse-drawn wagons. The floats were adorned with figures from the Greater Arcana, though the triumphs had never looked so cheerful. Death was a prop from a Halloween party, his plastic skeleton face grinning atop a rocking horse. The Lovers were two naked shop mannequins decorated with felt fig leaves; the Fool was a red-nosed clown; the Tower, a pink papier-mâché version of a Disney castle.

“Look!” Cat grabbed Blaine’s arm.

This time, the oracle hadn’t failed them. There was the Minotaur, following the High Priestess’s float. The mutant was in a narrow cage on a trolley, pulled along by chains attached to his horns and held by three soldiers in ceremonial uniform. Behind them marched a troop of baton-twirling cheerleaders.

His body was the same exaggerated hulk that Cat remembered. Yet the Minotaur’s huge, shaggy head was bowed, his eyes were glazed and he made no attempt to break out of his prison. The spectators certainly showed no fear at his presence. As the cage trundled past, people threw confetti and flowers, women blew kisses and men cheered.

Blaine attempted to force his way through the throng, moving parallel to the parade. “Keep up—we mustn’t lose him.”

Working their way along the tightly packed pavement proved impossible; the best they could do was to push their way to the barricades at the front. Blaine helped Cat scramble over the makeshift railings, and together they ran to join the procession. The floats were moving at such a slow pace that it was easy enough to swing up onto the nearest vehicle.

It was the Chariot: a red Christmas sleigh drawn by white fiberglass reindeer, with just enough room for two on the seat. They had forgotten they were still wearing the cardboard crowns, but as the spectators applauded and whistled and showered them with chocolate coins, it seemed the least they could do was give a regal wave or two. They ate some of the chocolate, passed the soda bottle between them and grinned.

As the sun shone, the cheerleaders pranced and the music played, the Eight of Cups seemed as insubstantial as its mists. A stream of rainbow bubbles bounced in the air. But the horned bulk of the Minotaur loomed ahead, a dark stain on the brightness.

The procession wound its way to an oval arena whose tiers of benches were buzzing with more spectators. The arena itself was just a plain, sandy space, about the size of two tennis courts, its railings decked with balloons and flags. A man in a white suit and chains of office was standing on a platform to the right of the entrance gates. His grin was even shinier than his suit, and he was flanked by two beauty queens in prom dresses and tiaras. A large plasma screen had been erected above.

The carnival procession forked at the entrance and proceeded to encircle the arena. When they saw that the Minotaur and his entourage had come to a halt in front of the gates, Cat and Blaine took the opportunity to get down from the float and draw near to the entrance themselves.

A drum rolled, and the mayor’s voice echoed confidently around the gathering.

“Welcome, one and all, to our city’s carnival day. What a parade, and what a spectacle it’s been!”

The crowd whooped its assent.

“And now is the moment we’ve been waiting for. Friends and citizens, honored guests, we must solemnize as well as celebrate our festivities. It is time to make the final offering at our Triumph Games. Let us hail the sacrifice!”

The Minotaur’s image was beamed on the plasma screen overhead, almost as large as life, as a little girl in a pink fairy costume skipped up to the stage. She was carrying a double-headed ax, which she presented to the mayor with a curtsy. He brandished it on high, and the blade winked in the sun.

Meanwhile, the Minotaur’s escorts had unlocked the cage and opened the gates, prodding their prisoner through with long poles, so that he shambled into the center of the arena. Released from their chains, his curved horns were as brutally sharp as ever. But Cat remembered his face before he had made the change from man to monster—how his eyes had been human, and anguished.

“Blaine, I get that we’re supposed to be making a sacrifice of some sort, but … the ax … this arena … It feels wrong. Messed up. What if we’ve made a mistake? The Minotaur isn’t a proper bull, after all.”

“I know. Still, we’re not committed to anything, not yet. We’ll just have to play along and see what happens.”

There was no chance to talk further, for the mayor himself had turned to them, beaming and beckoning.

“Welcome, my friends. Come on, come on, don’t be shy!”

Before they knew it, they had been ushered onto the platform and found themselves standing on either side of the mayor. “A big hand, please,” he cried, “for the latest players in our Triumph Games!”

The crowd yelled its approval. The little girl in the fairy costume skipped and smirked. Under cover of the noise, Cat leaned toward the mayor’s ear, trying to be discreet. “Um … We’re here for the Minotaur.”

“Well, of course you are! He’s waiting for you now.” The mayor’s grin flashed brilliantly around the screen. “All you have to do is fetch him.”

He signaled to one of the beauty queens, who stepped forward to present Cat with a battered leather collar set with six iron studs in the shape of wands.

“Just slip it over the beast’s head, and he’ll be good as gold,” the man told them. “A lamb to the slaughter, one might say! No need to look so anxious,” he added, patting Cat on the arm. “We’ll ensure you’re well equipped.”

“With the, er, ax?”

“Good Lord no! It’s only used for ceremonial purposes.”

At this, another girl handed Blaine a metal rod, about three feet long, with a rubber handle at one end and two metal prongs at the tip.

Blaine looked at it disbelievingly. “That’s it? A cattle prod?”

“Ah, but it’s two against one.” The mayor clapped him on the back jovially. “It wouldn’t do to skew the odds too far in your favor. Now then, best of luck, and put on a good show, won’t you? We’re all counting on it!”

He grabbed them by the hand and swung their arms up in salute as the audience roared with approval. This time, it was their own image filling the plasma screen.

Since there was nothing else for it, the two of them went to stand by the gates to the arena, accompanied by a fanfare from the band and a frenzy of flag waving from the spectators.

“The Minotaur’s not acting the same as he was with the High Priestess,” Cat muttered. “It’s almost like he’s been doped or something.”

“Let’s hope so.”

Now that he was freed from the cage, they could see that the creature’s body was bruised and battered, and that his movements lacked the savage force, and indeed grace, that Cat remembered from before. His bloodshot eyes were dull. But he was still formidable—over eight feet tall, his musculature as craggy as a rock.

Cat tested the weight of the collar. Her throat felt very dry. “How do you want to do this?”

“Our best chance is to sneak up on him from behind, I reckon. I’ll distract him with the prod and try to draw him off.” Blaine rolled his shoulders and shook out his arms, as if preparing for an ordinary fight. “Then you can try to work your way around and throw the collar over him from the back. After that … Well, let’s hope it’s somebody else’s turn to deal with him.”

“OK.”

“We’ll be fine. I promise.”

Cat nodded as coolly as she was able. “I know.”

Together, they walked through the gates. The band had ceased playing and the crowd was utterly silent, except for the crying of a child somewhere. On the screens at either end of the arena, their own faces loomed into the sky.

Blaine went forward to meet the monster.

The Minotaur lowered his head at Blaine’s approach, snorting and blowing. As his bare right foot raked the ground, he raised a cloud of dust. A moment later, the Minotaur swung round to stare at Cat, and the leather collar. Before he could lumber in her direction, Blaine made as if to run at the creature, then swerved away and back at the last moment.

And so the dance began. The beast’s wits were certainly befuddled, for he seemed unable to make up his mind as to which of his adversaries he should take on first. The Minotaur’s reactions were so sluggish that Blaine felt as if he was locked in a crazed version of blindman’s buff as he swooped first near, then far, pausing to draw the creature in, only to sway out of his path at the last minute. If Blaine showed signs of being backed into a corner, Cat would make a sudden movement or give a shout to draw the Minotaur off, to rapturous applause from the crowd. Similarly, whenever the Minotaur seemed ready to lunge at Cat, Blaine’s feints with the cattle prod would goad him into another change of direction. Yet the creature was never distracted long enough for Cat to creep up behind him, or get close enough to risk flinging the collar around his bulging neck.

And as the flies droned in the heat, dust rose from the sand and the crowd whooped, it became apparent that while the two humans were beginning to flag, the beast was regaining his speed and strength. They couldn’t keep this up for much longer. A couple of times, Blaine got in a jab with the cattle prod, so that the creature flinched from the electricity’s fizz and backed off, tossing his head and bellowing. Yet as the Minotaur grew angrier, he also became more alert, as if the shocks had sharpened his blunt wits.

The creature grew bolder, until the moment came when Blaine slashed at him with the prod and the Minotaur didn’t bawl or back away. Instead, he used his brawny arms to block any further assaults, and began to close in on his tormentor.

This time his advance was steady, purposeful and impervious to all Cat’s attempts at distraction, all the screeches from the stands. In the Minotaur’s shadow, Blaine looked like a small child waving a stick.

Cat realized that it was now or never.

She raced across the arena, and leaped up against the beast’s broad, muscled back.