Poison Princess

17

The red witch stood atop a raised dais overlooking a crowd of shadowy figures.

Villagers. They cowered before her.

Aggression sizzled through her veins as she surveyed them. She would destroy them all, every last one, her wrath unfathomable.

Lifting her claw-tipped fingers to a clear morning sky, she called on nearby plants to release their thorns. With a shriek, she unleashed a tornado of them.

Like a swarm of bees, the tempest descended upon her prey. People shoved one another down, scrabbling over the fallen to flee, but none could.

The razor-sharp thorns bit into their faces, scouring their features off, their noses and lips. Inch by vicious inch, those barbs sliced at their flesh, flaying the meat from their bodies. Blood spurt, gristle covering the ground.

One woman’s scalp was severed clean; her beautiful black mane of hair drifted on swirling winds. . . .

The witch’s tempest scoured them deeper, deeper. Even without most of their skin, the people managed to survive a surprisingly long time—which she particularly enjoyed.

As she cackled with delight, they crawled in place, mired in the thickening puddles of remains. . . .

I woke in my bed, squinting at the amount of light in my room, shivers still racing over me from my latest nightmare.

My gaze focused on a trio of burning candles. Three candles? I’d never be so wasteful.

I shrank back when I saw a blurry outline of a person. Slowly, my eyes adjusted.

Jackson was in my room! I’d never had a boy in my room—much less that boy.

He still had his crossbow strapped over his shoulder. In his hand? Yet another candle.

As I tried to shake off the remnants of that dream and get my bearings—how had I gotten in bed? why was he inside?—I feigned sleep, watching him as he snooped around like he owned the place.

He gazed at the storm clouds I’d painted on the walls, strolled into my closet and rummaged around, then emerged to check out my dance trophies and recital pictures. He flipped through a supply of sketchbooks—all blank.

Drawing held little interest for me these days. The voices made it impossible for me to sit still. And besides, my brain was already stained beyond repair.

As if he couldn’t help himself, he returned to the wall paintings, holding up the candle to trace his fingers over the clouds. The flickering light ghosted over a grisly-looking scar on his forearm.

I recognized that injury, had been in his home when a drunken man had slashed Jackson’s skin to the bone.

I’d witnessed how brutal this boy could be—he’d nearly beaten the man to death in front of me. Yet he was now touching my paintings gently, almost reverently.

I felt like a spy, like this was a moment I was never supposed to share. It seemed . . . intimate. When he touched the cane, I swore I could feel him aching for those fields, for that rain about to fall.

He abruptly dropped his hands. Without turning, he said, “So this is where Evangeline Greene grew up.”

“What are you doing in my room? How did I get into bed?”

He finally faced me, but ignored my questions. “That closet of yours—not quite big enough, no?”

I flushed to remember that he hadn’t even had a bedroom of his own.

He opened the top drawer of my dresser. “How many ribbons and bebins can one girl have?” With raised brows, he lifted a pink Victoria’s Secret bra from the next drawer. “I fondly recall this one.”

Between gritted teeth, I said, “Drop it like it’s hot.”

“Oh, it’s hot, all right.” He smirked, but he did toss it back. “How do you even keep up with all the stuff you own? Doan know that I’d want to have so much, me. Must be a full-time job just to remember where everything is.”

I recalled his home, his meager possessions, his few books—that worn copy of Robinson Crusoe by the couch that he’d slept on. . . .

“You were even richer than I thought.”

Rich? Why would he bring that up? Then I remembered that he was a thief—and he’d shamelessly told me he would steal supplies from us! “Where is my mother?”

“Drinking the tea I made her and reading one of the last newspaper editions from back east.”

“If you hurt her or upset her in any way, I will make you pay.”

“Hurt her? When I found her, she was trying to get down the stairs, scared to death from hearing that fool shot you took.”

“Oh, God!”

“Doan worry. I managed to get you up your tree-house ladder and save the day.” He frowned. “You weigh a lot less than I thought. Anyway, I explained to her that you accidentally shot at me—which didn’t surprise her—then I showed her how you were passed out, limp as a noodle.”

“Mom!” I called. Just as I ripped off my bedspread to race into her room, she called back, “In here, honey.” She sounded perfectly fine, even better than before.

My relief was short-lived when I saw Jackson eyeing my uncovered legs. With a gasp, I yanked the bedspread back over me. Why was I no longer wearing my boots and jeans? Had I taken them off?

Or had Jackson? He wouldn’t. . . .

Oh, but he would. Under my breath, I hissed, “You undressed me?”

He gave me a bored glance. “Partially.”

Gaze darting around the room, I demanded, “Where is my gun?”

“I put it away before you killed a white hat with it. You might’ve been clever with the ladder and the door braces, but a markswoman you ain’t.”

While I was working up the most vile and cutting insult I could imagine, he eased my bedroom door shut.

My eyes went wide. “What are you doing?”

Instead of answering me, he nonchalantly unstrapped his bow, then sat beside me in bed, his back against the headboard.

And there wasn’t anything I could do about it. I stiffened, scooting to the edge of the mattress. He seemed even bigger than I’d remembered, taking up far too much of the bed.

“You know, I’d never hurt your mère, no. She’s never done anything to me. Unlike her coldhearted daughter.”

What had I ever done to him? He was the one who’d stolen from me and my friends, who’d bellowed at me in the rain.

“Non, Karen and I had a nice long chat.”

“Karen?” He was on a first-name basis with Mom? How long had I been out? “She wouldn’t let you just roam around our home!” Then I noticed that his hair was wet, his black T-shirt and worn jeans clean. So I added, “And if she did, she shouldn’t have. She doesn’t know you.”

“I explained that you and me were history podnas in school.” With a mean smile, he added, “I told her that you’d even been to my house—and met my mother.”

I swallowed at the memory of that night, at the way his voice grew tight with anger just to mention it. He seemed to be daring me to say something about it.

When I didn’t, he added, “After that, Karen was fine with my being here.”

I clutched my bedspread. “I don’t apologize for going to your house that night. You had no right to take my journal from me.”

“I doan like unsolved puzzles, me. You wouldn’t show me your drawings, so I asked Lionel to borrow them.”

“Considering the journal’s contents, you can understand why I wanted it back.”

“How long have you had visions?”

His matter-of-fact question flustered me. “I don’t . . . I’m not . . . how can you talk about this so—so calmly?”

“I had a cousin who could read the future in coffee grinds. My grandmother could predict hurricanes a month in advance.”

It seemed like everyone in Louisiana had known somebody with “the sight.”

“I’m not discussing this with you.”

“No matter. Your mother explained some things to me.”

Had she told him that my grandmother was a Tarot card fanatic who thought I would be the world’s salvation? Bang-up job I’m doing, Gran! “What exactly did Mom explain?”

“That you’re s’posed to be sweet and charming and funny.” He pinned me with a look. “I doan see it.”

“You need to leave Haven. Now.” What if he saw the contents of the barn? “You’re not welcome here.”

He smirked. “Karen disagrees.”

“I doubt she’ll welcome you if I tell her you undressed me.”

“Maybe she’ll only partially welcome me.”

Smart-ass.

“So now it’s time for you and me to talk, Evangeline. I didn’t only come here to barter. Came here to warn you.”

“About what?”

“There’s a wave of men coming down this way in a day or two. An army. Three thousand strong.”

“So? That’s great news.” Then my heart leapt. “They must have medics!”

“I see the wheels turning, but it woan work out like you’re thinking. Not with the Army of the Southeast.”

“How do you know?”

“I was in the Louisiana militia.”

“So let me see if I’ve got this straight. You joined the militia. There’s still got to be action out there. Yet you’re here. Doesn’t that make you a deserter?”

He nodded without shame. “When my unit got taken over by that big ole army, we found ourselves with a new general and a new objective.”

“Which was?”

In a toneless voice, he said, “The involuntary enlistment of women.”

“I don’t understand. To train as soldiers . . .” I trailed off at his expression. His eyes had a wary look to them, belying his tough-guy act. What could affect such a hardened boy like this?

The unthinkable dawned on me just as he murmured, “Not soldiers.”

“I see.” What all had Jackson witnessed out there on the road?

“There’s no one to free them, to fight back. That army keeps absorbing any military unit it comes across, taking control of them. Texas must be next in their path. Nobody knows why they’re marching there, but I figure if anyone can stop these men, it’ll be Texans. I’m on my way to warn the militia there.” Then he frowned. “You ain’t seen any of this in your visions?”

“Stop talking about them like . . . like . . .”

“Like they’re real?” Finally, he let that drop. “I got out ahead of the troops, but they’re on my ass. They camped just north of Sterling. If there’re no storms, they could be here as early as tomorrow. They’re goan to take you and your mother if you doan leave.”

“Why should I believe you? They might be riding in to save us. We’ve been waiting for this since the Flash.”

“They’re coming, Evie. I swear it.” He lifted a chain around his neck, pulling a jet-black rosary out from under his T-shirt. The beads glinted in the candlelight. The unusual cross was small but ornate. “And I swear to God that you will wish they’d never laid eyes on you.”

I almost . . . believed him. I vaguely noted that I’d seen that rosary before, then asked, “Did you tell my mom about this?” He nodded. “What did she say?”

He regarded his knuckles, running a finger over a scar. “That the decision to stay or leave was yours.”

What if I decided to leave once and for all? Away! Out into the world at last!

As ever, I tamped down that impulse, guilt suffusing me.

And why should it be my call anyway? I never thought I’d crave authority so dearly! “Even if your story is true, I can’t travel with her. She’s injured, and we’ve got one—malnourished—horse. How am I supposed to get her away from an army?”

“You could ask me for help. Or are you too proud?”

“I would do anything to keep her safe.” I met his gaze. “That big army will have medics, a surgeon even. One could be on his way directly to us this very minute. I’m not going to risk her life fleeing from the one person who could help her.”

“You’re not listening to me, Evie—”

“You’re not listening to me,” I bit out in a low, furious tone. “I said anything.”

Suddenly I understood what had driven my mom to do whatever it took to get me well last year. All I’d thought about was how horrific CLC had been for me. I hadn’t considered how agonizing it must have been for her to drop off her daughter there, leaving her behind.

“You can say anything—because you doan know what that means with these people.” He looked like he was about to argue more, but whatever he saw in my expression made him think better of it. He muttered, “Tête dure.” Hard head. “We’ll talk after dinner, yeah.”

“Dinner?”

“I brought gator meat. It’s goan to melt in your mouth.”

I fell silent. That would be the first meat we’d had since Allegra had hoofed a rare rattlesnake to death two months ago. Maybe if Mom got protein, it’d help her heal!

As if he could read my mind, he said, “Your mère could use a good meal.”

Game. Set. Match.

Then I remembered that the cellar looked like a Thanksgiving circular. Would he find all of my stores? I’d meant to pickle the rest, so they wouldn’t be so obvious.

“That’s right, Evie. I figure with all those fresh vegetables, we ought to have a stew.”

Shit! I jutted my chin, saying nothing. Would he tell Mom? Had he?

“And out in the barn, I found rows of crops. Real, live, honest-to-God crops. You want to explain that? I’ve been racking my brain, trying to figure out that puzzle all afternoon.”

“You broke into our barn?”

“After you locked the doors right in front of me?” He gave me that Cajun shrug. “You ought to know by now that if Evie Greene’s got something she doan want me to discover, I’m goan to come up with a way to.”

“Did you tell my mom about them?”

“I figured out that she didn’t know and kept my mouth shut.”

“It would only upset her.”

“Woan upset me. So tell me about these crops of yours. You paint them on your walls—do you coax them from fallow ground? Maybe you got other talents besides seeing the future?”

“Stop talking about that!”

“You tell anyone else about what’s in your barn?”

“Of course not!”

He met my gaze, his eyes dark and intense. “Doan you ever tell another, no. You can’t imagine what people would do for those crops. You hear me?”

Shivers slipped up my spine. “No one but you, that is?”

“I need to know how you got them plants to grow, Evangeline.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Silver bells and cockleshells.” Blood streams and freaky dreams and dizzy maids all in a row.

The corners of his lips curled. “You and your secrets. Ah, peekôn, just when I think I’ve solved one mystery about you, up comes another one. I will figure you out one day. En garde, cher. Consider yourself warned.”