Poison Princess

Did I need to talk with someone so badly that I’d suffer even Jackson’s presence?

We stared at each other for long moments. He took his time surveying me, just as he had the first time he’d ever seen me.

How different I appeared now. My looks had gone from well-kempt cheerleader to apocalyptic disasterpiece. My clothes were unmended and stained with soot, my hair wild. I must’ve been pale as death.

In the deep voice I remembered so clearly, he muttered, “De’pouille.”

I stiffened. De’pouille pretty much meant “hot mess” in Cajun. He was going to show up here and insult me? After our last encounter?

Like I didn’t have enough to deal with! “I should have known you’d survive.”

He climbed off his bike, then leaned back against it. “Why’s that, Evangeline?”

“Reptiles and vermin fared well.” I sounded stoned. I inwardly shook myself, forcing my eyelids to open wider.

“I see nothing’s changed with you. Still south of useless.”

“And nothing’s changed with you. Still impolite and classless.”

“You look a little cagou. Pale in the face. You caught the plague, you?”

No, just been doing some gardening. It takes blood, sweat, and tears. I almost chuckled, but pressed the back of my hand against my lips. At length, I said, “What do you want?”

“I’m on my way to Texas. Stopped here to barter.” He unzipped his jacket, then took his flask from a pocket. “A couple of folks in Sterling say you’ve got stores of food. Figures that you and your mother would be sitting pretty here.”

Sitting pretty? What did that mean? I couldn’t think. Even in the sun, I was so cold my teeth were nearly chattering. “What are you talking about?”

“You knew what was about to happen, didn’t you? I’m sure you prepared for it. That’s why you got food still.”

“Prepared?” My dizziness grew. “If we still have stores, it’s because we were out scavenging while everyone else was praying.” The winds were kicking up again, worsening my chill.

“You drew the Flash enough, in detail. What’d you have? Visions of it? Dreams? That’s what you were doing in class each day.”

Leave it to Jackson to be resentful of something that hadn’t helped me whatsoever.

He narrowed his eyes. “No wonder you wanted that journal back—it was a goddamned playbook for the apocalypse. I saw Bagmen in your drawings before I ever saw ’em in real life. Saw the sun shining at night on one of those pages before it happened. Thanks for the heads-up, you.”

“Oh, like you would’ve believed me! I didn’t even believe my drawings were real!” I yelled, the frustration of the last week, the last several months, bubbling over. “I thought I was crazy! And so did anyone who knew about them!” When he looked unmoved, I bit out, “Let me tell you how prepared I was. I was so prepared that my boyfriend and his family became piles of ash. All our friends were destroyed. And Mel”—my voice broke, but I kept on—“she was a sister to me and she died alone, not three miles from my house!”

His hard gaze softened a touch—until I said, “I blame you for her death!”

“What the hell did I do?”

“When I first saw the light, I began to realize what was happening, that the things I’d seen might be real. I wanted to call Mel and tell her to get back here. But she didn’t have a phone!”

“I didn’t steal her phone, no.”

“You just kept me busy while Lionel took it.”

“If he did, then he’s paid for it. He’s as dead as she is.”

“You were just as much to blame.” I grasped my forehead, refusing to argue anymore. Jackson wasn’t worth my time. Unless . . .

“Have you passed a doctor—any kind of medic—on your way here?”

“Why you want to know? You sick? Or your mère? They said something in town.”

“Just answer me! Can you get a doctor here? We have things of value, things that would make the trip worth it.”

“Non. That’s not . . . it’s not possible.”

Swaying on my feet, I told him, “That’s the only thing I’ll barter for, Jackson. If a doc’s not happening, then leave.”

“You doan even know what I got to offer.”

“There is nothing I want—or need—except for a doctor.”

“And what about what I need? Maybe I’ll just go take what I’m hunting for.”

Fear skittered through me. He couldn’t get anywhere near my mom. We were so vulnerable! I flipped the safety off the shotgun.

He casually took a swig from his flask. “You even know how to fire that thing, you?”

God, he infuriated me! “I told you to leave!” I raised the shotgun.

He pocketed the flask, rising from his bike. “Doan you aim that at me,” he grated, starting for me.

As he stormed closer, he had that look in his eyes, the menacing one he’d given that drunken man.

The one promising pain.

Alarm flared. Which made me even madder. I had a loaded gun pointed at his head! He didn’t know I couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn. “Gee, Jackson, I guess the little doll’s got teeth—”

He moved so fast he was a blur, knocking the barrel aside. The slightest touch of the trigger and the gun went off, kicking me back like a mule. I saw him lunge for me—too late—then felt my head snap back against the ground.

My vision was wavering as he crouched beside me, feeling the back of my head. “You’ll live, you coo-yôn. Now, ain’t you glad we got that out of the way?”

My eyes rolled back. Darkness.

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.