Poison Princess

went wrong. And I’ll do anything I can to fix it.” With a whispered, “I-I love you, Mama,” I kissed her good-bye, pressing my lips to her forehead.

Leaving her behind was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do.

In moments, I knew I’d do something worse.

Jackson met me at the front door with a dangerous gleam in his eyes and a lighter offered up in his ragged palm.

I smelled gasoline, heard Allegra trotting a retreat away from the barn, neighing with nervousness.

The moment began to feel dreamlike, like I was outside my body. A haze fell over me.

“They can’t see those crops, Evie. They’ll come after you, tracking you. They woan stop. The crops have to burn, even if they’re the last ones on earth.”

“Gas is . . . everywhere?” I stared at his face, at the startling gray of his fierce eyes.

He nodded.

“This is my home, Jackson. The only one I’ve ever known.” It had centuries of history, dreams both lost and found. “I’m not leaving it like this. Hand over that lighter.”

He cupped my nape, bringing our foreheads together. “I know this is your home, ange, but just listen to me—”

“No, you listen!” Fury made my voice low, my words like a hiss. I pulled back from him. “They can’t have it.” I didn’t want those centuries tainted by these murderers, didn’t want them seeing my mother so vulnerable. They didn’t get to touch our possessions or rape women in my bed.

I couldn’t allow Haven to shelter that army, to help make that force even more powerful than it already was.

I’d already planned to burn my home down with my mother inside. Jackson had just been one step ahead of me.

“Now. Give me that lighter.”

His gaze widened, then narrowed on me. He cast me a look, as if we’d finally gotten on the same page. When he handed it over, he murmured, “Ma bonne fille.”

I flicked the lighter and a flame danced; he took my free hand in his, readying to run.

With my heartbeat thundering in my ears and my blood racing through my veins, I whispered, “Jackson, I can make them grow again. . . .”

I dropped the lighter.

21

Once we were clear of the fire and any potential militia scouts, Jackson drove up on the parish levee, parking on the rise.

I stepped out of the car, shielding my gaze against the sun. From this vantage, I could see smoke billowing up from Haven.

My mother’s funeral pyre.

Jackson muttered from behind me, “She’s in a better place.” And that was all he said on the matter.

In this, I believed him completely.

As I gazed over the wasted horizon—at the ash-clogged mire that used to be a flowing bayou, at the sooty plains that were once verdant fields, at the angry flames rising from Haven—I reasoned that she had to be.

* * *

—The Empress is in play.—

I woke to the voices whispering this phrase again and again. Yet now these characters sounded different, more alert, maybe even a touch less smug?

I blinked open my puffy eyes, disoriented. It was dusk, the winds were still, and Jackson had just parked . . . in a shipyard? “Where are we?” Had I really slept the entire day away?

“Not nearly as far as I’d like to be. Still in Louisiana.”

“Why are we in a shipyard?” One that was on the banks of a dried-out bayou.

“People forget to loot the ships in dry dock. We’re spending the night here.” As he got out of the car, he readied his crossbow. He clearly knew what he was doing with that weapon, was as comfortable with it as I’d once been with back handsprings.

I wondered who’d taught him to shoot. Nécessité?

Before I could unbuckle my seat belt and climb out, he was at my door. “Stick to me like a shadow, you,” he ordered.

Though I bristled at his tone, I followed him as he stalked deeper into the yard.

“I like the look of that one, right there.” He pointed out a huge metal shrimp boat raised on a repair cradle, its paint blistered off.

“What’s so special about it?”

“It’ll take a ladder to reach the inside, and there’s only one way in or out. Safe as a drum. Good money says there’ll be canned food in the galley.”

In minutes, we’d found a ladder and were climbing to the ship. He grabbed my arm, hauling me aboard, then dragged the ladder up behind us.

As we stole across the deck, old shrimp, crab, and oyster shells crackled beneath our boots, but the sound seemed to please Jackson.

Inside, there was a spacious captain’s cabin, and three smaller cabins with bunk beds already made up. At least we wouldn’t have to sleep in the same room.

After searching every inch of the vessel, we returned to the galley. Jackson rooted around, pleased with the haul: cans of soup, unopened boxes of crackers, discount-club packs of bottled water, sacks of beef jerky, and a bottle of Captain Morgan’s rum.

“Knew this one was a beauty when I first saw it. I got a sense for these things. Now, doan get me wrong—no place is one hundred percent safe. You always got to be on your guard.”

I made some sound of acknowledgment.

“I’m sure this ain’t exactly what you’re used to—as far as ships go—but it’s a find all the same.”

The last boat I’d been on was the Radcliffes’, a seven-figure yacht called Billable Hours.

When the kitchen faucet actually produced water, Jackson explained, “From the tanks. You can’t drink it, but you can grab a shower.”

“Shower?” I perked up somewhat.

“Ouais. You open a couple of cans for us, and I’ll go get your bag.”

In a daze, I perused the food offerings, wondering what he would like. There were at least a dozen cans of soup. Seemed like such a windfall, but I knew from experience that I needed about fifteen hundred calories a day to maintain my weight. I selected a can of minestrone soup, wincing at the calorie count. Two hundred.

I could only imagine how much a boy like Jackson would need. We’d burn through this—and all the supplies he’d scavenged from Haven—before the week was out.

Just as he returned from dumping my suitcase on the big cabin’s foam mattress, I cut myself on the rim of a can.

“Eck, girl.” He seized my hand. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’ll be fine!”

“Let me see.” He held up my finger, sticking it into his mouth like I was a little kid. I snatched my hand back, turning toward the cabin.

He grumbled, “Damn, Evie, suit yourself.” Then, louder: “Remember, doan drink any of the water. And save some for me.”

Jack had set up a flashlight in the small bathroom, so I was able to search the medicine cabinet for a Band- Aid to conceal my healing. I found one among an aspirin bottle, packs of No-Doz, and an ancient-looking box of