Poison Princess

Jackson’s scowl deepened. “You’re not even goan to consider staying here? Not even for a few days?”

Days? My temper flared. I didn’t have hours! “You know I have obligations. I keep my promises.” I bit my tongue as soon as I said that.

“Ohhh,” Selena said, “this is because you two had a spat last night? No offense, honey, but it seems totally rash for you to go running off like this.”

She made it sound like I was flouncing away in a huff. As I commanded myself to rein in my temper, the strangest thought arose: She’s needling me so I’ll justify my leaving, so I’ll spill why it’s so important.

But why would she care? And if she was deceitful, did that automatically mean she was dangerous?

Even if I’d been tempted to level with Jackson about what was at stake, I feared he’d tell her.

“Thanks for your concern, Selena, but I’m going.” I faced Jackson. “Are you going with me?”

He narrowed his eyes. “She said you’re welcome to stay.”

Calm. Breathe, Evie. “Then this is where we . . . split up?”

“I’m good here.”

Don’t cry, don’t cry. Swallowing my pride, I said, “Okay, but would you please just drive me as far as half a tank will take us, and then you can come right back?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Non,” he answered, studying my expression.

Somehow I forced myself to turn to Selena and utter the words: “Can I please borrow your motorcycle, if I swear to bring it back?” As if I can drive one.

“Sweetie, take anything else you like, anything. But that’s my only transportation.”

With a sinking feeling, it dawned on me that these two weren’t going to assist me whatsoever. They were happy to let me walk out that door, to face the road alone.

Which meant they were just wasting my time. Matthew’s precious time.

“Okay, then, I have to go.” Yesterday Jackson had found a motorcycle out on the road. Maybe I could find a car? A freaking ten-speed? “Oh, I almost forgot.” Yanking open my bag, I snatched out that copy of Robinson Crusoe and tossed it across the counter. “Bonne chance, Jackson.”

Just before I turned toward the door, his brows drew together and that muscle ticked in his jaw.

Selena called, “Evie, at least let us set you up with some supplies or camping gear.”

My shoulders stiffened, but I kept going. Outside, I muttered, “Let us set you up?” I already cleaned you out of PowerBars, bitch.

I jogged to the end of the drive, telling myself that I didn’t have time to cry over Jackson. Matthew’s fear was palpable, his voice growing louder and louder until all the others were dim. Maybe that was because he was so close to me?

Or was it because I was learning to focus on just one at a time?

As I triggered the entrance gates to open, I imagined Jackson running after me, begging forgiveness. But I made it off the property and onto the street, alone.

He hadn’t even said good-bye.

I needed to get to a gas station, grab an Alabama map, then hope for a miracle in the form of a working car.

Shit. I probably should’ve asked for my shotgun back. But I’d gotten used to Jackson handling the weapons, and I’d never learned to shoot anyway.

Would my claws be enough to protect me? If I could ever get them to flare on command?

By the time I’d reached the first crossroads, I felt a slight breeze. Dreading the coming winds, I stood in the middle of the intersection, trying to guess which direction I should take.

I rubbed my pounding temples. I needed to go north. Which was where exactly?

Four possible choices. I was totally turned around, not surprising considering my sense of direction—as well as the fact that I’d been asleep when we’d arrived here last night.

I gazed up at the sun, as if I could determine my way from its position. I bet Selena could.

Hey, Matthew, I’m going to need some help here.

Again I got that flash of the rocket, accompanied by a new wave of pain.

No, no—I need help getting out of this subdivision!

I was starting to panic, ordering myself to choose a damn direction, any direction. I’d just taken a turn to the right when Jackson came striding around the corner with that menacing gait.

He’d pulled on a white T-shirt, inside out; his boots were unlaced. The shotgun was strapped haphazardly over his shoulder. He wasted no time insulting me. “You’re a fool, Evangeline Greene!”

So much for begging for my forgiveness. Between gritted teeth, I asked, “Jackson, I don’t suppose you came out here because you’ve changed your mind? About driving me for half a tank?” It was a long shot, but . . .

“Came out here to see if you were coo-yôn enough to go off alone. You doan even know where North Carolina is!”

I didn’t have time for this! “I figure I’ll head north.” I kept walking.

“Then why are you heading west?”

I jogged back to the intersection and adjusted my bearings, but he just laughed. “Now you’re marching south, peekôn.”

I did an about-face.

“There you go,” he called, following me as I picked up speed. “North! Guess that saying’s true: Even a blind pig can find a truffle every now and again.”

Ooh! I glared over my shoulder, but continued on. Great. The winds were increasing.

“Why are you so set on leaving?”

“It’s not like I just sprang a trip on you,” I tossed back at him. “I’ve told you from the beginning that I had to do this. And now you’ve made it clear that you want to stay here indefinitely.”

—Water! Rising!— Matthew’s urgency was like a banged gong reverberating through my mind.

I barely resisted the urge to clasp my forehead. “What do you want, Jackson? What more is there to say? I asked you for help, and you wouldn’t give it to me!”

“So you just took off.” In a low voice, he said, “I’m that easy to leave behind?”

“Seriously?” I snapped. “After last night?” At once, I regretted it. What he and Selena did was none of my business.

“Damn it, Evie!” He caught up to me with a scowl. “What is so all-fired wrong with me trying to sleep with you? You act like I’m stupid for even considering it!”

—Empress!— I couldn’t think, quickening my pace even more.

But Jackson kept at me. “I’m good enough to travel with, to fool around with, but not to have sex with? You can take the girl out of Sterling . . .”

“That’s not . . . it’s not something I’m just going to throw away on a boy like you.”

He stopped cold. I couldn’t help but glance over my shoulder again.

He’d clenched his fists until tendons strained in his neck. “Like me?” He threw back his head and bellowed to the sky before facing me. “What is so goddamned wrong with me?”

He lunged forward, seizing my arm. “ ’Cause I didn’t have money? That it? ’Cause of where I’m from? From the first day we met, you’ve looked down your nose at me. You’ve laughed at me, you’ve messed with my head.”

“Money?” How had we started talking about that? The whole concept of it was fading from my mind, having as much significance to me as movie tickets or search engines.

My temples were aching, the wind bombarding me, confusion bombarding me. When had I messed with his head? “What are you talking about?” I flung off his grip, trudging forward again.