Poison Princess

“Like deciding whether to maroon him?”

“And what would you do if I did?”

“Go with him,” I’d said without hesitation.

“You’d choose to go with him over me?” For the scarcest instant, I’d thought I saw something fierce and chillingly possessive in his gaze, then—

Gone. His expression had grown shuttered once more. He’d said in a scathing tone, “Maybe that’s what I should do! Let you two make your own way, one more useless than the other. If I wasn’t so sure I’d be sending you to your grave, I’d probably cut bait now!” Then he’d stormed off, leaving me shaken.

We hadn’t spoken more than a few words since, though I often caught his gaze on me in the rearview mirror.

Now I told Matthew, “I don’t want you to worry about getting abandoned, okay? Promise me.”

“We don’t need them,” he said. “You need your allies.”

“Okay, I’ll play. Who are they?”

“Arsenal!”

“Shhh, kid.” As much as I felt like a big sister and best friend to Matthew, he could nettle me like no other. I imagined this was what it’d be like with a sibling on a long road trip.

In a quieter tone, he said, “You need to practice your powers. Phytomanipulation.”

This was something new! “Does that mean plant control?”

“I’m hungry.”

Patience. “Matthew, if I’m supposed to practice, are you going to be my coach?”

“Yes!” he said brightly. “Flex your thorn claws.”

Suddenly self-conscious that another person knew about them, I made fists. “I can’t just force them out.” The last time they’d appeared was in Selena’s neighborhood. “Or can I?”

He gave a long-suffering sigh.

I focused my attention on my fingernails, imagining them transforming. Nothing happened. I concentrated again. Same result. So I gave up. “You said I had other”—possibly easier—“abilities? What are they? What’s my Arcana call?”

“I don’t see your claws.” He peered at my hands, then began studying his own. Topic finished.

“Oh, I get it. We’re on a new reward system.” I lay back in a huff, staring at the van roof.

Maybe I should just let things unfold. We could be at Gran’s in less than two weeks. I could wait till then to bombard her with all my questions.

What am I? Why am I this way? What is my purpose?

Can the world be . . . saved?

Suddenly Matthew shot upright, his face paling. “Death sends his regards.”

At once, Selena turned down the music. I saw Jackson’s eyes narrow in the rearview mirror.

Matthew asked, “Why aren’t you preparing for Death, Evie? We’ve talked of what the future brings.”

Oh, no, no. If our cryptic exchanges weren’t enough to make me batty, Matthew also liked to talk about his visions of Death. A lot. Which kept me on edge—Jackson as well.

And Jackson didn’t even know that Matthew referred to a real man, a psychotic knight who’d vowed to execute me and drink my blood.

This morning Jackson had told Matthew, “You mention death one more time, and I’ll knock you into next week. Comprends?”

“Already been there,” Matthew had answered. Now he told me, “You have to be ready for Death, Evie.”

Jackson said, “I warned you, coo-yôn!”

Selena touched his forearm, casting him a fake, pleading, Be-patient-for-Evie’s- sake look.

Her personality had been grating on my nerves, scaling new heights of annoyance. But as ever, I was filled with doubts about her. How fitting. I didn’t feel I could trust her, but I sensed I might have to . . . depend on her?

Matthew asked me, “This time will be different, won’t it?”

Though I had no idea what he was talking about, I promised, “Yes, Matthew. Let’s just lie back.”

“You won’t kill me?”

Jackson shot me a look in the mirror.

Under my breath, I said, “I’d never hurt you!”

“Death won’t wait forever.” With a confident nod, he added, “Strike first or be first struck.”

When Jackson gripped the steering wheel harder, I said, “Hey, let’s talk about something else. Did you ever get to see the space shuttle in Florida?” Nothing. “How about those rascally Ewoks, huh?”

“I’m in Death’s pocket, so he’s in my eyes,” Matthew said again. “He sees you even now. You’ll meet the Reaper soon.”

“C’est ça coo-yôn! Jackson snapped. “That’s it! I’ve had enough of your crazy-ass talk—”

The engine rattled.

Sputter. Clunk. Done.

Everyone fell silent as Jackson steered the van off the road—as if another car might need to pass. Once our momentum crept to a standstill, we all sat wordlessly, even Matthew.

Without gas, we’d be walking. In the raw cold and fog. There was only one house in sight, a modest brick structure that had surely already been rolled.

Just as I’d been in the days before my mom had passed, we were shit out of luck—and I felt like heading to the barn for my daily primal scream.

Selena piped her lip to blow her hair out of her face. “What are we going to do now, J.D.?”

“We passed a militia camp in a valley, not far back. They’ll have gas.”

I hadn’t seen anything. Of course, I’d been trying to keep Matthew quiet. “How do you know it’s a militia?”

“Several big fires. I saw them even through the fog. They got no fear that others might spot them, which means it’s an armed group.” He climbed out of the van, immediately tucking his chin and pulling his jacket close around him.

I followed him, sucking in a shocked breath. The temperature had dropped even more since this morning.

“Hate this cold,” he muttered.

Though none of us was accustomed to these temperatures, at least I’d been skiing with Mel and her family each winter break.

Jackson had never known a cold like this, had never been outside of Louisiana. When Selena had asked him what his favorite ski resort was, he’d shared an amused glance with me in the rearview mirror. “Wouldn’t know snow if it hit me in the face,” he’d said. “Bayou boy, me, born and raised. . . .”

Once Selena and Matthew had climbed out, Jackson said, “We’ll stop at that house for the night, raid the camp in the morning.”

“How are we going to steal gas from them?” I asked.

“We?” Jackson raised his brows. “We ain’t goan to do nothing. You are goan to sit somewhere safe, you. Once the Bagmen get scarce at dawn, Selena and me will ride the bikes in closer.”

She beamed.

I glared, feeling as useless as ever, embarrassed by my ineptitude, especially compared to her.

Whenever Jackson called Matthew bon à rien, good-for-nothing, it only reminded me of all the times that he’d called me the same.

A worthless little doll with no teeth.