Poison Princess

34

I shot up with a gasp, fresh from a nightmare. When I blinked open my eyes, my claws were extended, glinting in the dim moonlight that streamed through a dirty window.

Beside me, Selena and Matthew slept on. Earlier, the three of us had laid out sleeping bags around a cold hearth—we hadn’t dared to build a fire—then divided an energy bar. While we’d tried to sleep, Jackson had taken up watch in an adjoining room.

I stared down at my claws as I remembered my dream. The witch had been surrounded by shadowy figures, burning with that aggression, that overwhelming compulsion to kill them.

So she’d twirled in place until her leaf-strewn red hair spun around her head, emitting something into the air. Spores? Once she’d stopped in place, she’d assured her victims, “There is no shame in surrender.”

I’d expected the villagers to choke, writhing like her young admirer had. Even when sleeping, I’d braced for more ghastly images to stain my brain.

Instead, her victims had dropped to the ground with happy sighs, curling up on a grassy field, warmed by the sun.

Where was the fractured bone? The bits of flesh? The shrieks? The people had simply gone to sleep.

Yet they would never wake up.

Experiencing this dream was almost worse than the most gruesome ones. Her subtle evil haunted me. There hadn’t been a single shriek—because not one soul had been aware enough to fight for his life. . . .

As my claws began to recede, I wiggled my fingers, watching the light play over the thorns. I realized I was growing accustomed to them. The sight didn’t shock me at all anymore. In fact, I felt . . . numb.

I was gradually becoming more like her. The abilities I’d once considered a gift now seemed more like a curse.

Once my nails returned to normal, I rose, seeking Jackson. Seeking comfort. I just needed to be near him, knew it would make me feel better.

In the next room, I drew up short to find him sleeping on his watch, sitting upright on a cushioned window bench.

One of his long legs was bent, his crossbow balanced precariously on his knee, his other leg stretched out in front of him. He rested his head against the window. Had I ever seen him sleep?

No. Because he’d been watching over me every night. Well, except for at Selena’s. I wasn’t yet sure where he’d slept then.

He had dark circles under his eyes and his brow was creased with worry. So much responsibility. I felt a pang. No wonder he drank so much.

I climbed up on the bench, kneeling before him, and smoothed the backs of my fingers along one cheek. Still he didn’t wake. He must be exhausted.

I felt a welling of tenderness for this boy—my cursing, hard-drinking, ladies’-man protector.

I sighed. Was he my protector? Could he possibly prefer bonne à rien over flawless Selena? As much as I hated to admit it, she suited him better. In fact, I didn’t see how anyone could suit him better than she did.

If I found out they’d had sex, would I still want him?

So many questions swirled between us, so many secrets. I was involved in some kind of battle that I wanted no part of, I was a marked target because of abilities I’d never asked for and didn’t know how to control, and Jackson was the only thing in my life that made me feel sane, made me want to fight for a future.

Tilting my head, I grazed my thumb over his bottom lip, remembering our kiss. What I wouldn’t give to go back to that night, to explain my fears to him, to ask him to go slower.

“Hey,” he suddenly murmured. His eyes were hooded, a lazy smile beginning to curve his lips. “Now, this is what I like to wake up to, peekôn.”

If I’d thought happy and smiling was a good look on him, a sleepy Jackson tugged at my heart.

He set away his bow, then looped an arm around me to drag me to his chest. When I relaxed against him, he brought his knees up on both sides of me.

Against my hair, he rasped, “Honeysuckle. You liking ole Jack right now?”

“Yes,” I answered honestly, luxuriating in his heat, his strong arms around me. I wanted to burrow even closer to him.

“Ah, bébé, I feel like I ain’t seen you in weeks.”

“I know, me too.”

He cupped my face, meeting my gaze. “If I’d known I would wake up to this, I’d have gone to sleep earlier.” Then he tensed. “Wait. Why was I asleep?”

He scrambled to his feet, sending me tumbling before he caught my arm and steadied me on the bench. “What the hell! I fell asleep on watch?”

Selena stirred in the next room but didn’t wake.

“Jackson, you haven’t been getting any rest for days. Weeks, even. You passed out.”

“And you got the drop on me?” He snatched up his bow, scanning out of the windows. The coast must’ve been clear, because he lowered the weapon. “We could’ve been surrounded by Baggers. I doan know what happened. This has never happened.”

“Nobody can go this long with so little sleep.”

“I have in the past.” He sank back down on the bench, gazing out. “A fine job I’m doing taking care of you.”

“You have been! I owe my life to you.”

“How long can I keep you safe? It’s only goan to get worse and worse. We’re heading into places where folks lived off the land and hunted, where there weren’t Wal-Marts on every corner with aisles of cans to live off of. They’re goan to be starving, Evie. Desperate.”

The new food chain . . .

“I’ll be taking you straight into danger, and it might be for nothing. You got to be wondering if your grandmother’s even alive.”

“She is.”

“Why you sound so confident about her? You’ve had more visions, haven’t you? Damn it, why haven’t you told me?” In a surly tone, he added, “Bet you told coo-yôn.”

How to reply to that one?

“It’s like you two communicate in some way I can’t understand.” He exhaled a breath. “I got to accept that, me.” Then his brows drew together. “Why’s that boy always talking about the future? You said he lectured you— why would he be lecturing a psychic like you?”

I began pulling at a new hole in my jeans.

“Is he . . . like you? Can he see the future?”

Though I might not tell Jackson my disturbing secrets, I couldn’t lie to him anymore. “I don’t have visions of the future, Jackson. I am not psychic.” But I also couldn’t tell him Matthew’s secrets.

Jackson flashed me a disappointed look. “I saw your drawings. I’ve watched you get nosebleeds.”

I bit my bottom lip, gazing out through a filmy windowpane.

When I glanced back, he had that analytical look on his face. Uh-oh. “The day we rescued that boy, you told me you didn’t think you’d be alive for long without his help. He ain’t simple, is he?” When I eventually shook my head, Jackson added in a mutter, “I’d kinda hoped he was.”

“He’s just . . . different.”

“When are you goan to come clean with me? What is he to you?”

“I started seeing him just before the Flash. We do communicate differently. He’s one of the voices I hear.”