Poison Princess

“So what’s up with you guys?” he asked, still sniffing me. “Are you like the Super Friends?”

Matthew said, “Cards. Cards! Cards. Cards—”

“Stop, please.” I jerked back from both boys. “Just let me think! Finn, can you get back into the camp, or disguise me?”

Selena scoffed. “They’ll smell you, little shop of horrors. I still can’t believe you left him behind!”

Neither could I. “Why don’t we save the blame for later—for now we need to FIND JACK!”

“Evie?”

I whirled around.

Emerging from the smoke, Jackson stumbled toward us, covered with grit and ash, his clothes blood- spattered. One of his calves was burned severely.

I gave a cry of relief and ran toward him, wanting to help him, but his furious gaze made my steps falter.

“Jackson?”

Still quaking from his fight, he just held up one finger, warning me away.

So volatile. Had he just killed a man with his bare hands?

Finn broke up the tension. “Okay, now that the gang’s all here, let’s start making tracks back to my totally secure pad.”

* * *

An hour later, we learned that Jackson did not agree with Finn about the security of his pad.

It was a weekender, secluded in a blackened forest, overlooking what used to be a lake. A Bagman draw.

But Finn vowed that no one would bother us—just as they hadn’t on our trek to get to his place.

Selena, Matthew, and I had known that Finn was disguising us. Jackson hadn’t. He’d limped along, bow at the ready, taking point. No one, not even Selena, had dared to approach him. We’d held back, agreeing not to discuss our new discoveries around Jackson. . . .

At the front door, he said, “You doan board your windows here, boy?” He cautiously entered, motioning for me to follow right behind him. Matthew trailed me.

Inside, I was looking less at the windows and more at the Sam’s Club warehouse of goods stored here. Yes, that militia had been rich; apparently, Finn had taken full advantage of his abilities.

Wares were piled high: batteries, boxes of chocolate bars, Coleman lanterns, crates of bottled water, cereal.

Selena snidely observed, “Kind of looks like your mom’s old place, Matt.”

Matthew squeezed my shoulder, just preventing me from a screeching girl-fight attack. Even Jackson frowned at her.

“No need to board up any windows,” Finn told Jackson as he fetched three Duraflame logs—from a towering pile of them. He bundled them over to a fireplace with a stone hearth and antlers above the rough-hewn mantel.

Jackson eyed him cagily. “And no one can see the smoke, either?”

“Seriously, Cajun-type guy. We’re camouflaged here. I’ve stayed at this cabin for weeks, stealing from that militia.”

As the fire started warding off the chill inside, we raided Finn’s food, dragging our fruit cups, Doritos, and Chef Boyardee cans in front of the hearth.

But not Jackson. With ash and blood still streaked all over, he rummaged till he’d found a fifth of whiskey.

Bow strapped over his back and bottle clenched in one mangled hand, he limped to a bench before the fire, sinking down. He sat with his elbows on his knees, staring at the flames, drinking heavily as we finished stuffing ourselves.

I put together a selection of food for him, but he declined with a sharp shake of his head, turning up the bottle instead. Then he leveled bloodshot eyes at Finn. “How have you been getting in and out with all this stuff?”

Finn shrugged. “Candy. Baby. I even made it out with one of their trucks. It’s out back.” When Jackson looked incredulous, Finn said, “What can I say? I’m crafty. I’ve had that Tahoe gassed up and ready to take me back to Cali. But it’s been so easy leeching off those reds that I guess I got lazy. Plus, I like to play pranks on them—more of a compulsion really. Not to mention that I’ve had this excruciating boner for Hickette.”

Casting a significant glance at Selena, he added, “I’ll never set my sights so low again.”

Seeming unfazed by Finn’s colorful personality, Jackson swigged that bottle. “Somebody want to explain to me why those soldiers were shooting each other?”

Jackson had seen that? I glanced at Finneas, counting on him to have a ready answer.

He smoothly said, “Inbreeding?”

God, this night must be awful for Jackson. Probably nothing was making sense to him, puzzles left and right, and we were hiding all the pieces from him.

“You been north of here, boy?”

“I have. All over the Carolinas. And I will not be going back.”

“That’s where we been goan.” Jackson must be getting buzzed for his accent to sound so thick. “To the Oudder Banks.”

“Bad idea, Cajun. There’re three ways to get there from here, each one worse than the last. You can either hold your breath through the plague colonies, slip through Slaverville, or take the mountain route.” Something flashed in his expression, something somber, which seemed out of place on his animated face. “That’s where the cannibals really like to hole up.”

“You’ve seen them?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah. And it’s, like, totally worse than you can imagine. Their steady diet of grilled Homo sapiens really screws with their heads. And the miner cannibals in North Carolina? They’re the worst! Dude. They don’t even grill.”

Selena said, “The Outer Banks are looking less and less like my future.”

“We sure will miss you, Selena,” I said, sugar and snide.

When Jackson unsteadily rose, favoring his good leg, I shot to my feet to help him. “We need to get your burn bandaged up.” No response. “Jackson? Please eat something.” He glowered. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I wonder, me.” Without another word, he took his bottle and bow, then limped out on the porch.

He so clearly wanted to be alone. Deciding to let him go for now, I returned to sit with the others.

When only the four Arcana remained, Finn asked, “So how long have you guys known you were different?”

In an airy tone, Selena said, “Awhile now.”

Matthew answered, “Different?”

I replied, “Um. Just found out recently.” All of us were hesitant to offer more, all of us on guard.

“So, what I really want to know is how. And why.” Finn gazed from one of us to the next. “Shit. I was hoping you guys could tell me something.”

Selena shook her head. “I’ve got nothing. Ask Matthew. The way he was dodging bullets, he must be a clairvoyant.”

Matthew said, “Kill the bad cards.”

Bad cards. He’d said that a lot. Maybe the Arcana war was simply a matter of good versus evil.

As I gazed over this group, I wondered if perhaps we were supposed to band together, like a hand of cards—playing to our strengths and shoring up our weaknesses. As I’d witnessed in that battle of Arcana.

Matthew had told me I was fated to fight Death. I’d vowed never to face the Reaper; would I reconsider if I had backup?

Hell. No. Death and Ogen had been unstoppable together.