Claws aching, I snapped, “Wrong—deck—hooker.”
Finn groaned. “This can’t be happening! So you’re both digging that Cajun dude? Both of you? Come on, pussycats, that’s just not right! Spread the wealth.”
“To you?” Selena raised her brows.
“Precisely. I’m your guy, Archer. You and me.” He winked. “Think about it.”
She looked at him as she might at a pesky insect.
Unperturbed, he asked, “In any case, do we continue to keep our shit secret from the Cajun?”
“Secret,” Matthew hissed.
“Right, dude. Guess that answers that. . . .”
* * * By the time we started getting ready for bed an hour later, I was beyond exhausted. Though there were three rooms in the back, I made pallets for Matthew and me by the fire. I wanted to stay near Jackson. He remained just outside on the porch, still drinking.
I’d gone out there once, but he’d held up that finger again. “Want to be alone, me.”
Now I crawled under my blanket, shivering as the events of the day caught up with me. Still, I was determined to wait up for him. If he didn’t let me tend to his injuries, they might get infected. Plus I yearned to talk to him, to find out what was going on in that mysterious mind of his.
To find out what tomorrow would bring.
I also wanted to stay up because I was on edge after my fight with Selena. She’d laid her blankets on the other side of the hearth. Despite the fact that Finn had a bed in the back, he’d unrolled his sleeping bag directly beside her. Much to her annoyance.
He’d repeatedly tried to coax her to his bedroom. The poor guy must have burned through his entire repertoire, but she’d shot him down completely.
Selena only had eyes for Jackson. . . .
Matthew burrowed down beside me, sleepy-eyed and adorable. We lay facing each other—the front door in my peripheral just in case Jackson walked in. I told Matthew, “Get some sleep, kid.”
“Big night,” he whispered.
Yes, it had been. He reached over to take my hand.
And my lids slid closed.
The villagers taunted the red witch from aboard their fleet of ships.
They’d anchored offshore, out of reach of any trees, vines, or thorns. The becalmed sea was unfavorable for her spores.
As she watched from the beach, they called her the “Countess of Chaff” and the “Queen of Famine.” As if the crop failures had been her doing.
The dazzlingly blue water was flat as a mirror under the sun. When she drew back her hood, light bathed her face, invigorating her. A glorious day for retribution.
Yet everyone knew that unless she could walk on water, there was no vengeance to be had.
Death had arrived at the shore to observe her, always fascinated with her Empress gifts. Astride his stallion at the top of a sandy rise, he took off his helmet, looking like a god.
“And what shall you do now, creature?” he called. Sunlight lovingly highlighted his flawless features, his long blond hair. “The sea is her dominion—not yours.”
The witch tapped her chin with a thorn claw, reminding herself that it was not yet time for her encounter with Death. She turned her attention to the sailors, the last remaining survivors of the village she had plagued with spores and a tempest of thorns.
Now the sailors grew bolder, more boisterous. They mocked her, lewdly exposing their genitals.
Death’s glittering eyes were locked on her face, ever watchful of his foe.
He would enjoy a show indeed.
“Though it’s not my way . . . if they shan’t come to me, I must go to them.” She strode purposely down the beach. At the sea’s edge she didn’t slow, simply stepped upon the surface, blithely walking on water.
The crews fell silent. A stray gasp here, a whimper there.
She glanced over her shoulder at Death. His mien was impassive, those starry eyes giving away nothing.
Sea plants rising up from the deep held her afloat.
The sailors were finally jolted into action, but no wind caught their lax sails. They frantically rowed, yet her underwater allies trapped the ships in place.
Then came the men’s impassioned pleas to gods old and new.
But it was too late.
Once she’d neared enough to see their faces, she waved one tattooed hand. At once, giant ropes of slimy sea plants burst through the surface, exploding up from the abyss.
As the men screamed, she grinned back at Death. “No, the sea is not my dominion.” Her powers over the ocean paled in comparison to a certain other Arcana’s. “But I can borrow it from time to time.”
Those plants danced above the ships, raining water, positioned to strike. Grown men whimpered for mercy, begging “the lady” for her grace.
She threw back her head and laughed with pleasure. “I shall give you as much mercy as you afforded me.” These villagers had tied her to a wooden stake and begun burning her; she’d felt the lick of flames before she could revive the stake into a tree, freeing herself.
She’d meted out retribution to most of them, all but these sailors. When she recalled the smell of her burning flesh, she waved her hand once more.
The ropes of green slapped across the decks, crushing the masts, bludgeoning men. Blood pooled on the decks, pouring along the ships’ gutters. Thick cascades of crimson splashed the sea in a froth of pink bubbles.
As the plants coiled around the ships like giant tentacles, cracking the vessels in half, sailors plunged into the water.
More of her allies awaited them, slithering around their ankles, jerking them down. The witch tormented the men, dunking them under, then allowing them an exquisite taste of air, a chance to scream, a second to reach for the indifferent sun—before dragging them to the deep.
She didn’t stop until all were slain.
By the time the sea stilled once more, it was stained red.
When the witch returned to shore, Death inclined his head regally, then spurred his pale mount, leaving her.
She turned back to gaze over her handiwork. In the perfect stillness of the blood-slicked sea, the witch spied her reflection. Staring back at her was . . .
* * * Me. I shot awake, out of breath. It’d been my reflection. Mine!
Shuddering, I darted my gaze around the firelit cabin. Just a dream, just a nightmare. I hadn’t been there. It hadn’t been me annihilating an entire village.
Matthew dozed beside me. Selena and Finn slept across the room. One of Finn’s hands rested on a lock of her hair.
