Poison Princess

Jackson wasn’t here. Still outside?

I pushed away my blanket, then stumbled toward the lantern-lit bathroom. I couldn’t handle more of these dreams! They were like ghastly horror movies on loop in my brain.

And in this one, the witch had made it sound like she was the Empress—when she’d had a conversation with Death.

Was I now to have nightmares about both of them? I recalled the way his glorious face looked in the sun and shivered.

Why didn’t Selena have to deal with shit like this? Yet another reason to hate her.

Inside the bathroom, I reached for the dimmed lantern, turning up the light. Something was smeared over my hand? I rubbed at my skin, but the smudge didn’t fade.

A trick of the light, a shadow? Did it go past my wrist? I shoved my sleeve up. An ivylike marking stretched the length of my arm.

With a gasp, I whirled around to the dust-covered mirror above the sink, frantically swiping the glass with the bottom of a fist.

I glanced at my reflection, tottered on my feet.

The red witch stared back at me. My eyes were . . . green. My hair? A glossy red, threaded through with leaves.

Those glowing glyphs ran all over my pale skin.

Nearly hyperventilating, I staggered closer to the mirror. No, I didn’t look like the witch exactly. It was still me, just with similar traits.

My thoughts raced. The witch must have been . . . she must have been another Empress. One born in the past. The ships she’d destroyed had looked like galleons.

Matthew had told me there were ancient battles—and he’d never said I was the first Empress.

The red witch and the Empress were one and the same.

Deep down I’d known it. I had to have. But Matthew had told me that the witch was arising, that she was coming for me. That I’d fight her.

I guess I had been fighting her this entire time, resisting the realization. Indeed she had been coming for me. Even now I could feel her arising—inside of me.

Surely Matthew had sent me those nightmares? Or were they included in the Empress package?

As I peered at my emerald eyes, I recalled other details about the Empress card.

Rolling hills had stretched behind her, but now I realized her empire had been awash in green and red—from both crops and blood. Her hair had been strewn with blossoms, vines—and strands of red.

Her hands had been upraised, arms spread wide, beckoning. Yet her gaze had been deadly, her eyes saying, “Come, touch . . . but you’ll pay a price.”

Recognition hit me. That’s my Arcana call.

The glyphs began to move, to swirl over my skin, shimmering from gold to green and back. Mesmerizing.

As I watched, I recognized that a part of me was still high from the power I’d experienced in that dream; just recalling the witch’s feats made my aggression surge.

To be able to crush a fleet of ships . . . ?

In fact, as I reflected over all the nightmares I’d experienced, I could almost admire the witch’s zeal. At least it was pure.

And her victims had tried to burn her. Of course she’d retaliated.

No, no! What was I thinking? She’d wiped out an entire village. They’d probably had reason to burn her!

I felt something tickling my arm and glanced down. A delicate ivy vine was budding from one of the glyphs.

When it snaked from the surface of my skin, briefly peeking out, I gave a cry and leapt back, tripping over a rug.

Pinwheeling my arms, I careened back toward the tub, plunging into the shower curtain. As I sat with my legs sprawled over the side of the tub, panting in disbelief, I heard heavy footsteps pounding down the hall.

Oh, God, Jackson!

Outside the door, he said, “Evie, you all right?”

“Uh, fine. Just tripped in the low light!” I struggled to my feet, then returned to the mirror. “I’ll be out in a minute. O-okay?” As that unnatural aggression began to fade, my disgust mounted. I am the . . . red witch. I dropped my head in my hands, on the verge of sobbing. The things I’ve seen her do . . .

What would Jackson do once he discovered this about me?

No. I would refuse this! Just as I’d declined Death’s challenge, I would deny this curse. I’d never asked for it. I considered it a disease, robbing me of my identity.

Was I doomed to be either a cowardly freak—the dormant girl in the cage today—or a monster who murdered?

Yes. I sensed that I had only so much time before I was trapped, as either one alter ego or the other. Unless I could get help.

“Bébé, let me in.” Jackson was still outside?

I gaped at the door, at my reflection, at the door. “G-go away!” I cried, ripping leaves from my hair and stashing them in a clothes hamper. Breathe through the panic, Evie, breathe.

“What’s wrong, you?”

“Nothing!” Gradually, my hair and eyes began to revert, the glyphs fading. Hurry, hurry!

“Let me in!” He banged against the door. “Or I’m coming in.”

“I . . . I . . . just wait!”

“Back away, then.”

“No, Jackson—”

The door came crashing down. Splinters shot into the air, the doorframe battered.

My lips moved soundlessly. Finally, I managed to say, “What is wrong with you?” I darted my wide-eyed gaze toward the mirror. . . .

My appearance was back to normal.

“I thought I heard you cry out earlier!” He swooped down to collect his bottle from the floor in the hallway, though most of it was gone. “Scared the devil out of me.”

He was still filthy. His bow was strapped crookedly over his back.

I shimmied past him into the hallway. The other three were awake, regarding us with curiosity.

I peered hard at Matthew. He’d known what I was all along, had known I’d realize it tonight. “Big night,” he’d said. Grinning from ear to ear, he gave me a thumbs-up sign. I slitted my gaze at him.

“Want to talk to you,” Jackson told me.

“Huh? Okay,” I said tonelessly. My body felt bruised, my mind numb. Did viciousness always simmer within me, just waiting to be unleashed? If I killed like the witch, could I ever come back from it?

Maybe I should have taken root today.

“Talk to you alone,” Jackson added sternly, as if I’d argue with him, or someone else might.

Selena clearly didn’t like this, but she kept quiet. Finn eased beside her, offering her a rare Snickers in consolation. She rolled her eyes at him.

Jackson snagged the bathroom lantern, then ushered me to one of the bedrooms in the back, closing the door behind us.

He scowled at the unfortified window, handing me the lantern and his bottle. Then he yanked the mattress off the single bed, shoving the wooden frame over the window. Using the hanger rod from the closet, he braced it in