Poison Princess (44 page)

My spot.
That was where
I
belonged. My claws grew slowly, menacingly, and it felt
good
. I tucked them into my palms so no one could see, but Matthew chuckled behind me.

Over her shoulder, Selena cast me a triumphant expression. And when she laid her head against his back, I was certain he could feel her smiling against him.

“Are you ready to tell me if Jackson will be safe down there?” I asked Matthew as we waited in the van, bundled in our sleeping bags for warmth. The fog was setting in, chilling me to my bones.

“You'll see him again.” When I exhaled with relief, he said, “You think about him too much.”

Tell me something I don't know, Matto.
And that'd been
before
Jackson had called me
ma belle.

To be Jackson Deveaux's girlfriend . . . I was giddy from the possibility, too scared to hope.

Then I nibbled my lip as doubts crept in.
What about the Arcana war, Selena, Death, the red witch?

“When Dee-vee-oh helps you, he hurts you.”

“You've told me that before, but not what that
means
.” No answer. “He did save my life—and yours. He's protected us. He's taught me about Bagmen and sourcing.” Nothing. “Matthew, I feel stronger around him.”

“Practice with your claws,” he said. “
That
will make you feel stronger.”

“I don't know how to make them appear, because someone won't tell me.” Right now they were emotion-based and uncontrollable.

“How does the red witch flex her claws?”

I glared. “And speaking of disgusting things that repel me, how long am I going to suffer those nightmares? Can you look into the future?
Why
do I see her?”

Though I had no interest in fighting Death, I was almost tempted to face the witch. Then the nightmares would end—one way or another. “Matthew?”

He began staring at one of his hands. Subject closed.

So I posed the same question I'd been asking for days, “Can you please just tell me if Jackson and Selena were together?”

“You'll find out soon enough,” he answered in a testy tone.

Baffling answers from the king of cryptic!

“You're thinking of him, and you haven't even heard the card,” Matthew said.

“What card?” I asked, beginning to prepare our lunch. In other words, I pulled out a squished energy bar from my pocket to halve with him. My stomach was already growling for it.

“Nearby. Don't look at
this
hand. But you can't hear him because of Dee-vee-oh.”

“Why would I
want
to hear the voices? I don't know this new card, don't feel an attachment to any of them but you. I
hate
the voices.”

“Then you'll die, with their gloating whispers in your ear.”

“Matthew, that was . . . harsh.” And eerie. It was times like this when I realized how little I truly knew about this boy.

“Death is expecting you,” he said for the umpteenth time.

“Then he'll have a damned long wait!” I snapped. The mere mention of that knight set me off. “Death schooled those other Arcana, and they were strong, united. Even committed to each other,” I added, remembering Joules's howl of grief. “I will never face him. Get it out of your head, because it will never happen.
Never.
”

Silence groaned between us, cold seeping into the van.

Regretting my tone with him, I tamped down my irritation and changed the subject. “If we're going to have this cold and fog, maybe we could actually get some rain, too.”

Matthew shot upright, eyes wild. “No, no, no! Never say that! Take it back!” He clasped my shoulder, squeezing
hard
.

“I take it back! You're hurting me!”

“You don't want rain!” His gaze darted, his expression horrified. “The rain is worse.”

“How can that be?”

He yelled,
“WORSE!”
His voice boomed in the confines of the van, paining my ears. “For
you
. For us! Can't be stopped though.” He released me, looking wounded, his face leached of color. “Why would you hope for hell, Evie?”

“I-I'm sorry.” This was the first time he'd ever frightened me. I kept thinking of him as childlike, and he was in some ways. But he was also volatile, and as strong as a full-grown man. “What does the rain do, Matthew?” Was precipitation even possible anymore? Surely if there was fog . . .

“The game changes. Not in our favor,” he whispered. “We grow so weak. They grow so strong.”

“Who?”

“All our foes laugh
now
. But once the sun hides? You've never known terror, not like you will when the rains come.”

I shivered from cold—and fear. “I need more of an explanation. Matthew, I need you to clarify these things to me.”

“You're not ready. You listen poorly. We sit inside this van—because
you listen poorly
! We are behind, with rain on the horizon.”

“Okay, okay, but I'm ready to listen better now. Tell me what we should be doing. What do
you
think we should do? I want to know.”

“Too late. Our capture starts soon.”

“C-capture?”

“We need the card in the cage.”

Glancing up through the windshield, I asked, “What are you talking . . .” My words trailed off, my heart dropping.

In the wafting mist, a ragtag group of militiamen—all armed to the teeth—stalked closer.

Like a hunting party.

“Matthew, you follow me now,” I whispered as I strapped on my bag and crawled to the back doors of the van. “Grab the machete. We've got to slip out,
quietly
.” I cracked open one door, wincing as the hinges groaned—

Three shotguns were pointed at my face.

“Looky what we found,” the leader of our captors announced as he shoved Matthew and me through the crowd in their camp.

On the long trek here, I'd determined that he was as dentally challenged as he was odor-enhanced. Apparently this entire encampment was.

These militiamen were what Jackson would call
cou rouge
.

Because they were seriously red of the neck.

During our capture, Matthew hadn't fought whatsoever. In fact, as they'd snared my wrists with those plastic zip ties, he'd put his hands behind him, making it easier for them to bind.

I hadn't
wanted
him to resist—we'd been surrounded by aimed rifles—but maybe he could have made a show of displeasure?

We'd been abducted, our van looted,
my
bag ransacked. The leader had stolen all my jewelry and whiskey bottles, tossing the rest.

Now as the head Cou Rouge maneuvered us through the camp, I kept my eyes open for Jackson and Selena—and tried to ignore the way men stood when I passed, ogling me with lecherous eyes.

They all seemed to have winter-weather gear, though many of their jackets sported what looked like bullet holes. I frowned. Bloody ones—often in the back.

My lips parted with realization. Bullet holes from where they'd gunned down their victims, then stripped their clothes.

“She smells good enough to eat,” one man said as he grabbed his crotch.

I shuddered with revulsion, so tempted to try my claws. They could easily slice through those ties. Matthew had once told me they could even cut through metal.

But then what? These men had guns. I was a slow runner, and I'd never leave Matthew behind.

I'd probably end up cutting myself anyway. And what would I do if dead grass sprouted green under my drops of blood?

Cou Rouge marched us past numerous RVs with their generators humming, scores of tents, and vehicles of all kinds. Cookout fires abounded, with men barbecuing what looked like small mammals. Despite the circumstances, the smell of grilled meat made my mouth water.

I also spotted plastic cans of gas everywhere. I'd decided this militia was rich with fuel—even before I saw an actual
tanker
. They safeguarded it in the center of the encampment like a golden idol.

And that wasn't all. Near the tanker was a raised cistern, its iron sides dripping.
Filled with water.

Cou Rouge stopped before an improvised jail cell, a cage made from wooden packing crates nailed together. Only one boy was within. At least Jackson and Selena remained free.

Shoving Matthew and me inside, Cou Rouge padlocked the door and posted three guards. “Don't be leavin' this spot,” he ordered them. “Not for any reason.”

The other prisoner was around our age, with freckles on his nose and chin-length dirty-blond hair.
This
boy was the card in the cage I was supposed to be listening for? The one we'd needed to find? He seemed so
unremarkable
.

“ 'S'up,” he said mildly as we sat on the cold, ashy ground. “Name's Finneas. Call me Finn. . . .” He trailed off as he stared at me, then Matthew.

He was seeing our tableaus; I knew because I was beholding his. For a split second, Finn was clad in a red robe, holding a wand to the sky while pointing to the ground with his other hand. On a table before him lay a pentagram, a chalice, a sword, and a cane. A bed of roses and lilies grew at his feet, vines trailing above.

—Don't look at
this
hand, look at
that
one.—
Then his call grew silent. Was he hearing ours?

And was the boy associated with plants in some way? Matthew's card also had a flower on it, a white rose!

Of course, so had Death's card—an emblem on the black flag he carried.

While I was blinking, regaining my focus, Finn said, “Whoa. I think I just had an acid flashback.” He sounded as if he belonged on a beach in Cali.

“I-I'm Evie. This is Matthew.” I indicated him with a jerk of my chin.

Matthew met his gaze and said, “Card. Arcana. Secrets. Card.”

“Whatever, dude.”

“Um, Finn, I couldn't help but notice that you seem really calm.”

Matthew, too, looked unaffected by our predicament. He began inspecting the grain on one of the boards.

“I am calm, blondie.”

“Even though these men are probably slavers or cannibals?”

“Nah, homeowners' association gone awry.”

I frowned at his flippant tone. “What do they want with us?”

“They're going to use me and your weird companion here as cistern diversion.”

“I don't understand.”

“Bagman bait. The woods around here are thick with Baggers. At dusk, they advance on that cistern in this big wave of creep—unless live meat runs past and distracts them. Then the hicks pick them off. Oh, and while we're out running for our lives, you're going to be married off to, like,
all
of this militia.
Mazel tov.
”

Dread swept over me—for both Matthew and myself. “H-how many soldiers are there?”

“Hundreds.”

“Hundreds?”
Even if Jackson managed to figure out what happened to us, I didn't know if we
could
be rescued.

“They're just waiting for nightfall. Then you're s.o.l., sister. There's only one other chick in the entire camp. But she's the chief redneck's daughter, so they consider her off-limits, kind of a Smurfette situation.” He exhaled, grinning up at the slats of the cage roof. “
Smoking
body on that one—but shy a few teeth. Still, I'd do Hickette with a flag over her face.”

“Excuse me?”

Matthew chuckled. “Do her for his country.”

“Matthew!” I cried, frowning at him. I'd thought of him as more . . . innocent.

Finn laughed with him, the two of them apparently fast friends.

Ugh. Teenage boys! Jackson had told me I didn't understand them. I realized then that I probably never would. “You two are joking around, not concerned about this at all.”