Poison Princess (50 page)

“I don't accept that, don't accept my part in this war.” When Matthew looked to argue, I cried, “No one can force me to fight!”

“You will
want
to, you will
need
to. There's a heat in battle. It's your nature.”

“I will ask Jackson for his help—”

“Not a card.”

“—and once we've gotten this disease under control, we'll run together. You can run with us, Matthew. Surely you don't want to go to war!”

“Jack versus Death? Who wins? You might survive, I might, Luna might, Finn might.”

“That's why we'll run where Death can't find us.”

“He sees you even now. He listens to every word you say, every thought that drifts through your mind. No escaping him.”

“I don't believe that I'm locked into this, that I'm trapped through no actions of my own.”

“You can't control your powers. Lady Lotus made us sleep last night. Any longer? Jack sleeps forever.”

“What are you talking about?”

In a sly tone, Matthew murmured, “Lotus. Sleep forever and ever.”

“No,” I whispered, even as I remembered my nightmare. The villagers had lain down, falling unconscious. When I'd awakened, Jackson had been out cold. Had I released some kind of spore in my sleep? “Ah, God, I did
that
?”

When I'd come upon Jackson in that window seat, I'd mused that he looked so handsome—and he'd been on the verge of dying because of me! “Then why won't you help me control my powers?”

“Oh, you'll learn.
Soon.
”

I shook my head hard. “I owe this to Jackson. I'm going to warn him about the danger. If he still wants to be with me, I'll do whatever it takes to protect him from other Arcana. From myself. But he has to know.”

It's only fair,
I reasoned, though I felt my hopes for our future plummeting.

“A storm on the horizon,” Matthew said ominously. “And we're already behind. They laugh at us. They
should
.”

“Then let them laugh,” I snapped. “I'll be back.”

As I walked into the hall, I thought he muttered,
“Good-bye, Evie,”
but I kept going.

Passing another guest room, I heard a groan from inside. Gasping, scuffling? Had a Bagman gotten in? A militia soldier?

Claws going sharp, I opened the door. . . .

Couldn't believe my eyes.

Bile rose in my throat.

With his strong, protective arms wrapped tight around Selena, Jackson was kissing her for all he was worth.

DAY 246 A.F.
REQUIEM, TENNESSEE

“What better way to shut those thoughts down than with another girl?” Evie asks softly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

We sit in silence as I wait for her to compose herself. I could use a moment as well. So many things she's said have perplexed me, making my head ache. My focus grows hazy. Just as she has striven to resurrect memories, so too have I.

I crave one of my elixirs, though it's not nearly time for one.

“As I slipped away, I realized that Jackson
had
warned me.”

“So
he
is the one who hurt you.”

“I don't blame him. He asked for so little from me. And Selena will never harm him with uncontrollable powers. She'll protect him. I believe that she loves him.”

Though I'm running out of patience, I want to hear about the last two days, want some questions answered. “What happened after you found the two of them kissing?”

She flinches at my words. She might not blame the Cajun, but deep down, she still feels betrayed.

She's about to know more betrayal.

“I . . . I . . .” She frowns, seeming surprised to have lost her train of thought. Right on schedule. With just ten more minutes of tape left. “So I . . . scribbled a note to Jackson, telling him that I had to continue, that I hoped he would be happy with Selena. I asked him to please look out for Matthew, to explain to the boy that it's safer for everyone this way. For some reason, I'm convinced Jackson will protect him.”

“How did you get here?” I ask, my tone growing curt. My head is splitting. And her earlier blathering about voices has reminded me of a time before my tonics.

I never want to return to that time of shame—when
other things
divided my laserlike focus.

Before I ruthlessly eliminated the distractions.

Evie presses the heels of her hands against her eyes, rubbing. After blinking several times, she continues, “I stole Finn's truck, figuring that he could easily get another one with his abilities. I drove till it ran out of gas two days ago. Then I just followed the road, hoping I'd find someone who would help me. I-I've been a wreck, Arthur. So confused, crying nonstop.” Her voice grows fainter. “I have never in all my life needed kindness like I did from you today. Thank you.”

No. Thank
you
. “I'm surprised you didn't want to bring Matthew with you.”

“I wanted to so much. But how could I take him away from all of Finn's food and safety? From the promise of security at Selena's? Jackson was right—sending everyone into trouble
was
easy for me to do. Bringing Matthew north would've been selfish.”

I steeple my fingers. “But I thought you had powers now. You could protect him. What about the lotus?”

“It takes so much concentration. I think Matthew helped me with that, helped calm me. But I wouldn't want his life to depend on it.”

Yet another power she can't demonstrate.

She draws her leg up on the chair again, but it slips down. She doesn't repeat the effort. “And I don't
want
to use those powers, not if I risk turning into that witch.”

“Do you really think you can survive in this world on your own?”

“I have to try.”

“An army led by a sadistic family almost ‘enlisted' you, forcing you to burn down your home, with your mother's body inside. Then men who wanted to enslave you wrecked your car, risking your life. That militia caged you so you could be used by hundreds of soldiers.”

She pales, murmuring, “And somehow through all that, I managed to hold on to my . . . my
humanity
. I've kept the balance so far.”

“You believe that's because of Jackson. Now what happens? Your anchor's gone, fled into the arms of another.”

Her eyes water once more, yet she juts her chin. “M-my gran will help me the rest of the way.”

“You're not tempted in the least to embrace your”—pretend—“abilities? So much strength to be tapped?” She can imagine such awesome power all she wants, but it won't change the fact that she has already been defeated. She lost this match hours ago.

Evie told me that her mother's view of the world had gotten rebooted violently. Evie's is about to be as well. The optimistically cheerful girl—who never complains, who wants to be friends with everyone, who still waves at strangers—will disappear this night. One way or another.

“I can't embrace those abilities, Arthur. I don't think . . . don't think that the good can be separated from the bad . . . risk is too great. I don't
want
to become a killer.”

“How do you know if you've never tried killing?”

“I . . . I'm sorry. What did you ask?” Her head bobs once, but she fights to stay awake.
Defeated.

Thinking about loose ends, I say, “Did you ever remember the answer to that doctor's question? I want to know why you should have rejected your grandmother's teachings.”

“Not yet. Feel like I'm sooo close.”

Alas, you've run out of time.
Now I must make a decision.

Should I keep her as a subject—or a companion? As I gaze at her heavy-lidded blue eyes and her waves of glossy blond hair, I again consider giving her a place in my bed, rather than in the dungeon.

Though she will never leave this house alive, at least she would survive longer than the scholar.

Jackson wanted Evie to teach him to court her; perhaps she could teach me how
not
to kill her.

Or would she be too much of a distraction from my work? I have
never
tolerated distractions.

It is time to decide her destiny, to play God with her future. I ask one last question: “Are you in love with
Jackson
?” Earlier, when she described that kiss with him, I barely quelled the urge to slice off her lips.

Subject or companion, Evie?

She seals her fate when she whispers, “Every time I close my eyes, I see his. Even after what happened . . . Jackson still has my heart.”

Rage boils up inside me. “Not quite, dear. But
I
will have it. I will squeeze it in my hand.”

She can barely keep her head raised. “Hmm?”

“It's time, Evie.” I rise, slipping one of the scalpels from my case.

She squints at it, but the sight doesn't even register in her foggy brain. She slurs, “What's that?”

“A scalpel, which I will use to carve up your pretty face if you don't stand this instant.”

She gasps, opening her eyes wider, shaking her head to clear it.

I have to admit that this is my favorite time with a new capture. I can only imagine the nauseating, sinking sensation as comprehension dawns. That gut-wrenching sense of betrayal.

Then the bone-chilling terror. “Stand. This instant, girl.”

With a cry, she rises on quaking legs, collapses back in her chair, then attempts again. Adrenaline is beginning to pump through her system. She's a touch more alert, but her movements remain sluggish.

“Arthur, wh-what're you doing?”

I snatch her upper arm. “Walk. Now.”

“Oh God, oh God, where are we going?” She shuffles clumsily beside me.

“Into the dungeon.”

“D-dungeon?”
She sways as if she'll faint, but I yank her upright. “Wh-why are you doing this? What'd I do?”

“You entered my lair, as good as offering yourself up to use for my studies, for my . . . experiments. Your body equals knowledge not yet harvested. That is your only value.”

“Experiments?” She sounds like she'll vomit, but I have a powder in the lab to prevent that.

Ever mindful of my corduroys.
“You were doomed as soon as my front door closed behind you. I need you, Evie. My work is everything. I must know everything.”

“Please don't hurt me, Arthur! You heard my story—did I survive all that just for you to . . . hurt me now?”

“You told me lies. All lies! Again and again, I was on the verge of punishing you. You cannot lie on your patient history!”

As I unlock the cellar door, she cries, “What's down there?”

“Below. Now!” I force her down the stairs. She trips, almost pitching into a fall before I catch her.

Once we've made it down to the lab with all my simmering potions, I relish her horrified look. Then I drag her past the plastic sheeting into the dungeon. “Your new home.”

With her pupils the size of dimes, she stares at the other girls, huddling against the walls. “You . . . kidnapped them?” Then she catches sight of the scholar's remains.

Evie tilts her head at the putrefied body, as if she can't reconcile what she's seeing.

Here's the part where comprehension dawns. . . .

Her eyes go blank, her trembling hand shooting up to her mouth.
Realizing that will be you one day?

“Come, Evie, let's get you settled.” I shove her toward the scholar's corner, pointing to the decomposing pile. “Fish out your new collar from that mess.”

She recoils.
“Wh-what?”

“Accept your fate, and you'll live for a time.”

“You don't want to do this to me, Arthur.”

“Retrieve the collar NOW!”
I yell, spraying spittle. The other girls ball up into fetal positions in their nests, all openly crying.

But not Evie. She chokes out one word: “No.”

The other girls whimper, the youngest crying for her mother as usual.

“No?”
With a flick of my wrist, my scalpel will bring my new subject to heel. “Just for saying that to me, I'll cut out your tongue and put it in a jar for you to see every day.” I advance on her, rage clouding my vision.

To herself she whispers,
“Ah, God. I'm lost.”

“Utterly lost! This is the last time you will ever disobey me.” I reach for her with one hand, my scalpel raised in the other—

“Come, Arthur,” I dimly hear her murmur.
“Touch.”

What's this?
She's recited those words before, in her timid girl's voice, but hearing them in this new sultry tone rocks me.

She finishes, “But you'll pay a price.” A streak of movement between us.