by Kresley Cole
I told him, “Fais gaffe à toi.” Watch out for yourself.
Jackson’s gaze cut to me, and I saw some emotion flicker there before he masked it.
As I watched him stride off, crossbow ready, I wondered yet again what was going on in that head of his. We hadn’t spoken since I’d kissed him. Did he still regret kissing me back?
After that night, I’d thought he was done with me, but I kept catching him staring at me. Sometimes his expression was filled with bitterness, as if I’d wronged him. But on the whole, his looks hadn’t been as withering, more . . . troubled.
Like he was trying to bring to light an unsettling mystery.
On the way to the cabin, he inspected the small barn. It must’ve gotten the all-clear, because no one got shot. Then into the cabin . . .
Please be safe, please be safe.
Not long after, I saw smoke curling from the chimney. My knees went weak with relief—and excitement. He was safe, and we’d have a real roof, a real fire.
Finn said, “I can disguise the smoke.”
Selena shook her head. “No need. We’re up in the clouds. Which J.D. knows, or he wouldn’t have lit it.”
He emerged from inside. With a chin jerk, he indicated for us to join him.
Self-respect flew out the window, and we ran for it like it was a friendly country’s border.
Though dusty inside, the snug little cabin had a bed, a wooden bathtub, and now a fire in its potbelly stove. We’d passed a full rain barrel on our way in. A dented pot hung above the stove. Cords of wood had been stacked alongside one wall by some owner who’d never returned. Put all that together . . .
Hot. Bath. I even had a travel-size bottle of shampoo and body wash.
This was such a bonanza, such a turnaround from our usual circumstances, that I was paranoid—like this cabin would slip from my grasp, running off to join the circus or something.
“Rock-paper-scissors decides who gets the first bath,” I announced, but it was only between Finn, Selena, and me. Matthew was too psychic to play—he’d settled into one of the rocking chairs on the front porch—and Jackson wasn’t interested.
“Goan grouse hunting,” he said, setting off without another word. His tone and demeanor said, And I’m goan by myself.
The odds of him finding grouse were so slim I considered telling him to keep an eye out for yeti while he was at it.
Selena gazed after him with a concerned look, reminding me that Jackson might not come back at all.
For days, she’d been pining for him. It was so obvious. At first I’d been irritated, but then I’d put myself in her shoes. When Finn had tricked her, she’d thought that Jackson had chosen her. That her dream had come true. In her mind, she’d experienced his arms around her.
How strange for her, to be traveling with the boy she’d thought she’d kissed—and also with the boy who’d deceived her.
Now that everyone seemed to hate Selena, I was starting to feel sorry for her, even after the shit she’d dealt my way. Days ago, I’d realized nobody wanted to be a monster—yet that was how we were treating her.
Though she’d tried to draw Jackson into conversation again and again, he’d continued to ignore her, as if he couldn’t even hear her. With his hood over his head, he’d trudged on, seeming lost in thought. He hadn’t committed to anything.
I was past caring. I was.
Don’t think about him. I planned to make the most of this windfall of water—and time—to wash the ash away. Sometimes I felt like that ash was becoming a part of me, obscuring me, just as it had overcome Haven House, my home in Louisiana.
When I won the first round with the bathtub, Selena rolled her eyes. But she did sit outside with Matthew, settling in to whittle arrows. Finn ambled toward the barn, sourcing for supplies.
I shut the door and turned to my task. How hard could it be to boil bathwater? I’d watched an episode of Little House on the Prairie once. Ergo: Let’s do this bitch.
Four burn wounds and an hour later, I was lowering myself into the little tub, waist-deep water steaming around me. Bubbles from my bath wash pillowed over the surface. If my blistered feet hadn’t been stinging as they regenerated, I’d have sworn I was dreaming.
And if I hadn’t felt dread over Jackson’s leaving.
In front of the crackling fire, I soaped and rinsed my hair, reflecting on the last week.
Each day we’d hauled ass away from the Bagmen, but were forced each night to hide out. The Baggers did just the opposite, eating up the miles every night before dawn drove them into the ground, a thought that still gave me chills.
Our stop-start race had gone on for days. We were strung out on too little sleep.
I’d been constantly wary, unable to relax for a second. And I was still weakening. Yes, my blisters were regenerating, but more slowly. I’d figured out that since my skin returned to its state prior to any injury, I would never build up calluses.
Which meant I’d always have blisters. Beauty.
I wasn’t the only one who was wary. As a huntress, Selena always seemed hyper-aware, but now she was completely on edge. Each morning she would backtrack to scout the Baggers behind us. Yesterday, she’d told us, “Their numbers are still growing. They must be absorbing any stragglers they come across.” It was like a snowball, amassing size through contact with more snow. If that horde caught us . . .
Finn too grew antsier, but he was more like an addict coming off gear. What would happen if he didn’t pull a trick soon?
When we’d first met, he’d been a fun-loving jokester. Now he was always nervous—insisting on checking and rechecking our map to make sure we didn’t sidle too close to the mines.
He was over Selena, hadn’t spoken more than a few words to her, and he seemed determined to get Jackson and me back together, as if he was the sole cause of the dissension between me and the Cajun.
Good luck. I feared this was past even the power of magic.
Matthew had grown increasingly withdrawn, often gazing at Jackson with a speculative look. I had difficulty getting the boy to eat, and he was no longer making any sense in conversations.
If I asked him if his head was hurting him, he’d answer, “Beware the Touch of Death.” One night he’d torn at his hair, screaming, “Water! Water!” I’d scrambled to get him my canteen before he hurt himself, but he’d chucked it away.
Surprisingly, Jackson had been the one to calm Matthew down. As if he were talking to a spooked horse, Jackson had said, “Whoa, boy, tracasse-toi pas. Prend-lé aisé.” Don’t you worry. Take it easy
Whenever I could catch a couple of hours of sleep, I’d had more dreams of Death, all set in that same desert, all of that same encounter. With his hand reaching ever closer to me, I would scent the burning sands and his sweat-lathered horse. In the last dream, I’d looked up at the sky, and through my tears I’d seen the Judgment Card circling above.
Death had popped into my head less and less. I guessed he’d gotten busy or something. Right now my mind was blissfully free of him. . . .
Fauna’s three wolves continued to stalk us, their eyes gleaming in the darkness, like freaking cartoon fossa. But they never moved in enough for us to get a good look at them.
Yesterday, Fauna’s Arcana call—Red of tooth and claw!—had begun to echo louder than all others. Which meant she was finally within striking distance.
When would she make her move? Why not attack with her beasts?
My sense of foreboding grew. The stress of our situation was nearly unbearable. Wolves flanked us, Bagmen pursued, and we were skirting close to subterranean cannibals.
To top it off, the constant faint drizzle of rain was so irritating. Despite Matthew’s warnings, I almost wished it would pound down from the sky. Now it was like someone was poking your arm, going, “Nyeh, nyeh, nyeh.”
Jackson’s behavior kept me on edge as well. He’d begun doing little things, considerate things. Like starting this fire in the stove without staying to enjoy i
t.
And two nights ago, in the group’s makeshift shelter, he’d moved some branches from the ground by his side. So I’d sit beside him? Or just to bolster our windbreak?
Yes, he’d helped me calm down Matthew. To keep the boy quiet from Bagmen? Yesterday on the trail, I’d seen him slip Matthew half of an energy bar. When I smiled at him, Jackson had scowled as if he’d been caught doing something stupid.
This morning, he’d begun something new. Several times he’d opened his mouth as if he were about to speak, then abruptly closed it—much like he had when we’d been in school together. He’d also remained close to me throughout the day.
Maybe he was softening toward me because I hadn’t gone Empress in days? Or maybe I was searching for signs that weren’t there.
I missed him, my chest aching when I remembered the pair of us on the road together. How the two of us, as different as we were, had begun to grow closer.
I’d just put my head in my hands when I heard someone bounding up the porch steps.
From outside, Finn said, “Uh, Evie’s in there, dude— OW! What the hell, Cajun?” Finn sounded like he was holding his nose.
Had Jackson just hit him?
“You ever make yourself look like me again,” Jackson grated, “and I’ll give you more than a tap next time, me. Compris?”
Why this sudden anger, days later?
“Yeah, cool,” Finn said thickly. “Kind of been expecting this.”
“Now, all of you get scarce. The barn’s awaiting.”
Jackson was coming in here? I’d never have time to reach my clothes. Shit! I ducked down in the tub, draping my arms over my breasts, hoping the suds covered everything lower. . . .
10
The door burst open. Jackson stood in the doorway, dripping from rain.
I was so stunned by the intent look in his eyes that it took me a second to sputter, “O-out! Now!”
As if I hadn’t spoken, he entered, shutting the door behind him, tossing his bow and backpack on the table. He shook out his hair like an animal, sending pinpricks of cool water across my face and arms. Black locks whipped across his handsome face.
“What the hell are you doing?”
He removed his jacket and hung it on a rickety chair to dry in front of the fire. “We’re goan to talk.” He dragged out another chair, sinking his tall frame into it, his gaze leisurely roaming over me.
“Get—out—now!”
“You doan like me here? Then you’re welcome to stand up and walk out.”
I darted a glance at my clothes. I’d set out a clean outfit—jeans, a sweater, an almost-matching bra and panty set. The bra was red silk, the undies pink lace; close enough. Unfortunately, they were a good five feet away.
I cast him a baleful look, tightening my arms over my chest. “What do you want to talk about that can’t wait? You haven’t said more than a few words in days. Then when I’m enjoying my first hot bath in forever, you get chatty?”
“This way I know you ain’t goan anywhere. And we got a lot to chat about, you and me.” All his cockiness firmly in place, he said, “You’re in love with me.”
Be cool, Evie, don’t let on. “Ahhh, now I see. You found crack out in the woods, didn’t you? Seasoned with bath salts?”
My answer didn’t appear to insult him; in fact, he seemed encouraged by it. “Nah, just some of this.” He pulled a mason jar of clear liquid out of his backpack.
He’d scored moonshine? “You’re like a bloodhound for liquor.”
He took a sip from it, then leered over me with a drunken grin. “Um, um, UM, Evie.”
I sank lower in the tub. Were the bubbles dissolving? “Why don’t you go enjoy that someplace else?”
“Been doing a lot of thinking, figured out some stuff, but I still got questions, me.”
I’d been wondering when, and if, this would come. But I never would have expected it during bath time. “This can’t wait?”
“We ain’t leaving here till we get something settled.” He shook his head hard, seeming determined to talk to me—and to keep his gaze from wandering again. “Like we should’ve done at Finn’s before you ran out on me, stealing his truck to get away from me.”
“And you know why.”
“Ouais.” Yeah. “You thought you saw me and Selena goan at it and you couldn’t handle it.”
“You’re not going to make me feel guilty about this. I believed my own eyes. And you’d just yelled at me: ‘I am done with you!’ I took your words to heart.”
“I was drunk and pissed off that you wouldn’t trust me enough to tell me what was goan on with you. I’m still pissed.”
“And still drunk as well.”
He didn’t deny it.
“In any case, seeing you with Selena—”
“It wasn’t me!”
“—isn’t the only reason I left.”
“I know your other reason. Coo-yôn said you were afraid you were goan to poison me or get me killed by Death, or something.” He waved that away.
“Matthew told you that?”
Breezing past my question, he said, “Which just proves my point. You doan want anything to happen to me. Because you got it bad for me, peekôn.”
My face flushed, the truth laid bare.
“You got it even worse than you let on that night at Finn’s. You remember our little talk?”
“Of course I remember. I wasn’t chugging whiskey like a marooned sailor at the island oasis.” Jackson had talked about starting a life with me—on one condition. “You said I had to give up my quest to find my grandmother. When I told you I couldn’t, you broke up with me.”
“I didn’t break up with you, no. I just shot my mouth off because I was frustrated. Never met a fille so frustrating as you.”
How odd to be having this conversation when I was dressed in disappearing suds.
“I’ve been going over my options.” He raised a forefinger. “Ignore my every survival instinct and stick around some kids who are out to kill each other. Some real sick ones, too.” He raised a second finger. “Or leave and go after the Army of the Southeast, get my revenge.”
Jack and his adopted sister Clotile had been in that army. Only one of them had made it out alive.
“What was your decision?”
“Still here, ain’t I?”
“What swayed you? And why now? It isn’t like you’ve learned something new to change your mind, not since you informed me that I’m not right,” I said pointedly. Unless he had . . . No. That suspicion was too humiliating even to contemplate.
“Like I said, I figured some stuff out on my own.”
“Look, Jackson, say I did have feelings for you. That was before I realized you could never accept my nature. You saw me and freaked out.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I doan freak out, no. I think I’ve handled this pretty damn well. If you’d shown me that shit before, instead of springing it on me—”
“That shit saved my life.”
“From what I understand, it also led you to a madman. The Alchemist, non?”
Touché. “You treated me like a leper when you saw my abilities.”
He shot to his feet, pacing, and took another swig. “You expect me to get it right the first time every time!”
“Get what right?”
“My reactions, my words, everything. I ain’t goan to. I saw something I’ve never seen before, and I reacted.”
“With the sign of the cross? Really, Jack?”
“I’m a Catholic boy, me. And the sweet girl I knew had just slaughtered some kid and looked mighty pleased about it. It was like you were possessed by a demon or something!” He shook his head. “You expect me to be perfect.”
“It hurt, Jackson. Okay?” I pulled my knees to my chest, sloshing water.
As if helpless not to, he glanced down, seeming enthralled with my movements.
But he jerked his gaze up when I cried, “It broke my heart! I’d just gone through the most horrific event
in my life. I needed you, but you were disgusted with me.” My eyes pricked with tears. “I needed you!”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Does it count for nothing that . . . that I’m trying to handle all this?”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have to try so hard. Come on, we have problems that extend past the game. We’re always fighting, always on a different page. I can count on one hand the number of times we’ve had a civil conversation. Most of the time I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours.”
“What you want to know?” He sank down in the chair again, resting his elbows on his knees. “You want me to talk out my feelings? Goddamn it, how do I even start?”
I blinked in surprise. He wasn’t being a smart-ass. He was genuinely baffled how to do this. And why shouldn’t he be? Where would he have learned how to discuss his thoughts and emotions?
Not from his mother. She hadn’t even been able to feed Jackson as a boy, much less teach him to talk about things that bothered him. From his dad? The man had washed his hands of his son.
It was a wonder Jackson was as decent as he was. I remember how he’d admitted that he didn’t know how to behave with me. You can teach me how to court you. ’Cause I doan know my way around that.
He was trying. And how should I help him with this? Offer advice? Use your words, Jack.
“You spring this shit on me, then within days you expect me to get over the fact that my girlfriend ain’t exactly human!”
I didn’t know what bewildered me more—the girlfriend or the human part.
“Damn it, Evie, you been to my house, you saw how I lived. Can’t you understand why I hate surprises? Why I doan like it when people live secret lives?”
Maybe we were too different. “Too much has happened. And you’ve been hideous to me for days.”
“I was angry because I didn’t understand any of this. I doan like things I doan understand. And that morning in Requiem, just when I was trying to come to terms with this, I returned—right as you were about to cut that Irish kid’s throat.”
“He attacked us, after I tried to call a truce.”
“I get that people are gonna be hurt. I understand the program—hell, I wrote the program on people getting hurt, well before the Flash. But when I saw you liked it . . .”
