Book 1 - Page 41 (1/2)

Cou Rouge shrugged. “Suit yourself.” His finger tightened on the trigger.

Oh dear G.o.d, he was about to shoot, and Jackson couldn’t stop it, I couldn’t do anything—

The man pulled the trigger. Click. Nothing. Click. Nothing.

Empty?

Cou Rouge gaped at his gun, then at Jackson, at the chilling expression on the boy’s face.

The same look I’d seen that night in his house, the one promising pain; now it seemed multiplied by a thousand.

I was seeing how much Jackson was about to savor the pain he promised.

Cou Rouge gave a whimper just before Jackson lunged forward, one of his brutal fists connecting with the man’s jaw.

The man went down from a single hit, limp. But Jackson hauled him back up, beating him more, seeming mindless with rage. “Only want the girl?” Another blow shattered the soldier’s nose. “Worst thing you could ever have said!”

“Jackson!” I cried. “Please, let’s go!”

The man’s face grew unrecognizable, shapeless, and still Jackson beat him. I wasn’t witnessing a fight, or a rescue. I was beholding punishment.

A sentence.

When Matthew casually trotted back for me, catching my arm, Jackson yelled, “Get her out of here! I’m right behind.”

“Come with us, please!” I screamed as Matthew forced me away. “Nooo, Matthew! Go grab him!”

Matthew chuckled at that, then shoved me forward.

“Go back, go back!”

He just continued squiring me through a minefield of explosions, brawls, and Bagmen, maneuvering me in different directions.

One time he yanked me back against his chest—just as a bullet whizzed past, missing us by inches. A few seconds later, he palmed my head, shoving me to my knees, and I heard some kind of shrapnel whistle directly above me.

I realized he was seeing a maze of present and future, a web of occurrences visible only to him.

As if he were fate itself. . . .

Still I begged him to go back for Jackson—until I spied soldiers pursuing us.

By the time we’d spotted Selena at the edge of the charred woods, dozens of militiamen were on our trail, calling for their comrades to “Get the girl!”

Selena intercepted them, with two rifles tucked against her sides. She blasted away at them, allowing Matthew and me to dive into a nearby ditch for cover.

A handful of shots sang over our heads, then stopped abruptly. From their shouts, it seemed our pursuers had realized Selena was a she, and ordered a cease-fire.

Selena didn’t follow that order. When they took up positions in a gully opposite us, she emptied her guns at them. Then she dropped into the ditch with us.

As the soldiers decided what to do—they couldn’t risk two females by storming us—Selena snapped, “Where the h.e.l.l is J.D.? d.a.m.n it, there was one person I wanted to see come out of the camp. Not you two.”

I cried, “He wouldn’t come with us!”

“And you took no for an answer? I would’ve made him come with me! You’re not good enough . . .” She trailed off, her attention seized by something beyond our makes.h.i.+ft bunker.

I turned to find Finn strolling past the rednecks to hop down with us. “Yo.”

I found my voice first. “You just . . . walked right by them?”

With a c.o.c.ky air, he brushed off one shoulder, then the other. “Told you I was a magician.” Then to Selena, he said, “Finn’s my name. Getting you back to my pad’s the plan. You just tell me when this stalemate gets old, because I can seriously change this channel.”

Selena didn’t seem nearly as shocked as I was. She merely patted her bow and said, “As can I.”

“You think you can take out more than I can?” Finn scoffed. “You’re on.”

Should I point out the obvious? “Kid, you don’t have a weapon.”

He chucked me under the chin. “Not to worry, sugart.i.ts, I got this.”

With a roll of her eyes, Selena charged up the rise, her bowstring singing.

Finn followed, and began to . . . whisper to the rednecks?

The sound of Selena’s archery was uncanny. In the smoke and confusion, I peeked up over the ridge and saw her shooting arrows with an impossible speed.

A supernatural speed.

Her skin was glowing with that blood-tinged hue—like a hunter’s moon.

Beside her, Finn raised his hands, softly chanting in a language I’d never heard. His breaths seemed to be searing, as if he were diffusing the air with heat. I perceived power, and he was directing it at our attackers.

The shooters he addressed stumbled on their feet, looking as dumbfounded as I felt, because the soldiers beside them now resembled Bagmen.

The rednecks began murdering their own comrades.

Somehow Finn was making these men look like their enemies.

And his ability seemed like the most natural thing in the world. I needed to witness this, needed to reach the memories that felt just on the verge of surfacing.

As Selena picked off stragglers, she winked at Finn; he grinned back. They accepted their powers, readily accepted such abilities in others.

“Arcana,” Matthew murmured at my ear.

“Yes,” I breathed. “This is real? Not another vision?”

“Real.”

I possessed abilities. These three kids did as well. Matthew had his live-streaming foresight, Selena could run and shoot like a G.o.ddess of the hunt, Finneas could create illusions.

And me? I smelled my own rose scent steeping the air—so lovely, almost intoxicating. I glanced down to find my claws had flared.

Matthew cast me a relieved look. “Thorns.”

“I can go help Jackson, fight with him!”

He shook his head firmly. “You don’t attack. You await, you beckon.”

Beckon?

Come, touch, but you’ll pay a price. I remembered the witch’s besotted admirer. She’d beckoned him.

The admirable deviousness of briars I’d once admired? Was that guile mine as well?

I heard a twig snap behind us and whirled around.

Matthew was staring at the end of a rifle, the barrel just inches from his face.

I glanced up at the slavering soldier who brandished it. I didn’t dare think he would run out of bullets too. He would capture me and kill Matthew. I had to stop him!

“Beckon, Empress,” Matthew whispered.

And then . . . I did.

I raised a trembling, delicate hand to the man, palm up. A fragile lotus bloomed directly from my skin, right before his riveted gaze. I blew him a kiss across its petals—and the rifle dropped, abandoned.

Because the soldier was clamping his neck, face gone bright red from the spores closing his throat and robbing his lungs of air.