Book 1 - Page 43 (1/2)

She’d meted out retribution to most of them, all but these sailors. When she recalled the smell of her burning flesh, she waved her hand once more.

The ropes of green slapped across the decks, crus.h.i.+ng the masts, bludgeoning men. Blood pooled on the decks, pouring along the s.h.i.+ps’ gutters. Thick cascades of crimson splashed the sea in a froth of pink bubbles.

As the plants coiled around the s.h.i.+ps like giant tentacles, cracking the vessels in half, sailors plunged into the water.

More of her allies awaited them, slithering around their ankles, jerking them down. The witch tormented the men, dunking them under, then allowing them an exquisite taste of air, a chance to scream, a second to reach for the indifferent sun—before dragging them to the deep.

She didn’t stop until all were slain.

By the time the sea stilled once more, it was stained red.

When the witch returned to sh.o.r.e, Death inclined his head regally, then spurred his pale mount, leaving her.

She turned back to gaze over her handiwork. In the perfect stillness of the blood-slicked sea, the witch spied her reflection. Staring back at her was . . .

Me. I shot awake, out of breath. It’d been my reflection. Mine!

Shuddering, I darted my gaze around the firelit cabin. Just a dream, just a nightmare. I hadn’t been there. It hadn’t been me annihilating an entire village.

Matthew dozed beside me. Selena and Finn slept across the room. One of Finn’s hands rested on a lock of her hair.

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 s.h.i.+vered.

Why didn’t Selena have to deal with s.h.i.+t 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 gla.s.s 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 s.h.i.+ps 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, s.h.i.+mmering 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 s.h.i.+ps . . . ?

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, G.o.d, 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 ident.i.ty.

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 stas.h.i.+ng 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.”