This Wicked Fate (This Poison Heart #2)(67)

“No,” the goddess Persephone said. “But there is something equally dangerous. I watched it smash their ship on the rocks. Four survivors came ashore, though I’m uncertain if there were others aboard. Three adults and a young man. They haven’t left. I assume they are dead.”

I struggled to reconcile the sudden dull ache of loss with the anger that coursed through me like poison. If Karter had been on that ship he could be dead now and it didn’t sit right with me. I thought that’s what I wanted—to see him pay for his part in what happened to Mom, but I didn’t feel relief at the possibility that his body could be floating in these cursed waters. I felt only sadness. But if he’d been one of the four who made it to shore he might still be out there, which meant there was still time to find him and make him answer the only question I had—how could he have hurt me and my family like that after everything we’d shared? I didn’t just want revenge, I wanted answers.

The woman gazed back at the tree line. “This place was once barren. Nothing grew here until the original Circe was exiled to this land. What she created was meant for her alone. The only people who have thrived here were people like her, people like Medea and her children. The rest fell victim to the nature of this place. Poison lingers in the air, in the foliage, in the very soil at your feet.” She looked us over. “This will not be a problem for you, but make no mistake—the path is treacherous in ways that no poison could ever measure up to in its ability to change you.”

“So Medea was here,” I said. “She lived here?”

“She did. And she remains here still,” said Persephone. “Her grave is at the very center of the island.”

A hush fell over us and we all turned our gaze to the trees. The gravity of the situation wrapped itself around us like the embrace of wayward vines—our foremother’s remains rested in this place. This was hallowed ground.

“We should get our bags from the ship,” said Circe. “Maybe make a fire?”

I glanced out at the water. “Is it safe for us to be going back and forth? The sirens are still out there.”

“They will stay where they are until morning,” the goddess said. “I’d make sure to retrieve your things well before then.” She turned her back to us and began to walk away.

“Wait,” I said. “You’re leaving? How will we get past them when we leave?”

She turned and glanced over her shoulder. “If you make it back here, I’ll be sure to meet you.” She gave the lyre a little shake and continued on her path until she melded with the shadows at the farthest end of the beach and disappeared.

“They really don’t care about us at all,” I said. “They can just walk away whenever they want and pretend it’s because of some ancient rules. Maybe they just don’t give a shit.”

“She saved us from the sirens,” Circe offered.

“They could do more,” I said. “They’re gods. They can’t help us get where we need to go?”

“I don’t know if they can or if they think what they’ve done already is enough, but all we can really depend on in this moment is one another.” Circe gave me a tight smile. “I think that’s enough.”

Circe and our Persephone made two trips back to the ship to bring ashore our things and the two cages. As Circe set them in the sand the Heart’s pulse ticked up.

Marie made a fire and we spread out blankets in the dry sand above the tide line. The trees behind me groaned and creaked as they leaned toward us. Snakelike offshoots of vines the color of blood slithered out. I reached out to them and they encircled my wrist. A tingling sensation revealed them to be poisonous—deadly. It was somewhere between the toxicity of belladonna and oleander, judging by the amount of cold on my skin. As I recalled the toxic effect of the oleander, images of my mom’s terrified face blazed bright in my head. I shut my eyes, disentangled myself from the vines, and tried to push the thoughts away, but they replayed on a nightmarish loop. A hand rested gently on my shoulder, and I turned to find Marie kneeling at my side.

“I know you’re not okay, so I won’t ask you that,” she said. “But is there anything I can do for you right now? You hungry?”

“A little,” I said. “And I’m still cold.”

Circe and Persephone joined us on the blanket as Marie stoked the flames and the warmth engulfed me. Circe opened a cooler we’d brought along and handed me a water and a sandwich she must have picked up the day before at one of our stops along the coast.

“It’s lamb on rye,” she said. She tossed me a bag of chips.

Marie took one bite, rewrapped it, and tossed it back in the cooler.

“Not up to your high standards?” Persephone teased.

“Taste it,” she said. “Tastes like ass.”

I laughed. “Can’t be that bad.” I took a bite and was immediately proven wrong. “I think it got wet.” The bread was soggy, and the meat had a pinkish tinge that made my stomach turn over.

“Here,” Circe said. She handed me a small vial that contained the shriveled remnants of some kind of leaf. “See what you can do with that.”

I uncorked it and dumped the pieces into my hand. I concentrated as hard as I could, and from my palm sprouted a tangle of pale roots and then the pencil-thin trunk of a small tree. I set it in the sand, knowing it wasn’t the right soil for it to flourish, but it would have to work for now. It pushed up to the night sky, and I sank my fingertips into the sand beneath the short wiry tree with green fruit that darkened the longer I kept my hand near its root. Persea americana. Avocado.