This Wicked Fate (This Poison Heart #2)(69)

“This cannot be happening,” she said angrily. She stomped ahead, and as the trees thinned, we found ourselves on the beach again, this time on the opposite side of the island.

Marie let out a string of choice words while Persephone simply looked up at the sky and closed her eyes.

“Well, obviously this isn’t it,” I said. “Let’s turn around and go back in at another angle.”

I clenched my jaw and tried to quiet the voice in my head that reminded me this was yet another setback, another waste of our precious time.

Persephone walked the length of the beach, looking up and down the shore. I wasn’t gonna throw a fit, but I felt like screaming, like crying. The frustration was so overwhelming it made my chest ache. I kicked the sand with the tip of my sneaker and struck something solid. A chunk of wood stuck up out of the ground. I grabbed it and dusted it off, then scanned the beach to discover that it was littered with chunks of similar debris. I wondered how many ships had sunk off these hidden shores and how many of the pieces now scattered there belonged to the ship Karter was on.

As we prepared to head back into the woods, I glanced behind me for a moment and wondered what could be lurking in the water on that side of the island that was powerful enough to not just sink a ship, but reduce it to pieces small enough to fit in my hand. I half expected to see some kind of tentacled beast lumber up onto the shore. Remembering that this was not out of the realm of possibility, I quickly turned and followed Circe back into the forest.

We kept a good pace, making sure to watch for signs that anyone else had been there recently. Four people had made it to shore, and I was certain Karter was one of them. If they weren’t dead, they were on the island somewhere. Marie stayed close to me, and the plants that surrounded us stayed ready, shifting and rustling in the shadows.

“Stop,” Persephone said. She’d gone ahead of us and now stood motionless in the shadow of a towering oak.

I stopped, midstep, and tried not to breathe.

“There’s something up ahead,” she said. She set down the cage and stalked closer, keeping to the shadows. She disappeared over a small rise and returned a few moments later.

“It’s a house,” she said, picking up the cage. “It’s empty.”

“We should have a look inside,” Circe said.

“Should we?” I asked. I already felt like we weren’t moving fast enough, like we weren’t covering enough ground. I didn’t want to stop.

“We might be able to find something that’ll put us on a more direct path,” Circe said.

Marie took my hand and pulled me forward.

The house was a sprawling stone building set among the bracken that had almost completely overtaken it. It sat in a shallow dip in the landscape. The remnants of some kind of fence or animal pen lay broken all around it, completely overtaken with vines. A broken and crumbling pathway of cut stones led to the threshold of the main building, where a large door might have once stood. It wasn’t a structure that was built at any time in the recent past. It reminded me of the ruins we’d passed on our way to the Great Eye.

Persephone ducked inside and I followed her. The building was remarkably well preserved. A hearth sat to one side of the main room and the stone floor was intact, arranged in a herringbone pattern. Several large clay pots stood against the wall, and the pieces of what must have been wood furniture were scattered throughout. The roof was thatched but was so overgrown with vines that the tendrils had pushed through and spread themselves across the stone walls.

Off the main room was a long hallway with two more rooms, also in good shape for as long as they must have been there. Near the rear of the building, I found myself standing in an apothecary. Circe and Persephone joined me as Marie lingered in the front room.

Stone shelves ran floor to ceiling and clay jars still sat arranged on them, covered in dust, moss, and errant tendrils of star jasmine that had pushed their way through cracks in the outer wall. To the right stood an altar with the crumbling remains of a cloth decaying on top of it. On the wall directly above it, painted in faded hues, was the unmistakable image of the Colchis family crest—Hecate and her three faces, the key, the torches, the crown of poison.

Persephone put her hand on Circe’s back to steady her. As I met her gaze her eyes misted over and I slipped my hand in hers.

“They were here,” Circe said, clasping my hand between hers. “Right here, Medea and the original Circe. They stood here and—” She stopped suddenly, her voice choked with emotion.

I understood what it was like to come face-to-face with a part of your past. To feel like you were sharing space with the people who had come before and wondering what they wanted or needed you to do.

“And now we’re here,” I said.

Circe nodded as she stared at the image.

A sudden yelp drew my attention up. Marie walked into the room—backward.

I let go of Circe’s hand and took a step toward her. “What are you doing?”

She stumbled, lost her balance, and fell straight back. She didn’t even try to catch herself. Her head hit the floor with a sickening thud and my heart leaped into my throat.

“Marie?” I quickly knelt at her side. Her eyes rolled backward until only the whites showed under her half-closed lids.

Shouting from the hall cut through the air. Persephone and Circe both buckled at the knees. Circe fell into a heap as Persephone grabbed the stone shelf to try and hold herself up. Jars tumbled down and broke against the floor, scattering their contents all around.