The Arcana Chronicles 3: Dead of Winter

“Then try me now. Tell me what happened that night with my mother.”

“You got to hear this, doan you? To get past it? Then I will. I’ll tell you.” In preparation, he dragged out a bottle from under his cot, refilling his flask.

Suddenly I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear this at all.

17

“Your mère got the idea in her head when you were knocked out from that shotgun blast.”

My one and only time to fire a weapon.

“She couldn’t make it down the stairs, much less out on the road—so she wanted me to take you away, to save you from the Azey. When I pointed out that you’d never leave her, she goes, ‘Not unless I’m dead.’”

As I waited breathlessly, he took his seat once more, flask in hand. “Karen told me, ‘You’re going to help me, son; you just don’t know it yet.’”

Though I’d refused to see the vision of her death, Matthew must’ve given this memory to me. With each of Jack’s words, details of the scene seeped into my consciousness.

I could smell the faint traces of gardenia in my mother’s room, and Jack’s scent: leather, and Castile soap from when he’d washed up that day.

I heard the wheeze in each of Mom’s breaths. Her face was twisted from pain, which she’d hidden from me. I could see the pulse point in Jack’s neck beating as he scrambled away from my mother, telling her he couldn’t help her die. . . .

“No way I’d do that.” His gaze went distant. “No fucking way. But she got this look on her face—like she had steel in her eyes. She promised me she’d slit her own throat with a shard of glass if she had to. And damn, Evie, I believed her.”

My fierce mother would have. “How did you do it?” The words came out as a whisper.

“Between Karen and me, we knew just enough about pills to be dangerous. There used to be a dealer down in the bayou. Before you woke, I rode out and fetched his stash.”

“So during that dinner, both of you knew what was going to happen when I went to bed. I never suspected a thing from your behavior.” Dee-vee-oh.

“I tried to make it nice for her.”

“So she . . . OD’d? There wasn’t”—I swallowed—“you didn’t use a pillow?”

Jack blanched under his bruises. “She asked me to. Dawn was coming, the army with it. And she was afraid you’d wake up before the dose took hold. I asked her to give it time, distracting her with questions about you.”

While I’d slept soundly.

“Christ, I wanted those pills to work, couldn’t imagine hurting her like that. But so much was at stake, I suspect . . . I think I would have. She believed I could, told me so.” He tipped that flask up. “I doan know what that says about her—or me.”

Eyes watering, I surveyed Jack’s face. How haunted he was! My mom had sacrificed everything to save me, but at what cost? She’d used a teenage boy to help her die.

I couldn’t hate him. Just the opposite.

He’d saved my life and ended my mother’s suffering, when I’d been stupidly holding out hope. He’d spared her the horror of a violent passing and stayed with her to the very end.

Matthew’s words: “Whenever he helps, he hurts.”

Jack had helped and been hurt.

I’d so long associated him with grief because of his involvement in her death.

That association faded to nothing.

“In the end, I think the pills took her by surprise. She was looking at that picture of you, her, and your grand-mère. She was half-smiling, half-crying—like she was happy for sixteen years with you, but terrified about your future. No room for her to be afraid for herself, no. I told her I’d take care of you for as long as I could. Then her eyes just . . . slid shut.”

Now I knew. Now I had closure. As Jack had once told me, my mother “died in grace.”

“Evie, what will it take to get you to forgive me?”

I swiped a sleeve over my eyes. “I forgive you. I have no doubt that my mother would’ve done it anyway. Because of you, she went peacefully.” My voice broke. “Because of you, she wasn’t alone.”

“But . . .”

“But I don’t know how I can trust you. You’re really skilled at lying. It’s like an Arcana talent of yours or something.” When Jack had first come to Haven after the Flash, I’d distrusted him fiercely. I felt the same way now.

He shot to his feet, started pacing. “I didn’t want to lie!”

“There’s a pattern. You wanted to look in my journal, so you stole it. You wanted to know about the Arcana, so you listened to my story on that tape. You demand honesty and disclosure from me, but give me neither in return.”

He pinned my gaze with his frenzied one. “I will never lie to you again!”

“How can I believe that?” I cried, standing as well. “Already we have a new unknown between us—what the Lovers did to you.”

“I’ll tell you right now: I got more secrets, me. A whole mess of ’em. And some are goan to the grave with me. You’re just goan to have to accept that.”

If we kept his secrets buried, then couldn’t I bury my own?

No. Not telling him about Aric would be as good as lying. Eventually, I’d have to.

He drew closer, until he was staring down at me. “All my life I’ve dug at mysteries, solved puzzles. If the twins taught me anything, I learned that some things doan need to be known. That they’re even uglier when brought to light.”

The Priestess’s words filtered into my brain. Mysteries brought to light. In a way, she and Jack were similar—

“Do you love me?” His blunt question took me off guard.

Total honesty? I swallowed. “Yes.”

His eyes briefly slid shut. I thought some of his tension would fade, but it redoubled. “Good. Then you’re goan to accept my secrets—and me. Because I can’t keep doing this without you.”

“This?” We were toe to toe, breathing heavily.

“This, Evie. Life after the Flash. Fighting for something better.” He tangled one hand through my hair, cupping my head. “It’s you for me. Or it’s nothing.” Holding me tightly, he slanted his mouth over mine.

A hint of whiskey met my tongue—like a match to dry kindling. Lust slammed into me, as if we’d trained my body to react to that sense memory.

He pulled me even closer against him, coaxing me to kiss back. I’d missed him so much! With a moan I did, wrapping my arms around his neck.