Poison Priestess by Lana Popovic (classic books for 7th graders txt) 📕

and coil her around my wrists, letting the bulk of her body dangle in the precise way Tisiphone abhors. The snake objects at once, tensing against my grip. When I only allow more of her to go slack, she hisses furiously, then rears back and sinks her fangs into the tendons of my left wrist.

I had planned to cry out for effect, but I do not have to feign my scream.

The pain is so piercing, so agonizing and vivid, that for a moment it bursts right through the encroaching gloom gathering in my head. It hurts so badly that I wonder if I was indeed mistaken; if what I feel is the fiery venom of the coral snake coursing through my veins.

If my life is truly coming to an end.

“Catherine!” I hear Adam cry out, his voice faint and tinny in my ears. “Mon Dieu, Catherine!”

Then the darkness closes ranks inside my head, and my last thought before my body strikes the ground is whether I have finally succeeded in damning myself.

EPILOGUE

There is darkness all around me. An impenetrable black, clammy with cold, as if I have already been interred. Am I dead or dreaming? I wonder dully, my mind plucking at the meaning of the word. And if I am dead, where have I landed?

In le paradis, or l’enfer?

I know which one I believe I deserve, and it makes me terribly afraid.

But then I think I hear the chiming of a beloved and familiar voice, and smell the bright scent of citron and sandalwood. It cannot be hell, then, not if Marie is also here.

I turn toward the sound and risk opening my eyes. The gloom around me is so dense that for a horrible, panicked moment, I fear again that I have perished and found myself trapped in purgatory rather than perdition. But as my surroundings drift slowly into focus, I realize that it is only night; real and very earthly night. And that the squalor around me is a familiar one—the sparse and dusty shambles of Marie’s little garret apartment, lit by the few faltering candles she can afford.

I have never felt such joy, nor such heady liberation, to find myself so far away from anything that even remotely smacks of wealth or influence.

Then Marie’s face hovers into view above me, warm brown eyes latching onto mine. The relief that overtakes her face would melt even a heart of ice, much less one so battered and tender as mine has become.

“Ma belle,” she breathes, leaning down to tip her forehead against mine. “It has been so long since you stirred, nearly four days. I was afraid you might not find your way back to me at all.”

I reach up with weak and trembling hands, already pricking fearsomely with pins and needles that have only just begun their torment; the plunge back into life from the chilly depths of a mimicked death is not a pleasant one. I can feel by the feebleness of my muscles, my all-encompassing lassitude, that I have not moved for days and days. As it is, I am only strong enough to briefly cup Marie’s cheeks, then slide my arms to wreathe around her neck.

“I would not disappoint you so,” I murmur, in a wheezy, creaking voice that truly sounds as though it has ventured beyond the veil before returning. “Never again.”

I can see from the fear that still writhes in her eyes that she does not quite believe me. I must have given her a dreadful scare, lying still as cold stone and nearly dead for even longer than expected.

“Swear it, Catherine,” she demands, gripping my shoulders and giving me a gentle shake. “Swear you will not be so faithless as to actually die on me.”

I eke out a breathy laugh, though even the slow spread of my smile hurts my stiff and chilly cheeks. “I swear it. Not even I would dare be so impudent.”

And no matter what lies in store for me, I already know I will never discover any freedom or salvation greater than Marie’s answering kiss.

Acknowledgments

This book was a tough one to write, coinciding as it did with some of the hardest moments I’ve ever had to live through. I would never have made it without the unstinting help, support, and shoulders to (extensively) cry on, lovingly supplied by my tireless support network. I owe the most heartfelt thanks to:

Everyone at Abrams, especially Anne Heltzel, who was beyond kind and understanding throughout this long and unusually grueling process.

Taylor Haggerty, and the whole Root Lit team of ferocious wonder women. I could never have lived any of this dream without you.

My lovely, lovely friends: you know who you are, and I hope you also know how much I love you.

And always, always my family—especially my husband and my mom, who took care of my newborn baby for many hours while I all but tore at my hair like a Victorian madwoman as I furiously wrapped up edits on this book. And above all, my lionhearted little boy: I promise to teach you everything I know about Assassin’s Cabinets in due time.

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