The redhead turns. She blinks her cider-brown eyes at me, taking me in. She’s pretty. Striking, even without bothering to smile. I glancedown at the cover of the novel she’s reading. Lips pursed, she cocks a brow, unimpressed.
Poppy shoves a steaming mug into my hands. The soup swirling inside smells like reconstituted bouillon cubes from a box, but my stomach growls like an animal for it. I start toward Julio’s end of the table, but Poppy holds me back, sliding into the space between us.
“Glad you’re here,” she says brightly. “We were just discussing the plan.”
“You mean the one we don’t have?” I look for the source of the familiar raspy voice. Marie sits alone in a far corner, huddled into a faded army jacket, flipping the wheel of a cigarette lighter.
“It got us this far,” Julio says.
Marie’s harsh laugh startles the cat in her lap. “It’s a miracle they haven’t caught us yet.”
“Do they know where we are?” I ask.
“We don’t think so.” Chill hugs his life vest. “We lost a few crows in the high winds once we left the Channel—”
“All but one,” Marie mutters. Amber flips her off without taking her nose out of her book.
Chill ignores them. “If we don’t mess with the weather patterns and we stay off the radio, we should be safe for a while.” He squints at a nautical map spread open across the table, stripping off his glasses as if to wipe a smudge from the lens before remembering they don’t have any. He frowns and rubs his eyes instead, and with a frustrated huff, he slides them back on.
“How are you feeling, Fleur?” I drag my gaze from Chill. The long-haired boy’s soft voice and gentle eyes are disarming. This must be Woody, Amber’s Handler.
I take a slow sip from my mug, wary of where this conversation is heading. Wondering why everyone’s looking at me. “What do you mean?”
“You and Jack have been... you know... recharging for a few weeks.” A few weeks? I’ve been a sick, sweaty, vomiting mess, passed out in his bed forweeks? “Do you feel any different?”
Aside from humiliated? Vulnerable? “No.” I bury my blush behind my mug.
Woody treads lightly on his next question. “Fleur, I know this might be uncomfortable to talk about, but we’re trying to figure out if prolonged contact leads to any transference of powers between Seasons.”
“Do you feel cold at all?” Chill asks. “Can you freeze anything?”
I glare at him over my soup.
“How about you?” Woody asks Jack. “Have you noticed any changes since you and Julio hooked up in the elevator?”
I spit a mouthful of broth across the table.
“Yeah, Jack. Do you feel any different?” Julio asks with an impish grin. “Stronger? Hotter? Better looking, somehow?”
Jack throws him a disgusted look. “I’ll be sure to let you know if I notice any itching or burning discharge.”
Chill snorts.
Julio turns on him. “Shut it, Flotilla, or I’ll grab you by that life jacket and throw you overboard!” Chill’s laughter dies. He draws his vest tighter around himself, pushing those strange glasses higher on his nose.
“That’s enough!” Poppy’s hand slams down on the table, making everyone jump. “You’ve been at each other’s throats since we left the Observatory. What’s the problem?” Marie and Julio stare at opposite sides of the room, refusing to answer. Amber blinks lazily over the spineof her book. “While we’re stuck on this boat for the next three weeks, I expect everyone to be civil.”
“Three weeks?” I look toward the hall I just walked through, counting the tiny berths from memory. There can’t be more than four of them. Two doubles, two sets of bunks, two tiny bathrooms.
“You know,” Julio says with a teasing lilt, “Fleur wasn’t here when we voted on the sleeping arrangements. But now that she’s awake, I’m guessing she’d rather sleep with me. I make an excellent bed warmer.” He winks at me before his eyes slide to Amber.
If he’s trying to make her jealous, it’s working. The temperature in the room plummets. I slam down my mug, sloshing broth onto the table. Just because I agreed to go along with this plan doesn’t mean I agreed to sleep with anyone.
“The sleeping arrangements don’t change!” Jack says before I can get a word out. A layer of ice creeps over his skin. “Fleur bunks with Poppy. I bunk with Chill. Amber bunks with Marie, and Julio bunks with Woody. Anyone who has a problem with that can swim home.” His storm-gray eyes survey the faces around the table. All but mine. He gets up and leaves the room, retreating to the berth where I woke with him earlier.
Poppy leans in and whispers, “I’m sorry I left you alone with him. It was my fault. He’s been coming to our room every day to recharge you, but it makes him so tired. I didn’t see any sense in waking him.” She rambles, her argument picking up speed the longer I don’t respond. “It’s been fine. Really. Just a few hours a day. He asked me to stay in the room with him. Usually, I just read or something. He’s actually not as horrible as I—”
“Excuse me,” I say, pushing out from the bench and following Jack down to the berth. The hall is dark and narrow, the boat’s swaying, andwe bump into each other as I’m coming and he’s going. His pullover’s tucked under his arm, but now that I look at the cabin more closely, I see Poppy everywhere. Her duffel, her clothes, her cross-stitch project strung over a pillow. My backpack beside the bed.
