Poison Princess

mad at?

On my next rotation, he’d disappeared, but I saw that blurry-faced girl once more.

I gasped, then caught a glimpse of movement in the tree limbs above. There was another boy! He was dressed in old-timey clothing, with long black hair and jet-black wings.

A last kid joined the rotation, a boy with electricity sparking all around his body.

The girl and those two boys looked like they lay in wait for me, ready to pounce.

I twisted in Brandon’s grip until he let me down. With a hearty laugh, he said, “Evie, you about to yuke, or what?”

Or what! Or what!

I put my hand to my forehead—because now as my gaze darted around, I saw nothing out of the ordinary. Those characters had disappeared like mist.

8

Someone was climbing the stairs to my hidden spot.

After I’d disentangled myself from Brandon, assuring him I’d be fine with a short breather—again he took my word for it—I’d climbed to a ledge near the old smokestack, needing to be alone, needing to keep watch.

I’d taken a seat, hanging my legs over the edge, careful not to crush the clover growing between the bricks. From here, I’d been able to look down on the party, like gazing at a living dollhouse.

Time passed, the crowd still swelling.

Disconnection. Why couldn’t I be down there having fun like a normal teenage girl? Why did I always have to feel threatened? Under fire?

And why was my raucous birthday party still going strong—without me?

As if to illustrate, a football player mooned the crowd, with full-on junk shot. I sighed. I couldn’t unsee that. Ever.

Then I’d sensed someone on the stairs. Who would even know how to get up here?

Jackson. With two plastic cups in hand.

I exhaled a disappointed breath. “How did you find me?”

“Not many black miniskirts escape my notice, cher.” The Cajunland player. He sat beside me, offering me a cup. “Here.”

I reluctantly accepted it, peering at the contents. “Is this roofied?”

“It can be.” Was he slurring? He definitely seemed buzzed tonight, his accent more pronounced, his dark hair tousled.

“Lovely.” Was I slurring?

Apparently. Because Jackson said, “Goody Two-shoes Evie Greene got herself pickled, for true. If I’d known you were such a juvenile delinquent, I might’ve asked for a new history podna.”

“Juvenile delinquent? Hmm. Aren’t your initials J.D.? If the shoe fits . . .”

He took a drink from his beer, but I could tell his lips were thinned with irritation. “So here we are, the Cajun JD and a Sterling High cheerleader who draws weird Goth shit. I figured out all these other fools easy enough, but you . . .” He shook his head. “Something ain’t right with you, no. I doan like unsolved puzzles. Evangeline,” he added significantly. “You got a Cajun name—you part Cajun? That’s why you can speak my tongue?”

“How’d you find out my full name?”

He gave a shrug with one palm up, the most maddening of Cajun retorts, then took another drink.

“What are you doing here, Jackson?”

“Are Sterling parties off-limits to Cajuns?”

“I just didn’t expect you and your friends at my birthday party.”

“This is yours? We heard about a blowout in a different parish, followed the free drinks.”

“A regular rager.” I pulled my hair over my shoulder, fanning myself.

When he fell silent, I turned to him, found him staring at my neck with hooded eyes. “Damn, Evie, you smell good.”

Why did everybody keep talking about my scent? Even Mel had asked to borrow my perfume earlier. One problem: I don’t wear any.

Jackson was still staring at me. Flashing him a wary look, I scooted farther away.

He blinked, then coughed into his fist. “Why aren’t you down at your own party?”

“I needed a quick tee-oh.”

“Uh-huh.” He drained his cup, chasing it with a shot from his flask.

I smelled the bite of whiskey on his breath, but didn’t find it unpleasant. “You’re at that thing constantly. And yet I never see you really drunk.”

“You want to get me drunk, you? Take advantage of ole Jack?”

“I’ll start referring to myself in third person before I take advantage of you, Jackson.”

“Heh. So, cher, now that you’ve set up this rendezvous with me, what are your intentions?”

I sipped from my cup. “You are firmly on the pipe.”

“I see the way you look at me, undressing me with your eyes.”

“Riiight. I have a boyfriend.”

“Then how come he’s not with you right now? How come he doan carry your books at school?”

Why had Jackson noticed that? “Should Brand? Just because I’m a girl? I’m his equal, would just as soon carry his as he’d carry mine.”

“Where I come from, a man carries a woman’s things ’cause it’s polite—and to let other beaux know she’s taken. How’s anyone to know you belong to him?”

“I don’t belong to anyone. Did you crawl out of a swamp—or a time capsule?”

He leaned forward until our faces were mere inches apart, then purred, “Now, dat’s not nice, Evangeline. Doan you want to be doux à moi?” Sweet to me. He dipped his finger down my halter top between my breasts—

“Jackson!” Then I realized he’d lifted up my new necklace.

“Pretty penny for this, no?” His gaze was shuttered.

“It’s an early birthday present from Brandon.”

“And I know just what you’re goan to give him.” He dropped the chain.

“You don’t know anything about me. Do you understand me? Nothing.” One of the clovers curled over my knuckles, which was strangely soothing.

“I’m starting to get an idea. Does Radcliffe know you?”

“Of course,” I said, though I had doubts. Why couldn’t he sense how much pressure I was under? Why add to it?

“Une menterie.” A lie.

“None of what you say matters. I know my boyfriend and I are solid.”

He gave a scornful laugh. “As long as you doan mind sharing him with brunettes of the Cajun persuasion. He’s been sniffing around Clotile, for true. And you know it, too. That’s why you’re dressing like this.” He waved unsteadily at me.

“Like what?”

Another shuttered gaze. Another drink from his flask. “Different.”

“Brandon’s not doing any . . . sniffing. He loves me. He told me he thinks about me constantly.” As much as football! “And aren’t you concerned about your girlfriend?”

“Girlfriend? Hell, Clotile’s probably my sister.”

My lips parted. Probably? Jackson and I weren’t just from different worlds, but from