Poison Princess (11 page)

I chose to think he was making a joke.

I was wavering when Brand dug into his pocket. “Oh, I almost forgot! Your birthday present. Was saving this for Monday, but I thought you might want to wear it tonight.” He handed me a wrapped box with a crushed ribbon.

I ripped it open to find a huge solitaire on a white-gold chain.
Stunning.
It would match my diamond earrings perfectly.

Mel clasped her hands over her chest, saying in a cajoling tone, “And all he wants is to throw a rager in your sugar mill?” Then she frowned. “Wow. That sounded raunchy.”

“Do you like it?” he asked, seeming nervous. Which was so adorable.

Game. Set. Match. “I love it. And I love my surprise party.” I stood on my toes to give him a quick kiss. “Thank you.”

He grinned, handing me a sweating Solo cup of beer. “Cheers, Eves!”

I raised my cup, hesitating. Would alcohol act wonky with my pills? But hey, how much worse could my head get? Perhaps I might even start . . . hallucinating?
Ha-ha.

My time here was short anyway. “Cheers, guys!”

For the next hour everybody partook heartily of keg juice, until we were—in Brand's estimation—“fitshaced!”

More and more people showed up, turning my party into a wild and woolly kegger. I saw faces I didn't recognize, spied letterman jackets from other schools.

Over the course of the night, I'd watched several of Mel's ill-fated attempts to flirt with Spencer. Yet now, as she danced with me up on a ledge, he was actually checking her out.

She and I sang so loudly I was losing my voice, danced so madly to the thumping music that the world was spiraling. For once, I didn't fight it. We were laughing at something when I saw Jackson Deveaux leaning his shoulder against the crumbling brick wall in the back.

Then I noticed the other transfers beginning to mingle with the crowd. Clotile's outfit tonight
still
made mine look Amish.

But I couldn't muster any outrage that they were all here. With a shrug, I thought,
This ought to end well.

As I danced, Brand's eyes were glued to me,
not
on Clotile. I cast a smug look in Jackson's direction; his darkened gaze was locked on me as well.

Flustered, I reached out two arms for Brand, prompting him to come help me down. But he swung me up instead, twirling me around in his arms. I laughed, throwing my head back. Spinning . . . spinning . . .

Tingling nose?

I suddenly saw the cryptic boy. He gave me a defiant kind of shrug—like he'd done something I might get 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.

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
un
see 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 different universes.

“Look at Radcliffe down there. You think you're on his mind right now?”

Brand was surrounded by a bevy of slores as he drank from the keg like it was a water fountain. The life of the party, worshipped and adored.

Where was Mel? Normally, she'd be throwing elbows at those other girls. I hadn't seen her—or Spencer—for a while. I rose at once, stepping over Jackson to go look for her.

“Where you goan, Evie?”

Though I ignored him, he followed me down the stairs. Back on the ground, I saw a shadowy figure skulking among the parked cars. I squinted, but couldn't see through the fog. Another hallucination?

I cautiously eased closer to get a better look, but Jackson stepped in front of me. I shimmied to the left; he blocked me.

“I don't have time for this.”

He began edging me toward the mill.

“Stop it, Jackson,” I snapped when my back met a brick wall. The bass pumped so hard that I could feel the vibrations through the stone.

He leaned in, his brows drawing together. “You got on some kind of expensive perfume? Never smelled anything like you.”

“I don't wear perfume.”

He looked at me like I might be lying. “You smell almost like . . . honeysuckle.”

“I'm
not
wearing anything.”

“My fondest wish.” The corners of his lips curled—the first time I'd seen his expression even come close to a genuine smile.

Despite myself, that half grin affected me, made my heart speed up.

Was Jackson
flirting
with me? Like a normal boy might? And not just to make me uncomfortable?

Too bad. Between Brandon, Death, and the cryptic boy, my dance card was full.

And this flirtatious side of Jackson made me wary. Even though the Cajun was attractive in a too-rugged kind of way, I probably trusted Death in armor more. “Just leave me alone.”

“I will as soon as you do two things. Admit you speak French, and show me the rest of your drawings.”

I was already gazing past him, done with this conversation. “Why are you acting so interested? Why are we even
talking
? You hate me, remember?”

“
Mais
yeah.” For sure. Pressing his palm against the wall beside my head, he leaned in, murmuring, “But maybe I want you a little, too.”

I'd just learned something I'd never known. A boy could desire to have sex with me and not like me at all. In fact, he could even hate me.

“Maybe I've decided to forgive you for making me
la misère
.” Causing me trouble.

I exhaled, sick and tired of these games. I was sick and tired of
everything
. “Jackson, listen—”

“Call me Jack.”

“No. Because we're not friends.” Imitating his accent, I said, “And only your friends call you Jack, no.”

He grinned down at me again, his teeth even and white. “We may not be friends, but I'm about to get real friendly with you.” I could feel the heat coming off his body. He smelled delicious, like the woods, a little wild.

He had some unknowable look in his eyes. He seemed to be silently promising me something, but I didn't know what.

“Friendly with me?”

“I'm goan to kiss you,
cher
.”

My thoughts scattered. Though the moment had begun to feel like a dream, I didn't want to be a cheater. “I need to get . . . back to Brandon.” I laid my hands on Jackson's chest to push him away, but his muscles flexed under my palms, that heat drawing me like a magnet.