Poison Princess Read Free Page A

hoping Sterling’s drought would finally end.
    My smile deepened when I saw a sleek Porsche convertible speeding down our oystershell drive, a blur of red.
    Brandon. He was the most enviable catch in our parish. Senior. Quarterback. Rich. The trifecta of boyfriends.
    When he pulled up, I opened the passenger door with a grin. “Hey, big guy.”
    But he frowned. “You look . . . tired.”
    â€œI didn’t get to bed till late,” I replied, darting a glance over my shoulder as I tossed my bag into the minuscule backseat. When the kitchen curtain fluttered to the side, I just stopped myself from rolling my eyes. Two years and out . . .
    â€œYou feeling okay?” His gaze was filled with concern. “We can pick up some coffee on the way.”
    I shut the door behind me. “Sure. Whatever.” He hadn’t complimented me on my hair or outfit—my Chloé baby-blue sleeveless dress with the hem no more than four regulation inches above the knee, the silky black ribbon that held my hair back in a curling ponytail, my matching black Miu Miu ankle-wrap heels.
    My diamond earrings and Patek Philippe wristwatch served as my only jewelry.
    I’d spent weeks planning this outfit, two days in Atlanta acquiring it, and the last hour convincing myself I’d never looked better.
    He hiked his wide shoulders, the matter forgotten, then peeled down Haven’s drive, tires spitting up an arc of shell fragments as we zoomed past acre after acre of cane.
    Once we’d reached the highway, a seamed and worn-out stretch of old Louisiana road, he said, “You’re so quiet this morning.”
    â€œI had weird dreams last night.” Nightmares. Nothing new there.
    Without fail, my good dreams were filled with plants. I’d see ivy and roses growing before my eyes or crops sprouting all around me.
    But lately in my nightmares, a crazed redheaded woman with gleaming green eyes used those same plants to . . . hurt people, in grisly ways. When her victims begged for mercy, she would cackle with delight.
    She was cloaked and partially hooded, so I couldn’t make out all of her face, but she had pale skin and green ivylike tattoos running down both her cheeks. Her wild red hair was strewn with leaves.
    I called her the red witch. “Sorry,” I said with a shiver. “They kind of put me in a funk.”
    â€œOh.” His demeanor told me he felt way out of his depth. I’d once asked him if he had nightmares, and he’d looked at me blankly, unable to remember one.
    That was the thing about Brandon—he was the most happy-go-lucky boy I’d ever met. Though he was built like a bear—or a pro football player—his temperament was more adoring canine than grizzly.
    Secretly, I put a lot of store in him, hoping his normal could drag me back from my wasteland-visions brink. Which was why I’d fretted about him finding another girl and breaking up with me while I was locked up at CLC.
    Now it seemed like at least one thing was going to work out. Brandon had stayed true to me. With every mile we drove away from Haven, the sun shone brighter and brighter, the fog lifting.
    â€œWell, I know how to put my girl in a good mood.” He gave me his mischievous grin.
    I was helpless not to be charmed. “Oh, yeah, big guy? How’s that?”
    He pulled off the road under the shade of a pecan tree, tires popping the fallen pecans. After waiting for the dust to pass us, he pressed a button and put down the convertible top. “How fast you wanna go, Eves?”
    Few things exhilarated me more than flying down the highway with the top down. For about a nanosecond I considered how to repair the utter loss of my hairstyling— braid a loose fishtail over your shoulder —then told him, “Kick her in the guts.”
    He peeled out, the engine purring with power. Hands raised, I threw my head back and yelled,