Kresley Cole: Poison Princess

I continue stalking closer, which makes him more and more agitated. This power is heady. No wonder the red witch laughs so much. I’m beginning to see the appeal. “I followed you around town before I came here—but you knew that, didn’t you? What you didn’t know is that we were both getting ready for this meeting.”

Matthew warned me of lures; the Alchemist used several to coax me into his lair, and I was wary.

The bright lantern on his house—a light in darkness. The stew I’d smelled—a feast when I was starving. But while he’d been stoking his fire in anticipation, he’d left me plenty of time to call for my special kind of backup.

Just as I’d seen the red witch do.

With my blood, I revived dead plants—and it felt delicious to bring them back to life. Then I’d practiced with them.

Arsenal.

Now roses, vines, and oaks await just outside, ready to storm the Alchemist’s hold. A tornado of thorns swirls above. “You thought I was so pale and weak,” I tell him. “Yet I was only recuperating from blood loss. Thank you for giving me the TO.”

At that, he bobbles his pliers up . . . up; they land several feet away. In a panic, he grips the metal rod—all that remains of the inner half of the doorknob—twisting with all his might. Blood begins to drip from his palm.

“Ask yourself, Alchemist, do you really want to make it out that door?”

Over his shoulder, he sneers, “You are an aberration, a freak! That’s why your precious Jackson chose another, because he could sense how wrong you are! He spurned you.”

I don’t deny that. Fair’s fair. Hell, it could be true—what do I know? Apparently, nothing about boys.

Even after seeing Jackson kiss Selena, I still miss him. I wonder how long that ache will last—

Arthur begins to rise, lumbering to his feet. This is . . . surprising. I’d heard him drinking stuff downstairs, but I didn’t figure he could counteract my poison.

When he stands, I realize his torso is healing with a speed matching my own regeneration.

“I’m not without talents, Evie.” Before my eyes, his muscles are growing, straining against his clothing.

He casts me such a triumphant smirk that I wonder if he can outgun me and mine.

“You couldn’t guess how strong I’d be.” With a bellow, he plucks the door from its frame like a piece of lint.

He hurls it overhead at me; I scream when it connects with my shoulder, slamming me into a wall.

As my vision wavers, I imagine that I hear Jackson’s echoing voice in the distance. “Evangeline!”

I breathe through the pain, grappling with the weight of the door, frantically squirming to get out from under it. I’m still so weak in body, a scrawny little girl!

“Evie! Answer me, damn it!” Jackson is here? How has he located this town? “Where are you?” I can’t process the anguish in his booming voice, his desperation to reach me. Why would he come? He was finished with me.

Then he yells to someone, “Tell me exactly where she is, boy! Or I’ll gut you, I swear to Christ!”

Matthew’s here too?

Arthur rushes from the doorway across the room. Instead of escaping, he’s pressing his advantage. I watch in disbelief as he vaults clear over a table, skidding to a stop before a china cabinet. By the time I get free and make it to my feet, he has snagged stoppered vials ?

He lobs them at me. They shatter, splashing their contents across my skin.

Acid.

The pain. Paralyzing. Mind-numbing.

I shriek. The skin on my upper arm, one thigh, one calf—dissolving. I drop to my knees. Consciousness dims.

“Evangeline!” Jackson’s agonized roar is like a beacon, focusing me.

Arthur stalks closer, vowing, “I will melt you inch by inch, will make you beg, just as I did Father.”

I struggle to rise, to ignore my hissing, burning flesh as it begins to heal.

When the Alchemist sees my skin regenerating, he mutters, “Not possible.”

I gasp out, “You keep saying that . . . about things that are . . . already occurring.” He hasn’t witnessed even a fraction of my powers. The idea makes me proud, smug. I stagger to my feet.

Ready to end this, I call on my soldiers, loosing them into the fray. Battering-ram limbs beat down doors and windows so that vines can snake inside, overrunning every room.

Just as Matthew said, there is a heat in battle, and I feel it pumping inside me. Glorious! I yell from it and my soldiers respond violently.

Thorny stalks drape the front of the house. Behind me, a wall of green roils, a twining mass. As we creep forward, Arthur freezes, gaze blank with horror.

Just before we reach him, he whirls around, sprinting for the exit. He doesn’t get two steps outside before a limb shoots in front of him, blocking his way. Ivy flies at him from the sides of the porch, coiling around his torso, the tips boring into his skin.

“Nooo! Stop this, you freak!”

A rose stalk creeps along the ceiling like beading water. Descending with vicious stealth, it slithers around his neck.

When it locks tight, I murmur, “Your new collar, Arthur.”

More stalks bind his legs, ascending to his arms as if he were a trellis, wringing a high-pitched scream from his lungs. Tightening like barbed wire, they dig their thorny fangs deeper, deeper , until his lungs can’t expand enough for a second scream.

He peers back at me over his shoulder, his eyes pleading.

How many girls have begged him not to hurt them? How many has he poured acid on?

How many has he maimed?

He’d been planning on doing it to me —

Suddenly he thrashes, freeing one arm with that insane strength. From his pocket, he snatches one last vial of acid.

Before he can strike, I wave my hand: the order for execution.

The vines holding his body slingshot in different directions, ripping him in half.

In a spray of arcing blood and splintering bone, the Alchemist is no more.

Two separate halves. Deposited on opposite ends of the porch. A puddle of crimson in the middle.

I’ve won the day, but the victory has taken its toll on me. When I totter on my feet, my soldiers press against my back, steadying me like a bookend. As I’d seen the red witch do, I stab my claws into one rose stalk, siphoning the life I’d given it back into my body, speeding my healing.

“Evangeline!” Jackson nears.

Why have you come here? Why, why? Fleeing from him is no longer an option. I won’t hide what I am anymore.

“ Bébé , answer me! Please . . . ”

I spy him sprinting down the street, Matthew close behind. They’re not alone. Selena and Finn follow.

When the four slow in front of the house, the web of briars parts to reveal me standing at the head of the steps. Half of my bloody T-shirt and the legs of my jeans have dissolved, baring my regenerating skin and glowing glyphs. My red hair whips from the tornado of thorns above.

A vine curls about my neck affectionately. I rub my cheek against it, petting it, my poisonous claws glinting.

Behind me, the thorny barbed wire, the vise of vines, and the battering-­ram oaks all await my command. They choke every opening of the Alchemist’s lair, until the shape of the house is unrecognizable.

I gaze down at the other Arcana. Matthew is proud. Selena is lethal, icy. And not surprised at all. Just as I’d suspected, she knows all about us. About me .

Finneas appears stunned—and guilty? He mutters, “Never thought you’d walk in.”

Off to the side, lips parted and eyes wide, is Jackson.