PART 1 The Truth According to Belladonna
Killing her would’ve been easy. That spring we made flower garlands. That spring petals were strewn across her kitchen table, where she drank her tea. If we dropped a petal of belladonna, a petal of poppy, and a petal of lily into that cup, we’d never really know which one of us killed her.
We’d never know which one of us was guilty.
The police wouldn’t know either. We were, after all, three scrawny little creatures, no older than fourteen. What damage could we do intentionally? The death of Raven’s stepmother would be ruled an accident, and we’d be reprimanded, sure, but none of us would be locked behind bars.
Only the monster would suffer. The woman who made Raven so sick and so scared, he was absent from school more than he was present. He’d been fine before she moved into his house. Bright and shining, like a prince from a fairy tale. Someone to live for. Fight for. Die for.
And that spring I would’ve killed for him. I convinced the others to go along with it. I picked out a date. I did everything short of picking the flowers, because we each had to bring our own blossoms. One petal of belladonna. One petal of poppy. One petal of lily.
One petal, for each of our names.
But the night before the murder, one of us got cold feet and ruined everything. We all had to poison her together. That’s what I thought, the spring we made flower garlands. The spring we spread them out on the table, where she drank her tea.
But three years later, on the eve of Raven’s seventeenth birthday, his stepmother was found sprawled out on the kitchen floor. A shattered teacup beside her. It took a little time for the police to gather their evidence, and then they presented their findings to Raven’s father. Apparently, someone had taken a cluster of poisonous flowers and stuffed them into his wife’s teakettle.
No poppy. No lily. Just belladonna.
Two hours later, they came for me.
1
Belladonna Killed Her
Belladonna Drake was entangled in her true love’s arms when a knock came at the door. Slowly, quietly, she inched out of bed. “Don’t say anything,” she whispered, creeping toward the window.
Red and blue lights flashed below.
“Go out the back door,” she instructed without turning around. “I’ll stall them long enough for you to get away.”
“Belle—”
“You were never here,” Belle broke in, pulling a pair of socks from the floor. “You haven’t set foot in my bedroom in years. All right?”
A nod in the darkness. Then a rustling of clothing as the two of them got dressed. Belle pulled on a soft, fluffy robe. With her hair tousled and her eyeliner smudged, it really would look like she’d woken from a dream. She wasn’t hosting company. Everyone was exactly where they were supposed to be.
Taking a shaky breath, she hurried to the first floor. Opened the front door. Blinked up at the officer and said, “Hello? Is everything okay?”
“Belladonna Drake?”
“Ye-yes,” she said, managing to stumble over one word. Great. That didn’t bode well for the rest of the conversation. But she could lie about who’d been tangled in her arms that night. She’d gotten very good at keeping secrets. Just… not from the cops.
“You’re under arrest for the murder of Evelyn Holloway. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used—”
“Wait, what?” Belle’s vision blurred and the officer’s mouth stopped making noise, even though it was moving. “Raven’s stepmother is dead? I thought you were here for—”
The man jerked her arms behind her back, sliding handcuffs over her wrists. “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.”
“But I didn’t… I couldn’t have—”
“Then let’s hope you have an alibi,” he said, gesturing to the gaggle of officers standing by the door. They were going to wake her father, but he couldn’t account for her. He’d been snoring in his bedroom for hours. There was only one person in the world who could account for Belle’s whereabouts that night, and that person was long gone by now.
“Watch your head,” the officer said, guiding her into the police car. Belle ducked, sliding into the darkness. Through the window, she could see her adoptive father storming out of the house, spittle flying from his mouth as he raged at the officers. Typical Edwin, she thought with a huff. At least some things could be counted on even in your darkest moments.
Some people.
“I need to make a call,” Belle said, as the engine turned over. “I get to do that, right?”
“Who you gonna call?” the man asked, in this jovial tone that made her think he was going to start humming the Ghostbusters theme song. Everything about this was absurd. Belle wanted to tell herself it was a dream, because none of this could be happening, except… the rest of the night had been incredibly vivid. Those lips, trailing across her skin. Those hands, warm and familiar. Bright eyes. Mischievous smile. They’d hardly touched over the past few years, and yet everything was exactly the way it had been the first time they’d held hands.
Like coming home.
Now her actual home was disappearing in the rearview, and the officer was saying, “Look, you don’t need to call an attorney. I’m guessing your rich daddy can arrange…” A pause as his gaze flicked to the estate in the mirror. The elegant Tudor rose up in the distance, surrounded by a perfectly manicured lawn. The only thing unruly about the estate was the garden, huge and overflowing with dahlias. Bougainvillea. Jasmine. And tucked in the back, in a corner:
Belladonna.
As beautiful as it was fatal. Belle had cultivated that little patch of flowers, telling herself stories about freeing Raven from his wicked stepmother. She’d come up with a plan. Now, three years later, she told herself she wouldn’t really have gone through with it. She was protective of her ex-boyfriend, but she wasn’t a killer.
None of them was.
“How did Mrs. Holloway die?” she asked softly. Every word that came out of her mouth, she analyzed. Did she sound innocent just then? Did she sound guilty? She wasn’t guilty, she swore to herself over and over again, but it was hard to believe that with cuffs around her wrists. It was harder to believe when the police station came into view.
“You tell me,” the officer said from the front seat. “You had a whole cluster of it in your yard. It even looked like some had been pulled recently. We made sure to check before—”
“Pulled?” Belle almost choked on the word. “Which plant was pulled?”
“It had such a pretty name,” the man said, catching her eye in the mirror. “You have any guesses, Belladonna?”
The back of the car went silent. It was the middle of the night, so Belle expected it to be quiet, but in that moment, she heard nothing. It was as if she were floating in the recesses of space. Everything dark, everything quiet. “They used belladonna?” she said after a minute. “How did you know to look in my yard? Who told—” She really should keep quiet. She had the right to remain silent, after all. Anything she said could and would be used against her in a court of law. Still, she couldn’t help but ask, “Did they use any other flowers? Poppies or…”