Lies Like Poison

by Chelsea Pitcher

  “I’m not.”

  “You can be. We can be, together. Come here.” Belle led her back to the bed. They crawled under the covers. For a moment they just watched each other, Lily’s shoulders peeking out from the blankets and Belle’s hair falling in waves over the pillow. Then, in the slow, careful way of two people who’ve been waiting an eternity to touch each other, they found their way to the center of the bed. Limbs entangled. Hands entwined. Lips pressed against lips, and hearts pressed against chests, until they were both so breathless, they pulled back, gasping.

  The pile of letters fell to the floor.

  Belle leaned over the bed, gathering them in her hands. Lily came up behind her, trailing kisses along her neck. “That was smart, hiding them under the floor,” Lily mused as Belle set the letters on the bedside table. “If I’d hidden the Recipe for the Perfect Murder under a floorboard, my dad would’ve never found it.”

  “How did he find it?” Belle asked, turning to face her. “Did you tell him where it was hidden? You never even told me.”

  “I didn’t tell him anything about it! But he snuck onto the Holloway estate for me, to steal that red rose. He must’ve found the recipe then.”

  “How? The guy steals a rose from the garden and then decides to climb a bunch of trees for fun?” Belle huffed, tapping the stack of letters. “That doesn’t make any sense. The only person climbing trees was Jack—”

  “Wait.” Lily snatched the letters from the table. After a minute of shuffling, she retrieved the one that Belle had altered. “Jack wasn’t the only one climbing trees while Raven was gone. Someone else was going into the orchard, holding pruning shears and wearing gloves.”

  “Dr. Holloway,” Belle whispered, her heart thrumming like the wings of a hummingbird. Her lungs constricted, and she could barely speak the words, “We have to get over to Raven’s house. Now.”

  25

  Holy

  Raven was hosting a sleepover in the orchard. He knew it sounded childish, but after everything he’d been through over the past four years, he wanted to indulge in some innocent fun. With his father’s permission, he’d draped old white sheets over the trees, creating an elaborate fort. There were blankets and pillows hidden inside, and by the time Jack arrived, Raven had strung tea lights across the lowest branches.

  Jack’s jaw dropped at the sight. “Raven. This is—”

  “It’s too much, isn’t it?” He felt silly. Sheepish. But then Jack stepped closer, squeezing his hand, and he felt his entire being exhale.

  “It’s perfect.” Jack crouched down, swinging his backpack off his back. He was wearing another one of Raven’s button-down shirts, forest green this time, and his jeans brushed against the ground as he dug a potted plant out of his backpack. “For you.”

  Raven took the rosebush reverently. Its single blossom was just starting to open, and there was a light dusting of crimson petals peeking at him from Jack’s backpack.

  Jack scooped up a handful, nestling them in Raven’s hair. “I figured we could plant this in the garden. I see your dad’s already torn up the white roses. Did he do that for you?”

  “I don’t know.” Raven glanced toward the back of the house, his gaze finding the empty plot of land where the roses had lived. First red, then white. But Raven wasn’t certain he wanted to fill the fresh, upturned earth with crimson roses. “For most of my life, my mom was everywhere. Her roses were in the garden. Her portrait was in the hall. Then Evelyn moved in, and she was everywhere, and my mom was just gone. If we put everything back the way it was…”

  “It’ll be like none of this ever happened.”

  Raven nodded, a twinge in his chest making it difficult to breathe. “But it did happen. They’re both gone, and my dad thinks he can just bring back my mom’s memory by hanging up pictures and changing the furniture. Maybe he is doing it for me, but I don’t want it.” He turned the potted rosebush in his hand, fingers brushing the barely opened bud. “Maybe I’ll just keep it in my room.”

  “We could put a planter’s box outside your window. The roses could grow there, and maybe they’d climb up the side of the house. She’d still be here, but it would be different. We wouldn’t be pretending she’d never left.” Jack stepped closer, brushing Raven’s cheek with the back of his hand. “Your dad has old home videos of your mom. I saw him watching them in the middle of the night, and I’m pretty sure you haven’t seen all of them, because Evelyn—”

  “Can we talk about Evelyn when the girls get here?” Raven asked, setting the rosebush on the ground. “I want to show you what I’ve done.”

  Jack nodded, a soft smile on his lips, and Raven’s desire for an innocent sleepover drifted into the air. The orchard was filled with apple blossoms. They fluttered down to the ground, pale petals blending with elegant white sheets. There were a dozen fluffy pillows under the fort Raven had created, and Jack settled into them, looking up at the sheet billowing above their heads. “What time are the girls coming over? It’s already after seven.”

  “I haven’t invited them yet.”

  Jack blushed, eyes catching Raven’s for the briefest of instants. He ran a hand through his recently shorn hair. The tea lights in the branches were flickering through the pale white sheets, and when the light reflected in Jack’s eyes, they glowed like emeralds. “We have some time then,” Jack murmured, and then his blush deepened. “I mean—it’s not like we’re going to—”

  “I knew what you meant.” For years Raven had been certain that joy was a brief, fleeting thing. An enchanted stag you spotted in the forest. You could search for him for years, until your skin was bloodied by branches and your heart was heavy with longing, and still, you’d never stop hoping for another glimpse of him.

  For the possibility.

  Now, as Raven crawled into Jack’s lap, it seemed as if all his searching had been worth it. His limbs weren’t aching anymore. His heart sprang to life as Jack rose to meet him. Then, in one elegant movement, Jack had flipped Raven onto his back, and was crawling over him, and the rightness of the moment seared Raven like a flame.

  Jack’s lips were warm and delicate, at first. Then hungry. Then feral, as they sought to devour him. Jack’s lips were his religion. Jack’s hands were holy. Jack’s body was his temple, and Raven had come to worship like he’d never worshipped anyone before. He was helpless against this feeling. He liked being helpless, completely at the mercy of someone who’d never try to hurt him. Someone who’d always tried to protect him. Save him. Heal him. And as much as he liked seeing those clothes on Jack’s body, he wanted to see them on the orchard floor.

  “Can I?” he asked, fingers lingering over the buttons of Jack’s shirt. Jack nodded, biting his lip, and a tremor of anticipation shot through Raven. Of longing. Of reunion. He’d never felt so much like himself as he did in that moment, looking up to find Jack leaning over him.

  One button came undone, then another. His fingers trailed down Jack’s chest, lingering over the jeans that had once been his. “Can I?” he began again, and Jack shuddered, leaning into him.

  “Yes.”

  Raven was in heaven. He knew he’d never tire of the ritual of asking and being told yes. Soon, Jack’s jeans and collared shirt were reunited, crumpled together on the ground, and it didn’t take long for Raven’s own clothes to join them. Two shirts and two pairs of pants. Four socks and four shoes. Off to the right of the clothing, two friends became so much more than that. Their limbs entangled like vines. Jack’s fingernails trailed down Raven’s back and Raven brushed his fingers over Jack’s body, memorizing him inch by inch. Soon, he had almost reached Jack’s center, had almost done the thing he’d been longing to do since that first fumbling night in the garden, when they hadn’t known what they were doing.

  Raven knew better now. He’d been too shy to ask questions at fourteen, but he wasn’t shy anymore, and he’d done a lot of reading while away at boarding school. Separated facts from fiction. Now, as his fingers trailed along Jack’s
thigh, he asked, “Do you want me to…?”

  “Yes.” Jack’s voice was as soft as a leaf touching down in the dirt. Raven could barely hear him, and he wanted to hear him.

  Desperately, he wanted to. “You don’t have to be so quiet,” Raven teased. “My dad can’t hear us through the vents out here.”

  “The vents.” Jack sat up so suddenly, Raven gasped at the loss of him. “Belle mentioned the vents when I was at the detention center.”

  “She did?” Raven furrowed his brow. He had not planned on having this conversation. He hadn’t planned on having any conversation, unless he was asking what Jack wanted and what Jack liked. “What did she say?”

  “She used to hear your parents arguing in their room.” Jack reached out absently, pulling on the green collared shirt. “She used to put a pillow over your vent, to muffle the sounds of you—”

  “That was a long time ago,” Raven said, following Jack’s lead. Moment by moment, piece by piece, their clothing returned to their bodies. This time, Raven’s shirt felt too tight, and his jeans didn’t fit the way they had before. It was impossible to be undressed with Jack and ever want to wear clothing again.

  But the time for undressing each other had passed. Raven could sense it as Jack pulled him to his feet. Together, they ducked out of their fort, emerging beneath twinkling branches. The lights shone brighter now that the night had gone dark, and Raven wanted to stay in the orchard forever. “We don’t have to muffle the vents if we stay out here.”

  “This isn’t about us,” Jack said, leading Raven toward the house. “Evelyn had a home video of your mom teaching you to swim. You were little and she was trying to get you to join her in the pool. She said she couldn’t do it without you.”

  “She said that?” Raven’s breathing quickened. Blood rushed through his ears, blocking out the memory of his mother’s voice. “Show me.”

  Jack nodded, jogging up the porch steps. He was still holding Raven’s hand, but Raven could hardly feel it as they stepped into the pitch-black house. Their footsteps creaked on the hardwood. Shadows twisted, making his pulse spike. When Jack pushed open the doors to the living room, Raven held his breath, expecting his father to be sitting there. Ever since Evelyn’s death, Dr. Holloway had planted himself in the living room, surrounded by photographs. Memories. Ghosts.

  The room was empty.

  Jack plucked the remote from the coffee table. All he had to do was push two buttons, and then the TV was on, the home video playing. Raven’s dad must’ve left it in the player so that he could stumble in here at any time and hear her voice. See her face.

  Raven slid to his knees. His mother was before him, her eyes brighter than he remembered. For years, those eyes had been his favorite sight. That laugh, his favorite song. She was holding him in the video, and he pressed his fingers to his mouth, trying to remember the feel of her as she twirled him around in the pool. But the memory was buried in the recesses of his subconscious, too old to conjure.

  It was lost to him.

  Raven’s eyes stung as Jack rewound the video, stopping it when Arianna started calling to him. “Please,” she pleaded, her arms outstretched. “I can’t do this without you. I need my baby boy.”

  The little boy in the video leapt, and Raven’s heart leapt with him. When her arms encircled him on the TV screen, Raven swore he could feel her embrace. He looked up to find Jack holding him. Watching him with soft eyes. “This is what you heard in your bedroom,” Jack said gently. “Isn’t it?”

  Raven nodded, tears sliding down his cheeks. “Why did Evelyn have this? Did she find it after she married my dad?”

  Jack shook his head. “Your dad brought it to her office when she was counseling him. She asked him to bring in mementos of a time when he and your mom were happy, and after she moved into your house…”

  “She played the video in my bedroom at night.” Raven frowned, glancing toward the hallway, and the stairs beyond. “But that doesn’t make sense. I got up and searched my room a dozen times. I looked outside the window.”

  “She wasn’t getting to you through the window, and she wasn’t sneaking into your room,” Jack said, brushing a tear from Raven’s cheek. “She was getting to you through—”

  “The vents,” a voice responded, and Raven spun around to see a figure approaching in the darkness. He caught a glimpse of familiar black hair and deep, dark eyes. A smile that could cut you to pieces or bring you to life.

  This time Belle’s smile was grim as she drew near. Lily was beside her, and Raven realized their fingers were entwined. “The day Evelyn was killed, I came close to figuring out how she’d been torturing you,” Belle said, her gaze trailing up to the third floor of the house. “But the answer wasn’t in your bedroom, Raven. It was in your dad’s.”

  26

  Two Kinds of Girls

  The day of Evelyn’s murder, Belle couldn’t stop shaking. Raven was coming home. Her first boyfriend. Her once-upon-a-time true love. She didn’t love Raven like she once had, didn’t feel a crushing weight at the thought of him kissing someone else. But her fear of losing him completely was like a fire that had been waiting to be stoked, embers burning and smoke curling inside her. One mention of him coming back to Rose Hollow, and Belle was aflame.

  She had to protect him. It didn’t matter that he’d sounded stronger on the phone, like the scrawny-limbed, stoic child had grown into a man. Raven was not vicious enough to survive Evelyn Holloway. He was not wicked, and while Belle’s time with Lily had taught her that she had sweetness inside her, she would never be an innocent girl.

  She would keep her loved ones safe. Belle took her phone out of her pocket, pulling up the calendar she’d synced with Edwin’s years ago. She’d needed to know when he’d be out of the house. Needed to know when he’d be attending a charity auction or a town luncheon, so she could slip off to visit Lily at the facility. According to the calendar, Edwin would be out of the house between five and seven that evening, and the second he left, Belle would sneak out after him.

  But she wouldn’t be going to visit Lily.

  Day bled into evening. Belle followed Edwin to the door, and he kissed her on the forehead before leaving, just like he had when she was eleven. She waved him out the door, locking it behind him.

  Then she snuck out the back.

  She could hear Edwin’s car pulling out of the driveway as she passed the little patch of belladonna on the side of the yard, and a few seconds later, she was heading for the street. She’d gotten alarmingly good at sneaking out of places. She’d gotten alarmingly good at sneaking into places too, but that day she headed to Raven’s front door, because she needed to know which cars were in the driveway: Stefan’s, Evelyn’s, or both.

  Miraculously, the driveway was empty.

  No one was home. If she hurried, she could search Raven’s room, and maybe the master bedroom, before anyone got back. Three years had passed since Raven’s departure. Evelyn could’ve destroyed any and all evidence in that time, but Belle couldn’t help but feel there was something hidden in a drawer or stuffed into the bottom of a box. Something to prove Evelyn had been torturing Raven.

  Sneaking into his room brought pleasure and pain. So much had happened between these four walls. Soft whispering. Sweet, innocent hand-holding, and then, as they’d gotten older… kissing. They’d tumbled around on his black satin sheets, clueless and fumbling. They’d spoken in breaths, fingers tangling into hair. Raven had been surprisingly gentle, considering the warnings Edwin had passed down about boys, and every touch had been a revelation. Maybe that was why it had hurt so badly to see Raven kissing someone else. She’d found a way to trust him, in spite of the fear festering inside her.

  And he’d broken her heart.

  Belle lay down on Raven’s bed, trying to breathe through the tightness in her chest. She’d come so far since losing Raven. She’d started to trust someone again. But every time she came close to letting Lily in, she saw a flash of Raven kissing Jack in the
garden, and she shut down completely.

  She shut Lily out.

  Belle hugged a pillow to her chest. Being here wasn’t helping to calm the clamor in her head, the harsh, ringing voices that told her to trust no one, let no one in, keep your heart protected. She wished she could muffle those thoughts the way she’d muffled the voices of Raven’s parents when they fought in the master bedroom. All she’d had to do was press a pillow to the vent on Raven’s floor.

  The vent.

  Belle twisted to the side, leaning over the bed. Raven’s vent connected to his father’s bedroom. To Evelyn’s bedroom, where his father slept soundly each night, under the influence of sleeping pills. If Evelyn had found a way to imitate Arianna Holloway’s voice, she could’ve used the vents to make Raven think he was being haunted.

  Belle raced out of the room. It took very little time to reach the master bedroom, and one glance out the window told her the driveway was still empty. She knelt beside the bed. The pale, elegant four-poster rose up beside her, with a white gauze canopy and matching sheets. It looked a lot like Lily’s bed—not that Belle had spent any time in it. She’d only been able to steal moments with Lily at the facility, little touches here and there. Soft kisses. Secret smiles. She felt a thrill at the thought of spending the night in Lily’s room, wrapped up in Lily’s arms, but that would never happen if Evelyn kept Lily locked away. Nothing would happen if Evelyn was allowed to reign.

  Belle needed to steal her crown. She pulled her little master tool from her pocket, the one with tiny scissors and a tiny screwdriver tucked inside. Edwin had given it to her when she’d started high school. He’d encouraged her to bring it to class, even though she could’ve been expelled if anyone found out. He’d taught her that each of those tools could be a weapon, and if she had to hurt someone in order to get away from them, well, the ends justified the means.

  Belle shivered as she flipped out the screwdriver. For a very long time, she’d believed the world was split into two kinds of girls: fighters and victims. Brutal, vicious witches and delicate damsels. There was no in-between. But as she guided the screws out of the vent covering, she felt a sharp, visceral pain at the choice she’d been given.