I lunged for the front door, but Mom hauled me back, her strength unreal. “Get in the cellar NOW!” she yelled over the roar. “We can’t risk it!”

The sky grew lighter—hotter. “No, no!” I shrieked, fighting her. “She’ll die, she’ll die, you know she will! I’ve seen this!”

“You both will if you go after her!”

I flailed against Mom, but couldn’t break her hold. Arms stretched toward the front door, I sobbed, thrashing in a frenzy as she dragged me back to the cellar stairs.

When I clung to the doorway, she yanked on me, peeling my fingers from the doorjamb. “No, Mom! P-please let me go after Mel!”

Then came a shock of light. A blast of fire shook the ground. My eardrums ruptured—

A split second later, the force of the explosion hurled us down the stairs, the door slamming behind us.

The Hunter

Jackson Daniel Deveaux

A.k.a.: Jack Daniels, the Cajun, J.D., the general.

Special Skills: Expert fighter with keen survival instincts and weapons knowledge. Self-defense, marksmanship, bowmanship.

Weapons: Crossbow, fists.

Before Flash: A transfer student at Sterling High in Louisiana, fresh from a cage-the-rage prison diversion program.

Basin Town, Louisiana

(Cajun Country)

Day 0

“My decision is . . . yes. I’ll spend the night with you.”

Rewind.

“My decision is . . . yes. I’ll spend the night with you.”

Rewind.

“My decision is . . . yes. I’ll spend the night with you.”

Rewind.

Earlier that day

When had Evangeline Greene gone from being Brandon’s girlfriend to Evie, the girl who was going to drive me crazy?

I sat at the table with her drawing journal open, scrolling through Brandon’s cell phone.

This morning she’d been calling it from her house phone. How could she not know her boyfriend’s cell had been stolen? We’d pinched more than a dozen of them. I had Evie’s as well, but hers was locked; Brandon’s was wide open and chock-full of pictures and videos of her.

Ever since I’d gotten home from Haven last night, I’d looked through album after album.

The phone also had texts. I’d read them all now. With Brandon, she was flirty; she made fun of herself and could take a joke. The two of them had texted back and forth with so much ease—almost like their conversation had been planned.

Then nothing. As if she’d dropped off the face of the earth.

Over the summer, only a couple of texts had come—on the exact same day of the month, at the same time.

I scrolled to one picture from a year ago. She was on my father’s yacht with Brandon. And no one had any idea I was the oldest son, the should-be heir.

She was sunbathing in a red bikini that heated my blood. I scrubbed my hand over my mouth. “Mercy me.” I’d never looked at anything so pretty in my life.

The videos of her telling jokes and playing with a dog on a beach drew my attention too. She was so relaxed, so at home with herself.

Now she was . . . different.

I turned to her journal, full of grisly sketches. I didn’t understand why she was drawing this eerie Goth shit now, but somehow I knew she hadn’t been when those relaxed videos were taken.

In one of her drawings, the night sky was filled with fire. Fleeing rats and snakes made the ground look like it rolled. In another drawing, a thick vine squeezed a man to death, so hard his eyes popped from his skull.

The worst sketch was of a zombielike monster with filmy white eyes and leathery skin drinking blood from a victim’s neck.

Why had Evie drawn these things? I got to know, me.

I didn’t like puzzles. But deep down, I didn’t think that was why she held my interest so strongly.

I ran the pad of my forefinger over the red ribbon I’d taken from her last night. Raising it to my face, I inhaled her scent, my lids growing heavy.

I stuffed the ribbon into my pocket right before Maman shuffled out from her room. She looked exhausted, and she’d lost more weight. Her threadbare robe swallowed her. Goan to get her to eat more.

She took one look at my face and said, “You met a fille you like.” Her gray eyes livened up, until she reminded me of the Hélène Deveaux of old. When Maman was like this, I could more clearly remember the woman who’d read me Robinson Crusoe every night until I’d memorized the lines and would say them with her.

When I’d gotten older, she’d taught me to read on my own, telling me, “If you ever doan like where you are, open a book, and it’ll take you somewhere else. It’s a kind of magic, cher.”

I smoothly closed Evie’s drawing journal and stowed it in my backpack. “Maybe I have.”

Maman’s lips curled. Of course, my meeting a fille I liked was big news. Girls had always been interchangeable before. I’d never found one I’d even seen twice. I sure as shit had never obsessed over a girl like this.

Maman grabbed a mug, mixing bourbon with a splash of coffee. I didn’t bother asking her to hold off. Was a time when I’d hidden bottles and money, but she’d always found a way to drink.

“Tell me about her.” Maman settled into a chair at the table. “What’s she look like?”

I hesitated, then admitted, “Pretty as the day is long. Blond hair and blue eyes.” Short, curvy, smelled like a blossom.

Over the last week at school, I’d gotten close to her at every chance, going to my locker near hers after each class and watching her at lunch.