“Nooo!” I was about to wither away. If they would be incinerated, I’d die with them.

Dad glanced from my face to my hand on his arm. He must’ve felt the power, must’ve realized I was fueling it. He murmured, “I love you both.” Then he yanked away from me.

His body disappeared. A pile of ash grew at our feet. He’d become . . . nothing.

Mom and I screamed. My body recoiled as if I’d almost teleported. For her, I tried to again. Carrying only one, I was so close . . . almost . . .

Ah, God, can’t.

I clung to her arm as she knelt and reached for Dad’s ashes. She gazed up and said, “Let me go. Tess, live.”

I gritted my teeth, shaking my head.

“Love you so much.” With a watery smile, she peeled my fingers off her arm. One by one . . .

The Empress (III)

Evangeline “Evie” Greene, Our Lady of Thorns

“Come, touch . . . but you’ll pay a price.”

A.k.a.: The Poison Princess, Phyta, the May Queen, the Queen of Thorns, Mistress of Flora, Lady Lotus. Sievā (to Death) and peekôn (to Jack).

Powers: Can create, shape, and control plants and trees. Can deliver poisons through her claws and lips, and spores from her hair and hands. Chlorokinetic scrying (can perceive through plants). Regeneration.

Special Skills: Mesmerizing.

Weapons: Plants, trees, poisonous spores, thorn tornados.

Tableau: A woman sitting upon a throne with her arms open wide, wearing a poppy-red gown and a crown with twelve stars; her hair is strewn with poppies, vines, and strands of red. White roses surround her throne, and the rolling hills behind her are awash in green and red—from both crops and blood.

Icon: White rose.

Unique Arcana Characteristics: Hair turns red, and fingernails morph into thorn claws. Glyphs on her skin glow from green to gold, each one representing a weapon in her arsenal.

Before Flash: A cheerleader at Sterling High in Louisiana. The night before Day 0, her sixteenth birthday party was broken up by the sheriff’s department.

Sterling, Louisiana

Day 0

When I hadn’t heard from Mel or Brandon by noon, panic set in. Why wouldn’t they pick up their phones?

Surely the two of them hadn’t gotten . . . gaffled.

Especially when no one else seemed to have been arrested. Without my cell, I’d been on my laptop, scouring students’ social media for info.

All morning, I’d looked at keg-party pics and Solo-cup shares. I’d read updates from kids bragging about being at the party of the year.

Not a word about the cops. And apparently, Mom hadn’t heard anything either. . . .

I’d woken at dawn in the middle of the cane field, having slept soundly for hours. Surprisingly, I hadn’t been hungover—a miracle considering how tanked I’d been, so drunk I’d hallucinated worse than ever before.

Though desperate to shower and brush my teeth, I hadn’t wanted Mom to see me in the clothes I’d gone out in. After a while, I hadn’t cared.

She’d been so distracted by the drought, on the phone with another farmer, that she hadn’t even noticed I was wearing a Versace halter and a moth-eaten pair of last year’s jodhpurs.

Mom would’ve heard about the bust by then, yet she’d said nothing, just absently kissed my cheek before running off to another emergency farmers’ meeting.

After I’d showered and dressed, I’d begun to feel confident that my boyfriend had truly hushed the situation.

Just as he’d said he would. My drunken knight in shining armor had won his battle.

Now I patted the enormous diamond solitaire around my neck, realizing that Brandon Radcliffe was not just the type of boy I needed in my life; he was the one I wanted—dependable, happy-go-lucky, easy to read.

Not brooding, mysterious, and impossible to decipher.

I decided to get something locked down with my boyfriend, so I’d stop thinking stupid thoughts about Angola-bound Cajuns.

With that in mind, I called Brandon’s cell from my home line yet again, intending to leave a message this time.

“Hey, Brand, I hope everything’s okay. Starting to worry.” I nibbled my bottom lip, debating how to begin this. “Last night, about our conversation . . . we got interrupted—when you went off to save the day for me. And I just wanted to tell you my decision.”

I paused, knowing there was no turning back from this. “My decision is . . . yes. I’ll spend the night with you next weekend.” Done. Locked down. “I . . . I’m . . .” Relieved? Nervous? “Um, call me. At home.”

He still hadn’t called by three in the afternoon, when Mel sauntered into my room.

“Where in the hell have you been?” My mood was foul. My plans to talk to Gran had been thwarted. I hadn’t dared to risk Mom’s anger—or worse—to call Gran from the house phone. “What happened to you last night?”

“Spencer and I went to his car, totally hooked up. I threw one over on him, released some steam, and he’s puppy-dog whipped now.” She made a whip-cracking sound. “Melly’s got mojo—he wants an ER.”

Exclusive relationship? Already? I felt excitement for her, before remembering I was pissed.

“Just when we were finishing up, the cops came,” Mel said. “We drove out the back way.”

“Why didn’t you come here to find me?” I demanded.

She blinked. “I just did. So what happened to you, Eves?”