“Seriously,” Belle said, as Jack slumped against a tree, wiping the tears from her lashes. “It’s fine. If I’d known you were going to break down at the thought of kissing my boyfriend, I would’ve played the knight.”

“Neither of us is a knight! Raven isn’t a prince! Something is really, really wrong with him, and playing some stupid game we loved when we were kids isn’t going to stop—” Jack broke off, sliding down the trunk of the tree. Belle knelt in front of her. She must’ve been starting to understand, because she lifted Jack’s chin with her fingers. “You’re worried about him in real life.”

“Of course I am,” Jack said, jerking out of her grip. “He’s going to die. He’s going to be lying in a coffin for real, and no kiss will bring him back. She’s going to kill him, Belle.”

“She won’t. I won’t let it happen.”

Jack looked up, her eyes narrowing in the moonlight. “How are you going to stop it?” she asked, the fluttering in her chest going still. Belle hadn’t sounded angry then, or scared.

She’d sounded determined.

Quietly, Belle reached into her dress. It was a black lacy thing with tons of ribbons and even more pockets. Perfect for a witch. But she didn’t pull out a potion, or a bottle containing the wings of a bat. She pulled out a scrap of paper with something scribbled on it.

Recipe for the Perfect Murder

One petal of belladonna

One petal of poppy

Drop into a teacup and stir three times.

“What is this?” Jack demanded. But she knew what it was. Like the changing of her name, this recipe needed no explanation. “You want us to poison Raven’s stepmom?”

“She’s poisoning him. She’s poisoning his mind, all because he has his mom’s eyes and his mom’s laugh. Every time his dad looks at him, he’s reminded of the woman he lost in the snow. The woman he loved more than he’ll ever love Evely—”

“Are you two done talking about me?” a voice called from the north. Raven’s voice. He was too far away to hear them, but still, Jack took the recipe and crumpled it in her hand. “You should burn this before Raven sees it,” she said.

“No time.” Belle plucked the ball of paper from Jack’s fingers and tossed it into a nearby creek. “The water will wash away the ink,” she promised, flashing a grin. A wicked grin, Jack thought, because Belle had always loved playing the witch. Jack had never been happier than when she was playing the knight. She’d rescued Raven from his third-floor bedroom, and from the tallest branches in the orchard.

Now he needed her to rescue him one more time.