But halfway through the sixth grade, Belle started to realize that staying indoors wasn’t solving the problem of a world filled with monsters. Yes, she was safe, but what about all the others? All the girls being snatched from their beds, or attacked at parties, or plucked off the street? One day, she snuck out of school at lunch and bought a packet of belladonna seeds for her garden. She wasn’t planning to poison anyone.

She just wanted to know that she could, if she needed to protect someone.

A couple of weeks later, she was crossing the football field when she glimpsed a group of boys huddled under the bleachers, shoving a person back and forth between them. That person had trembling legs. A face so pale, Belle thought all the blood must’ve drained out of it. In spite of her pounding heart, she stalked over to the group.

“What game is this?” she asked wryly, because one had to be wry with monsters. They didn’t understand sincerity, and begging just made them stronger. So did crying. So did screams. “Can I play?”

“Sure,” said a boy with golden hair, shoving the person into Belle’s arms. Her body sagged under the weight. But this was not some delicate girl she was holding. It was a delicate boy, with bright eyes and dark curls.

“Now what?” Belle asked, neither shoving the boy away nor pulling him closer. “Am I supposed to do something with him?”

A couple of boys snorted, elbowing each other suggestively, but the blond, who was clearly the leader, said, “Yeah. Pass him back.”

“That’s… it?” Belle frowned, glancing at the boy in her arms. He didn’t look frightened anymore, or even angry. He was watching her curiously, as if he knew this was her game now, and the buffoons surrounding them hadn’t bothered to look up the rules. “Your game seems a bit dull. How about a different one? I’ve been growing belladonna in my garden. Tomorrow at lunch, I’ll slip a petal into one of your sandwiches, and you’ll get to guess whose face will turn purple. Won’t that be fun?”

“Yikes,” said a boy with brown hair and frighteningly tight jeans. “Let’s get out of here, Landon. This girl’s a bitch.”

“No, I’m a witch, and I’ll be happy to poison every last one of you if you ever mess with this boy—”

“Get help,” the blond, Landon, broke in, rolling his eyes. But his smile was a little watery. His army looked a little shaken. After a minute, he snapped his fingers, waving his boys off the field.

Belle let go of the boy with ebony curls. “Well, that was unexpected. I know they get cranky when they don’t get their naps—”