Let's Hunt Her (Book #2)

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I take my seat next to Sejeong in poisons class, which is set up like an old fashion school chemistry lab. There's a large fireplace that warms the room, the flames of which are used to heat and prepare poisonous substances, and a stone basin filled with water. At Absconditi (Hidden) Academy they don't provide you with safety goggles to protect you from an explosive poisons accident, but they will extinguish you if you set yourself on fire. So that's nice. The truly shocking part, though, isn't the school's lack of safety precautions; it's that I've somehow grown accustomed to its risk-enthusiastic curriculum. I would shake my head at the absurdity of it all, but it wouldn't go unnoticed by my classmates. Ever since I stepped out of my room this morning, watchful eyes of students and teachers have followed my every step.

I'm certain Rosé made a big show of telling everyone that my parents were the rebel Romeo and Juliet of Strategia-the firstborn daughter of the Eagle Family running off with the firstborn son of the Tigers, only to be chased by Tiger assassins. That, combined with Headmaster Kang's perfunctory announcement that Dr. Yoo is dead, and the fact that Sehun and I are covered in unexplained cuts and bruises, has made me the subject of a great deal side-eyed whispering.

"Sit, my beauties," says Professor Hisakawa, which is the way she addresses us at the beginning of every poisons class. She scans the room from under her bob haircut, her eyes twinkling. "We have so many wonderful things to discuss. You're not going to want to miss a minute of it."

Rosé and Jimin sit at the wooden table across from ours. Rosé spins the glass vitals and jars in front of her, which are gilled with varied horrors, while she whistles. She keeps directing smug looks to Taemin's back, obviously still gloating about her role in Dr. Yoo's demise. The part that strikes me as unsettling, though, is that if everyone assumes Taemin was involved in the plot to kill me, why doesn't he suffer any consequences? Does this status as a head Tiger really shield him that well, or is there just no evidence to prove it?

I shift my focus to Jimin, who, unlike Rosé, is stiff and tensed, causing the long scar on his cheekbones to pull at the skin around it. He looks as banged up as me and Sehun, and by the careful way he sits, I'm certain he's as sore from plummeting through that tree as I am. He's refused to look in my direction since he walked in the room. I guess it's hard to look at me knowing he tried to kill me only to later discover that I'd saved his life.

"Atropa belladonna, or deadly nightshade," Hisakawa says with a smile, reveling in her passion for poisons. "The Gothic siren of any good apothecary and one of the most romantic poisons, if I do say so."

Atropa, I think, and begin my usual analysis, a name that likely pays a homage to the Greek goddess Atropos, who was the oldest of the Three Fates and was responsible for choosing the way mortal dies-hence the "deadly" bit. And of course belladonna means "pretty woman" in Italian. I glance at Taemin-poison is just about the only thing he and his friends didn't try to use on me, although I'm sure he would have if he'd had the chance.

Taemin sits at a table by himself, his shock of blonde hair standing out in stark contrast to the dark wood and stone walls. Jennie hasn't returned from the dungeon after attacking me with her sword, and it's obvious Taemin's aware of her absence by the way his brow furrows when he looks at her empty chair. He doesn't make eye contact with me, but his eyes narrow and I'm certain he notices. Sejeong kicks my boot under the table, which I can only assume: "Don't be stupid enough to instigate Taemin when all you need to do is make it through one more day."

I adjust my eyes back to Hisakawa, who stands in front of the large fireplace with her hands clasped behind her back, rocking from the balls of her feet to the heels and back again. "The thing about belladonna that's fascinating is that there aren't that many recorded examples of poisoning. However, my personal favorite concerns eighteenth-century poisoner Julia Tofana. She made Teal Tofana, a 'cosmetic' sold exclusively to women for more than fifty years to help them kill their husbands. Instead of being applied to the skin, this product was poured into soup. When she was caught and executed, it was believed that Tofana had assisted in the poisoning of over six hundred men throughout Italy." Hisakawa sighs wistfully, the way some people react to a touching poem. "Now, tell me, why would I be excited about something that has so few examples to teach from?"