Page 27 of Death's Daughter
She scowls at me, pushing her glasses up on her nose from where they’ve slipped. “You’re not leaving town,” she argues.
“No, but it might look like I have something to hide, and I’m not going to give them that.” And I need to be here to try and figure out who is responsible.
“Jo, you have no shoes,” Daan says reprovingly. “This is not smart.”
“I have my gym bag in a locker at Wibberley from that cycling class this summer,” I say. Assuming athletic center staff hasn’t cut the lock off. It’s been a while. Turns out I don’t like working that hard to go absolutely nowhere. “And your feet are freakishly tiny,” I remind him. “So your shoes wouldn’t even fit me.”
Daan lifts his chin. “My feet are appropriately sized for my height, they are—”
“—just narrow,” Chessa and I finish this familiar refrain simultaneously, and for a moment, everything feels normal.
“Exactly this, yes,” Daan says with an offended sniff, as he always does when this topic comes up. “It is not my fault Americans havepeddlesfor feet.”
That wrings an exhausted laugh out of me. And I want to reach out and hug them both, hold them tight and keep them safe. But that’s not possible, not yet. “I can crash with Ryann over at Quimby, if I have to,” I say. “She has a single this year. Or Bekah at Proctor. They won’t—”
A muffled buzz sounds, with a vibration against my side. Followed by another buzz nearby, then another. From upstairs, the loud chirp of a text on a phone at full volume.
Chessa steps back and pulls out her phone from her jacket pocket. “It’s a campus alert,” she says with a frown, scanning the screen. “About a death on campus.” She rolls her eyes. “Way to go with the timely communication, guys. Everyone’s already talking…” She trails off, her eyes widening.
Uh-oh.“What is it?”
Daan peers over Chessa’s shoulder. “They say there is no cause for alarm as the death is likely related to personal dispute.”
Well, fuck.That, combined with the rumors about my “detainment,” is going to make me look like suspect number one.
“Police are investigating but, in the meantime, everyone is to exercise caution,” Daan continues. “Keep doors locked, do not allow… oh.” His gaze shoots to me. “Do not allow nonresidents access to your hall or room, even students you may know.”
With that direction, Beecher admin might as well have posted my picture with a Wanted filter.
Fantastic.
“It’s fine,” Carter says. “If Jocasta wants to be on campus, she can stay at my place for now.”
I turn to stare at him, but he meets my eyes without flinching. What is this? I’veneverbeen to his place before. Of course, he’s not ever been to mine, either. It’s sort of been one of those things we don’t talk about because that would mean having an actual conversation about what this is… or was. Is this part of his new “friends” initiative? I wonder what the woman from last night would say about it.
In spite of everything, the idea of seeing where he lives—I bet everything is notoriously tidy—sends a little shiver of anticipation through me.
Chessa snorts. “Yeah, I’m not sure you’re the best choice in a time of crisis, friend, given how often you cause them.” Apparently, tragedy loosens Chessa’s filter to the point of non-existence. “Do you know how hard she—”
“That’s great. Thank you, Carter,” I say loudly over Chessa.
He nods, but a muscle ticks along his jaw.
Chessa clicks her tongue in disapproval, shaking her head at me. She grabs one of the markers from the cup and then my handto scrawl her number on my palm, the black ink fresh and bright in contrast to the tattoos I got when I was sixteen. “You call me.”
“No phone,” I remind her.
She sighs. “You better give me your number, then,” she says to Carter after a moment. “In case I need to reach her.”
I grimace. I feel like a fifteen-year-old with a strict parent overseeing a first date. Except I didn’t date at fifteen—still too busy trying to feed myself without killing people—and, by that point, my mother would not have cared.
But Carter complies without argument, and it does make sense. Until I get my phone back or buy a new one, I’ll need to rely on someone else for communication.
“I’ll wait for you outside,” he says, turning and stepping back onto the porch without waiting for my response.
In the new silence, with just the three of us, Daan draws in a deep breath. “Just be careful, Jo. I cannot… Lennie… not you as well.” His eyes go shiny and then tears spill over. “Fuck.” He turns away and then rapidly ascends the steps.
A pang of loss for Lennie, for all of us, throbs in my chest, followed immediately by a pulse of anger.
