Page 109 of Because I Killed Him
He always looks like this after visiting Irene.
“Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Prew,” I say, tugging my sleeve down to hide the scratches his sister left. “I must return to my suite.”
“Your suite?” He steps in front of me, eyebrow lifted. “Since when doyouskip class?”
“When I have a reason, as I do now.”
“What reason?”
“It is not serious.” I tug casually at my earring. “I drank a little too much wine last night at Jolt & Jive.”
“Oh, really?” Edmund leans in, nostrils flaring slightly. “Well, if you’re bleeding from a hangover, you need a hospital, not a nap.”
“Pardon?”
“Enough bullshit, Miss Waldsten. I can smell it.”
“The bullshit?”
“Theblood.”
I touch the wound on my arm, frustrated to be caught, even more so when I lose one civil credit for repeating the same curse in public that Edmund just did.
“The blood is mine,” I say. “I have not injured a Blue.”
He squints as if I’ve just insulted him. “You think I didn’t know that when I asked?” He gestures at my wrist. “Show me.”
I wince as I peel back my blood-dampened sleeve. Edmund’s eyes track the long, clean scratches, one deep enough to leave a bloody groove on my wrist. The twitch in his eye vanishes, replaced by a hardening of his face until his jaw locks. Then his gaze lifts, following the walls up toward the fourth floor.
“Which fucking Blue?”
I hesitate long enough to remind myself that the Blue isn’t a stranger in the Tangerine Tree. This is Rosamund, his twin sister.
“Mr. Prew, given the circumstances, I believe it would be wiser to—”
Edmund lowers himself to my level, clearly trying to be patient, but the twitch in his eye has returned. “You’re in my entourage, Miss Waldsten. This isn’t just a slight to you. It’s a slight tome.”
“That is precisely the problem. The Blue responsible is the only one on that floor you arenotpermitted to challenge.”
He tilts his head, looking confused. Then, when it finally clicks, the fire behind his eyes dies in an instant, like a blade sheathed mid-swing. “Rosamund?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“For the same reason she attacked Miss Deering.”
His brow furrows. “Miss Deering? What the hell did Rosamund do to her?”
I suddenly realize how pointless this conversation is. Edmund is clearly on the outside of the situation. Jack might not know the full extent either. The boys are blind to Rosamund as she runs free, throwing knives at us behind their backs.
“I wish to leave now, Mr. Prew. Good day.”
“Wait.”
Edmund touches my arm, gentler than usual. Still, I keep walking until I notice a trail of blood dripping from my sleeve onto his fingers, forming a dark green smear. I lock eyes with him over my shoulder, waiting for him to recoil, to wipe the blood away as if I’ve contaminated him.
But he doesn’t.
