Page 111 of Because I Killed Him
I stare at the gown again, memorizing how it looks unworn and unspoiled. Even if Vivian only borrows it, the promise I made to myself will be broken. And yet, the moment she asked for Coquette, I already knew I’d no longer be able to wear it as I’d hoped.
“I need you to mail a package,” I say.
“Right away, Miss Waldsten. Where to?”
I pull my fingers away from the fabric. The effort makes my body tremor, and a sob escapes as I step back from the closet. Then the word comes, sharp as the snap of something breaking.
“Home.”
I used to think survival was the most important. Now, I know that the way you choose to survive matters even more.
—CHARLOTTE DEERING, JOURNAL ENTRY
CHAPTER 25
I twist in my sheets, haunted again by the attack that feeds on me night after night. My eyelids flutter as I fight to break free of the nightmare, but I’m dragged back into the brutality of Charles Blackwell’s hands clamped around my throat, choking the breath from my body. A groan slips out as I brace for the sharp crack of bone, for the moment when I slam my forehead into his nose like a hammer.
Instead, I hear blaring brass.
Trumpets. Trombones. Tubas. The sound of a full marching band bursts through the morning silence like a battle cry. I roll over in bed, my sweaty hair sticking to my back, my fists curling before I even realize I’m awake.What the hell?
The music swells until it seems to echo across the whole campus. The band snakes past the Green Dormitory in an orderly formation, the brass instruments glimmering in the cold morning sun. They cut through the Guillotine Yard and turn toward the Blue Dormitory, their boots stomping in perfect time with the booming bass drums.
I slide out of bed, still half-dazed, and hurry to my balcony, where the wintry air cuts through my silk nightdress. The entire campus is waking up with me. Windows fling open, and heads pop out as students blink groggily, watching the band march past as if on a mission.
Then, at last, I realize where they’re going.
I activate my Bond and use the binocular feature to zoom across theGuillotine Yard. My vision sharpens as it pulls me past the towering Blue Dormitory entrance, locking onto a grand, carved-stone balcony on the fourth floor.
And there they are.
The twins.
Edmund and Rosamund sit together at a luxurious breakfast table, basking in the golden spill of early sunlight. A porcelain teapot steams beside a tiered tray of tea scones, with bowls of clotted cream, and rich platters of smoked trout, grilled veal sausages, and poached eggs. Across from them, Jack and Dickie lounge back, still in their pajamas, half-asleep as they pile their plates with food.
Of course. It’s a birthday tribute, an entire marching band summoned for Edmund and Rosamund by the Office of Student Affairs. Or maybe by their mother.
The song reaches its climax beneath the balcony. The conductor thrashes wildly, wringing every last ounce of energy from the musicians. Even the students—most still slouched at their windows in a drowsy haze—look mesmerized. For a moment, the entire student body is absorbed in the performance, as if it’s the most important event in the university’s history.
When the final note rings out and fades into the crisp morning air, the band stands at attention, their eyes lifted in anticipation.
Edmund gets up from the table alone, holding a champagne flute. Meanwhile, Rosamund leans toward Jack and whispers something that makes him squint in discomfort. Her sapphire dress flows with each movement, the fabric caressing her body as if with the adoration she clearly wishes Jack would give her.
Edmund rests one hand on the balcony railing. At this point, I know he has two smiles. One is a straight-edged mask of politeness he wears out of habit. The other transforms his face, softening his proud features, creating lines around his eyes and mouth, and filling his face with a warmth that feels foreign for a Blue.
Today, his smile is real.
He dips his chin, raises his champagne flute, and calls something down to the marching band. I can’t hear the words from here, but whatever hesays sets off a roar of laughter, cheers, and applause.
The conductor takes a sweeping bow, then signals the band to break formation. Instruments are swung over shoulders, uniforms blend into the crowded streets, and in a matter of moments, the musicians disperse back into the dormitories.
Rosamund pulls up beside Edmund at the railing and slips an arm around his waist. He smiles and kisses the top of her head, then they both look down. I follow their gaze to the front steps of the Blue Dormitory, where a line of Pinkies stretches across the walkway. Each robot carries a pair of gifts, beautifully wrapped and decorated with flowers, jewels, and ribbons.
The line is long… very long. I don’t need to see the name tags to know all the gifts are from students. Some are probably eager to win favor with the Prews, while others are likely sending gifts out of fear or obligation. Whatever the reason, the outcome is the same: Edmund and Rosamund are being showered with a tidal wave of wealth and tribute, a display of power so staggering I feel intimidated.
There are so many gifts that the Pinkies have to stack the packages on bellhop carts in the lobby. Edmund and Rosamund probably won’t open them personally. Most will be cataloged and stored away, forgotten the moment they arrive.
Suddenly, I wonder if mine will be one of those, if my gift will be swallowed by the pile and dismissed before it’s even touched.
