Page 39 of Because I Killed Him
“You wish to remain in my salon. I wish for you to leave. Who decides?”
Charlotte’s lips press into a line, then loosen with effort. “It’s your room. I get that, okay. But as a lady, I should—”
“Lady?” Edmund’s teeth close around the word like a trap. “Your behavior at The Royce Club suggests otherwise, Miss Deering, and as such, I am under no obligation to treat you as one.” He stubs out his cigar, grinding it into the ashtray until the tip gives out. “Seeing as you and Miss Waldsten are guests of Mr. Carroway, I shall not override his invitation by forcing you out. However, if you are going to stay, you will do so on my terms.”
“What terms?”
Edmund slams a shot glass onto the table so hard the hydrangea petals shudder.
“Ha.” Dickie slides the butter dish toward Charlotte. “You’re toast.”
Charlotte stares down at the glass, her voice barely a rasp. “A shot duel?”
“Yes.”
“And the rules?”
“Only one.” Edmund draws a small jar from his pocket and rolls it across the table.
Inside, two pale yellow scorpions twitch against the glass, their claws tapping the sides, tails coiled high.Deathstalkers.Bred for sport and engineered to kill, their sting is lethal enough to take down half the students on this train.
“Oh, piss off, Edmund.” Charlotte knuckles the jar away. “If you want me dead, why not do it yourself?”
“If I wanted to, Iwould.”
“Stop being dramatic, Lady Charlotte.” Dickie flips open a polished wooden box containing two syringes. “We’ve got anti-venom.”
Charlotte exhales a scoff. “Yeah, well, I don’t like pricks. Not the needle kind, not the stinging kind, and definitely not the walking, talking kind.” She rounds on Jack, eyes flashing. “You’re really going to let him do this?”
“It’s your own choice, darling. Just like it was back then.”
“So, itisrevenge.”
Jack stiffens, and for an instant, I glimpse past the drunken haze. Anger, or maybe sadness, like an animal licking its wounds in the dark. “Call it what you want,” he mutters. “No point trying to change your mind.”
“And why is that?”
“Because the thief thinks everyone steals.”
Charlotte’s mouth parts, shocked.
Dickie’s brow crinkles. “Wait, who’s a thief?”
“Jack…” Charlotte’s voice breaks on his name. “I was hurt, all right? I just wanted—”
She stops short when Jack grips the edge of the table and rises halfway from his seat. Beside him, Edmund burns just as fiercely. There’s nothingdrunk in their stares now, only focus, like Dad back in the hunting blind at home.
I move behind Charlotte and reach for my daffodil brooch. My fingers, slick with sweat, slip twice before I feel the button click and see the camera in the petals start recording. I don’t know what Edmund expects to get out of this challenge, but every instinct screams at me to get it on film.
Even though Charlotte told me to stay behind her and let her handle the situation, I can’t sit still and watch Jack and Edmund gang up on her. I take a steady breath and brush my fingers against Edmund’s sleeve.
“If you’re not throwing us out, then what’s the point of the challenge?”
The look Edmund gives me is unsettling, as though something behind his eyes is pacing. “We are acquaintances, Miss Waldsten. Address me accordingly.”
Even if we’re acquaintances, I shouldn’t have to use formal language in a private setting. Neither should he. Blues aren’t bound by the behavior laws, so he’s using formal language to condescend and assert his power.
“Perhaps I would, sir, if I knew your name.”
