Page 40 of Because I Killed Him
He blinks, briefly stunned, as if I told him his blood wasn’t blue. Then he turns fully to me. “We were already introduced, Miss Waldsten. Edmund Prew. But to you,Mr. Prew. Is it a difficult name to remember?”
“No. I would say it is easy to forget.”
A strange expression crosses his face, caught between flustered and amused, before his features harden again. “Well, it won’t be easy if you forget it a second time.”
I nod, jaw clenched. The cut above his eyebrow is bleeding again, a thin blue slash that glints at me like a threat, reminding me that my seat at this table is borrowed. One more wrong word, and I’m out.
Edmund turns back to Charlotte. “The challenge is simple. If you win, you and Miss Waldsten shall each be granted a request. If I win, I shall claim one from each of you.” He extends a hand, palm open, as if offering something generous. But I know better. There’s no reason to include me in this deal unless he already knows what he wants.
That’s fine.
I know what I want, too.
“No,” Charlotte snaps, shoving her chair back so hard it screeches. “You know what? Screw this. Screw itall. I’m not playing—and I’m not staying.”
“That would be unwise,” Edmund says.
“Why, Mr. Prew?” I cut in. “Do you intend to report us for trespassing?”
He grunts. “There is little use if you are dead.”
“What makes you so certain I will die if I return to the green carriage?” I rest my hand on my purse as if it holds something sharper than it does. “I am not unarmed.”
“Indeed. But of what use is a saber if you do not know where to point it?”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“My meaning, Miss Waldsten, is that I know how the Copper intends to kill you.”
“Because you are involved?”
“Because the evidence isstinkingup my salon.”
I glance at my dress, where the foul smell still lingers, seeping through the fabric onto my skin. Whatever it is, it can’t be lethal on contact, or I’d already be dead.
“See,” Dickie says, nudging Charlotte’s arm. “I wasn’t swatting at flies.”
Charlotte looks over my dress, now worried. “What is it, Edmund? Some kind of chemical?”
He leans back, a slow curve forming on his lips. “I have no desire to offer aid to you or Miss Waldsten without terms.”
“This is not about aiding me,” I say. “There is a student in the green carriage. Miss Bradford. She is a target, too, and if we do not act, she will die.”
“Then perhaps you should stop spending time you cannot afford.”
Edmund tosses the jar of scorpions back to Charlotte. She catches it with a wince, bracing as if it might pop open and spill the scorpions. A large, dark vein jumps in her forehead, the same one that always appears when she’s scared past pretending.
“All right, Edmund.” She sets the jar on the table as if it just started ticking. “I’ll do it on one condition. Whatever the loser owes has to be legal. No blood. No bullshit.”
“Or forced intimacy,” I say.
Edmund cuts me a look like I’m a mosquito buzzing too close. He gets up, and as soon as his body leaves the chair, it relaxes, as if he’s not made for staying still.
“I accept,” he says. “Shall we formalize the agreement?”
Charlotte nods.
We record the terms in our Blood Rings. Once finished, Edmund closes the space between us and pulls me into an embrace, the customary gesture to seal an agreement. His skin is still hot and sweaty, and his grip is too tight, as if he’s pouring his disdain into the formality. I squeeze him right back, harder and harder, until he stiffens.
