Page 73 of Because I Killed Him
I nod, bracing myself. I haven’t forgotten Harrison’s warning about the cost of protection from a Blue. “Are you referring to service work, Mr. Prew?”
He lifts an eyebrow. “My entourage is not a cleanup crew, Miss Waldsten. No services will be required. You will nottouchme.”
The bite in his tone makes me wonder if he’s one of those Blues who think low-citizens are like echoes, heard only after their voice has finished speaking. But Edmund can’t possibly see Jack and Dickie that way. If he did, he wouldn’t have given them the blue bands on their Blood Rings, which grant them special privileges. I still don’t know exactly what the blue bands do or how they work. In the chaos of the last week, I forgot to ask Dad.
“Because I am low?” I say.
“Because I am engaged. And you are a woman.”
Who does he think he’s fooling? Irene has already caught on to his affairs, and so have I. Why pretend he’s the home-and-hearth type?
“Are women temptations to you, Mr. Prew?” I ask as he reaches for his brandy.
Edmund stops mid-sip and smiles to himself. “If you are referring to yourself, Miss Waldsten, then no. You are a loud-mouthed distraction.”
“If you do not care for loud people, you must care little for yourself.”
He sets down his brandy with a self-deprecating laugh. “Yes, I care little. But only on Saturdays.”
That’s a strange thing to say. “Why on Saturdays?”
“It is time to move on, Miss Waldsten.”
I lean back in my chair, wincing as my raw knuckles brush my gown. “Your rules. What will you expect from me?”
“Loyalty,” Edmund says without hesitation. “My trust is one chance deep. Betray it—dishonor me or my name—and there will be no forgiveness. Should such a breach occur, our agreement will be void, and I will have no further obligation to you. If, however, you maintain your trustworthiness, your position in my entourage will remain secure for one year. At the conclusion of that year, our formal arrangement shall be considered fulfilled and formally dissolved.”
One year.That’s too long to stomach and too short to matter. I’ll need at least two years before I can lift my weapons restriction and stop relying on others for protection. But with President Reeve dead and hundreds of Blue students targeting me and the other low-citizen students whoseparents voted to ban Bliss, I realize I’m not in a position to negotiate.
“Your offer, Mr. Prew… I accept.”
“Then we have an agreement.”
Edmund responds before the echo of my words fades. I find it strange that he mentions no additional rules or terms, and even stranger that he reaches for me so quickly, as if he wants this bargain as much as I do.
I can’t imagine why.
His Blood Ring, a thick blue meteorite band engraved with gold motifs, eclipses mine. He leans in for the scan, the official gesture that secures my place in his entourage. But just before our hands meet, an alarm above the door erupts with bright, strobing lights.
“Emergency alert. Evacuate immediately,” an automated voice announces.
Edmund pulls away and looks coolly at the blaring alarm. He stands, smooths his hair, rolls down his sleeves, and shrugs into his velvet double-breasted suit jacket. He jerks on a pair of white dress gloves as he strides toward the door, then stops short, tilting his head to pin me in his sights. “Can you walk?”
Barely. But I’m not about to ask him to carry me. I force myself to stand and hobble after him, each step a struggle to keep up with his long strides. The chandelier-lit corridor stretches before us, as empty as the ventilation shaft.
At the end, we take the elevator to the Oval. Even with Dickie’s earlier call, I’m unprepared for the chaos when we reach the first floor.
Coppers fill the rooms, their badges glinting like rifle scopes, their glossy helmets reflecting the chaos. The music has stopped, the gambling tables have been cleared, and the bars are shuttered. The atmosphere chokes, suffocated by the absence of the party, as wailing alarms push the evacuation forward. Students skip the coat check, leaving their belongings behind. Some stumble, wide-eyed, while others stand frozen, watching the Coppers seal rooms with magnetic barriers.
Edmund cuts through the crowd as if madness were meant to clear a path for him. And it does. Students, even the Coppers, step aside. Their eyes dart toward me as I hobble behind him, curious about what I’m doing with Edmund Prew.
We exit the Speakeasy through the exclusive portico reserved for Blues.A Pinkie rushes off to retrieve Edmund’s hovercar while he breaks away to speak with a Copper. I move close enough to overhear the Copper brief him on the events at the Bridge Banquet.
Edmund sets his teeth as he listens, his fist tightening in his pocket. The concern on his face catches me off guard, and I wonder whether he’s one of the few Blues left who still supports Reeve.
“Is the president alive?” Edmund asks the Copper.
“Yes, Mr. Prew. He has been admitted to Pembroke Hospital, but his condition remains uncertain.”
