Page 157 of Because I Killed Him
Dickie smirks. “You wouldn’t be complaining if I were Jack.”
Warmth rushes to Charlotte’s cheeks. Avoiding Jack’s gaze, she yanks off her glove and jams it into Dickie’s mouth.
He spits it out and smugly snickers until Jack shoots him a look.
I strap on my helmet and follow a Pinkie to my horse, a shiny thoroughbred that’s the same dark brown as Edmund’s hair. Beside me, Edmund mounts a black Friesian, its mane flowing in long waves down to its legs like a defiant brushstroke. The horse is enormous, so tall that when Edmund settles into the saddle, his head nearly grazes the stable ceiling.
Jack swings onto his hoverbike and snaps up the kickstand. “We taking the usual? Up to Brass-Spire Ridge?”
“Yeah. But we can do better.” Edmund gathers the reins, leather creaking against his gloves. “You, Dickie, and Miss Deering take Switchbacks Trail. Miss Waldsten and I will take Fernway. Winning team gets to decide what we do tomorrow.”
“Fernway’s longer,” Jack points out.
“Sure. But Switchbacks is steeper.”
“All right, then.” Jack spikes his hoverbike’s power core, grinning as if it’s the sound of a lover. “I’ll blow you a kiss from the top.”
Charlotte glances back at me to check whether I’m okay with splitting up. I shrug casually, even though sweat slicks my forehead beneath my helmet. She nods, then kicks her horse forward and follows the roar of Jack’s hoverbike out of the stables. They ride side by side into the warm evening, like a scene from a film I once saw in which a man leaped from his hoverbike onto a woman’s horse and kissed her mid-canter.
I turn to Edmund, ready to ask whether we’re really taking Fernway Trail, when he brushes past the Pinkie that’s holding out his helmet and spurs his horse from the stable. I follow, swept up in the rush despite myself. Every bit of sense tells me to turn back, but I don’t want to. Tonight, I want to break my rules, too.
Edmund leads us out of the Moonshine Mile and onto the paths reserved for Blues, which extend into the mountains along the northwest edge of campus. The evening air is hot and muggy, but Fernway lies primarily under forest cover. The tree branches weave a canopy overhead, breaking the last of the light into fractured gold as the trail begins its ascent toward Brass-Spire Ridge. Hooves drum against the rocky slope, each stride jarring up through my legs until my thighs burn from holding steady in the stirrups. I haven’t ridden since before arriving at Grandmaster, and itshows. Sweat streams down my back in the stifling heat, and all I can think about is water.
Edmund rides alongside me, his body tuned to the horse’s wild, unruly gait as if he’s ridden it before. He keeps glancing at me—at the squeeze of my legs against the saddle, at the arch of my neck as I brace against the pine-scented wind. Each time, he forces his eyes forward again, tightening the reins as though reining himself in, too.
For twenty minutes, we push along Fernway, passing Blues and their entourages on the winding path through the trees. Then Edmund cues his mount with a light neck rein, and the horse veers onto a narrow switchback that twists over damp roots and old deadfall. The trail opens at last to a clearing overgrown with bright, feathery dandelions. Thin waterfalls cascade in silver sheets over moss-dark stones, breaking into a creek that flows through the forest, bubbling like the laughter of the mountain.
We guide our horses to the stream bank to drink. I take off my helmet and shake out my damp hair, grateful for the cool air after the grind of the climb.
“Is this water safe to drink?” I ask, still catching my breath.
“Yeah. You could bottle it up and sell it.”
Edmund’s eyes wander over my flushed face to the strands of hair that have come loose from my bun, damp with sweat, and suddenly the dryness in my throat feels unbearable. I dismount with a swing of my leg and move to the creek bank, where I splash my face and neck with cool water. The horses stomp and stir up mud, so the shallows cloud quickly. I edge over to a patch of reeds where the water runs clearer. As I crouch to drink, Edmund dismounts, his boots clapping against the rocks behind me.
I scoop up a handful of water, about to drink, when two sounds hit me at once: Edmund’s voice, rough with urgency, shouting for me to get back. And beneath it, a low, chilling rattle rising from the reeds. My horse startles, rearing with a terrified whinny before bolting into the forest.
The reeds shiver as a rattlesnake slithers forward, its slit-pupiled eyes locking onto me an instant before it strikes, jaws gaping, fangs gleaming with venom. I stumble back as Edmund lunges. His hand shoots out and seizes the snake below its head. The reptile thrashes, its coils lashing the air and its rattle buzzing in fury.
He adjusts his grip to pin the snake tighter, but it whips around and sinks its fangs deep into the back of his hand. Edmund bares his teeth, his face flashing fiercely, and for a terrible moment, he looks like an animal, too, arching toward the snake with his mouth wide open.
Then, as if suddenly remembering I’m here, his eyes widen.
“I—” Edmund quickly lowers the snake from his mouth. “Excuse me, Miss Waldsten.”
He wrenches his hand free of the fangs and tosses the rattlesnake into the reeds, where it disappears beneath an outcropping of rocks.
I edge closer, staring at him in shock. “Were you going to bite its head off?”
He flexes his bloodied hand and clears his throat. “I was… mad.”
I study the wound, and my shock turns to fear when I notice the skin already swelling across his knuckles. We have no anti-venom, and calling a medic will take at least ten minutes. My mind races, searching for a helpful tip, until I remember a passage from a book.
I lunge forward and grab Edmund’s hand. His whole body stiffens as I set my thumbs on either side of the bite and lift his hand to my mouth. The coppery tang of blood floods my tongue as I try to suck the poison out, desperate and frantic. My heart hammers so wildly that I hardly notice when his other hand comes down, gently clasping my arm.
“Uh, Miss Waldsten… what are you doing?”
I pull back and spit into the grass. “I’m sucking out the venom.”
