Page 17 of Because I Killed Him
“Does Vivian know you’re in an entourage?” I ask.
“Of course, she does. And she’s fine with it.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Ask her yourself, then.”
The fact that I can confirm it with a single text tells me it’s true. But even if, through some mental lapse, Vivian is okay with Harrison being part of an entourage, my parents wouldn’t be. If they ever find out he’s in an entourage, they’ll lose it, especially Dad. At best, they’ll push to delay the wedding until after he graduates; at worst, they’ll withdraw their support for the marriage altogether.
“And what about my dad, Harry?” I ask. “You realize that if he knew you were advising me to do this, he’d beat you to death with his saxophone, right?”
“And it’d be justified, too,” Charlotte adds, waving a hand at him. “Sorry, Harry, but your advice sucks.”
He cuts her a look, clearly growing tired of her voice in this conversation. “Why are you acting like you know more about Blues than I do? You’re not a Public Person yet. You’ve never been to Grandmaster.”
Charlotte toys with the stem of her cocktail glass. “Oh, I don’t know… maybe because I know Edmund Prew.”
Harrison laughs, loud and amused. “Bullshit.”
Charlotte side-eyes me as if she’s waiting for me to accuse her of lying, too. Under different circumstances, I might agree with Harrison, but if I’ve learned one thing since seeing her again, it’s that time can turn the tables… and in this case, flip them over.
I don’t know the Prews personally, but my parents do. Mom says they parade their power and wealth like a flag, staking it in every room they enter. They own three gold mines, enough to buy half the Civilized World, and lease out the rest for sport. Edmund’s older brother is a Blue Representative, and his mother is the Headmistress of GrandmasterUniversity. Dad once told me to see the Prews the way rats see poison:recognize it fast, run away faster.
“How do you know Edmund?” I ask Charlotte.
“Met him through Jack.” She slides onto a barstool, her eyes glazing over, as if she’s had too much to drink. “I haven’t seen him since Jack and I broke up, but during our relationship, I learned enough about Blues to convince me they’re all spiders. They might act nice when you’re caught in their web, sucking up to you as they suck out your blood, but the niceness only lasts until you do something wrong… or until your blood runs out.”
Harrison grunts and turns back to the putting green. “Having experience with one Blue isn’t comparable to being a student at Grandmaster.”
“It’s not just Edmund—I know his twin sister, too.” Charlotte’s face twists as if the very mention of Edmund’s sister were a curse word. “Look, Harry, I’m not pretending to know more about Blues than you. I’m just saying that this shit you’re trying to sell us is—”
“It might be shit, but I’m not the one selling it,” he assures. “Spend a few days at Grandmaster, and this shit sells itself.”
Harrison steps off the putting green, running a hand down his face. I know he’s trying to help us, but advising us to join an entourage is like telling us to strike a match in a room doused with gasoline. Plus, I’m not convinced it’s necessary. Blues have the legal right to kill us, sure, but only under certain conditions. As long as we avoid breaking the law or insulting their honor, they have to wipe their boots on somebody else’s face.
“I didn’t expect you to react like this, Lore,” Harrison says. “But I don’t regret telling you. Even if you’re against joining an entourage now, there might come a time when you don’t have a choice.”
“Then I’ll just have to make sure I always do,” I say.
Our eyes lock, and we share a long, unblinking stare. For the first time since we met, he looks at me like I’m a child, as if he’s thinking:Wait. You’ll learn soon enough.
But I’m already wearing enough chains.
Harrison checks the time on his pocket watch. “I’m heading to bed. If you two stay up, think about my advice. I’m not saying being part of an entourage isn’t hard, but for people like us, everything’s hard.Chooseyour hard.”
He heads down the corridor, swinging the putter back and forth, as if he didn’t just drop a bomb on our heads and play it off as a firecracker. Despite his bad advice, I still don’t think the worst of Harrison the way Hillaire does. He has no addictions, he’s ranked seventeenth in his class, and like all Greens, he’s as strong as a tank. I’ve always believed he’s more than capable of protecting Vivian and their future family. But if someone like him has to resort to begging high-citizens for favors, then I’m missing something. Something big. Something even Dad doesn’t know about.
At the bar, Charlotte stares into space, absently running her fingers through her hair. I remember how she used to brush it everywhere, whether we were at track meets or tap dance clubs. It was what she liked most about herself, which is probably why it’s the only thing she left unchanged.
“You look like you could use a drink,” she says. “Let me guess… martini?”
“Wine.” I walk to the bar and check the selection. “A good Imperial, if Harry’s got it.”
Charlotte snorts. “Don’t tell me you swirl before you sip.”
I glance at her sidelong, surprised to see her expression light up with a hint of her old self: the Charlotte who had music inside her, ragtime in her walk, and jazz in her laugh; the Charlotte you could never get to shut up, even in her sleep.
The feeling intensifies as I sit on a brass barstool beside her and catch a whiff of her black orchid perfume. The scent takes me back to roofless hovercar rides and sunny afternoons by the lake, when Charlotte and I sprawled on the dock and talked about her dream of becoming a long-distance runner and my dream to be a fencer. The memories are so vivid that, for a brief moment, I’m tempted to admit how much I needed her over the past year—to tell her how many nights I cried myself to sleep, not just because I was afraid the sealed court records would leak, but because I didn’t know how to cope with the aftermath of taking a life.
