Page 31 of Because I Killed Him
“You’re sure?”
“I can at least ask.”
I grip her hand, hoping she sees how much this means to me. “Thank you.”
I turn off the faucet, straighten the comb in my hair, and unlock the door. The Copper stands waiting, with one hand on the dogs’ leashes. Behind him, at the end of the carriage, a blue mahogany door gleams with gold-leaf trim. The plaque reads, CARRIAGE TWENTY-FIVE: BLUE FIRST-YEAR STUDENTS.
Our only way out.
The Copper jerks his chin toward the Pinkie that’s scanning tickets in the aisle. “Return to your seats. Have your tickets ready for verification.”
“Yes, sir.”
As Charlotte brushes past the Copper, I notice the shiny gold ring on his finger. He’s married, maybe even has kids, and yet he’s willing to risk everything to kill an unarmed teenager over a drug. The realization hits me hard, making me think, for the first time, that maybe Dad was right to ban Bliss.
As I walk down the aisle, my leg grazes one of the dogs, and it lunges at me, its fur bristling. I jump back and instinctively reach for a saber that isn’t there.
“Heel, boys.” The Copper yanks the leash. “Heel.”
I move past the dogs with a slow, careful stride, wondering why they’re so aggressive. Usually, security dogs attack only on command, so they must be narcotic dogs trained to sniff out Bliss.
Back at our seats, Charlotte is texting furiously on her Bond, her mouth pinched with frustration. For a moment, I think things are going south with Jack until she nudges me and says, “Check your civil credit score.”
I pull up the chart on my Bond, and an alert flashes across the top:
6:21 A.M.: LAVATORY DISRUPTION. MINUS FIVE CIVIL CREDITS.
I draw a shaky breath, suddenly feeling five steps closer to the guillotine. It was the Copper; that bastard reported us. And if Charlotte and I don’t get out of here soon, he’ll do a hell of a lot worse.
“Has Mr. Carroway responded yet?” I ask.
“No,” Charlotte replies. “But when he does, you shall be the first to know.”
I grip the armrest of my seat, trying to stay patient. Outside, the storm pounds the roof and windows as the train cuts through the outskirts of Charleston City like a comet. Tall, mirrored skyscrapers and ritzy hotels rise in stepped tiers, shivering like stars in the darkness, and on every stone bridge, blue-and-gold double-headed eagle flags rise from the fog.
I’ve been to the Rainbow District once before—for the Junior Fencing World Championship—and ever since, I’ve worked my hands raw to get back. I thought that if I were accepted to Grandmaster and played my cards right, my weapons restriction would be lifted. I thought I could get my life back.
But no.Everything’s gone to hell again, and a big part of me blames Dad.
He’s worked with the Blues longer than I’ve been alive, learning how they think and operate. He should’ve seen this coming. At the very least, he should’ve warned me that a Bliss ban could put our lives at risk. But he didn’t. Now I’m caught in the middle of a war he helped start: forced to become a Public Person under these circumstances, trapped on a train that might become my coffin, and begging for a bailout from a Blue.
“Tickets, please,” a Pinkie says.
Charlotte and I send the tickets through our Bonds. When the robot moves to the next row, she gives me a subtle thumbs-up.
“Really?”I text, sitting up straighter.“Edmund said yes?”
“Yeah. A little too fucking easily.”
“What do you mean?”
Charlotte runs a hand through her long curls.“Jack was nice about it. Too nice. Didn’t even mention Edmund at all. But… we’re in, I guess.”She sighs, then downs the rest of her Gibson in a shuddering gulp.
I wrap my fingers around my purse, the metal clasp digging into my skin. Luck. Irony. I don’t know what to call it. A year ago, one Blue destroyed my life, and now another Blue is going to save it.
Ahead, in row eight, Jane’s fingers fly across her mobile phone’s keyboard. Every so often, she glances over her shoulder at me, as though wondering what my plan is, whether I’ve resigned myself to our shared fate, or if I’m searching for a way out. The sight of her tear-streaked face weighs on my conscience, and I realize, with sudden, sinking clarity, that no one is going to step up for her. If I don’t help Jane, there’s a real chance she won’t make it off the train.
Then another realization hits me: If I help Jane, her parents will be grateful.Very grateful.Perhaps even enough for her father, Judge Bradford, to overturn my weapons restriction.
