Page 84 of Because I Killed Him
“Good?” Edmund laughs, almost at himself. “We’ll find out soon enough.” He grabs his coat from a Pinkie, then waves for us to follow him out of the suite.
“Wait,” Charlotte calls. “Aren’t you going to wait for Lore and me to finish watching the execution?”
“You’ll have to skip it. Today’s Thursday,” Jack says.
I glance toward the terraces, where students are already gathering to watch the Guillotine Yard below. “What’s so special about Thursdays?” I ask, hoping for an answer this time.
But Edmund, Jack, and Dickie are already heading out, their voices rising and falling as they discuss plans for night surfing.
“We can do better than the usual,” Edmund says.
“You could try the spot where they saw that shark last week.” Dickie drains the last of his hot chocolate with a dry chuckle. “I’ll watch from the shore.”
“How much better?” Jack asks Edmund, a glint in his eye.
“Bring your stun guns.”
Charlotte and I trade a rattled glance as the boys walk out the door, then rush after them, our formal posture slipping as we hurry to catch up.
Edmund never mentioned skipping executions when he explained the rules of his entourage. He never said that following his rules would require me to break the law.
By the time we reach his hovercar, my Bond buzzes with a notification.
7:02 A.M.: ABSENCE FROM EXECUTION ATTENDANCE. MINUS 10 CIVIL CREDITS.
Heat flushes my face. For Edmund, ten civil credits are spare change lost in the couch cushions. But for Charlotte and me, the loss is far more than we can afford on a whim. I glance at my Bond, and the pitiful balance glares back at me: 344 credits.
How the hell are Jack and Dickie getting away with this?
As we climb into the hovercar, I steal a glance at the blue bands on their Blood Rings, now fully visible, as if they want Charlotte and me to see them. They’ve worn them uncovered ever since we joined the entourage.
Again, it makes me wonder how much power Edmund has given Jack and Dickie. Are they still like Charlotte and me, still low-citizens? Or have they become something more?
I have no wife, sons, or daughters. But in my fencing students, I have fathered children of death.
—JULIAN LAKE, MASTER OF ARMS
CHAPTER 18
I realize where Edmund is taking us long before we arrive. The route, a straight shot northeast, leads to a place where all the high-citizens flock like roaches to a drop of sugar:The Moonshine Mile.
I’ve never been near it. All I know is what I read in Harrison’s tip list, which says this glittering street belongs solely to the Blues. It’s a private playground along the right shoulder of the campus, lined with bars, restaurants, boutique showrooms, and exclusive clubs. Low-citizens aren’t allowed past the gates without an entourage badge.
At the edge of the Mile, a massive wrought-iron gate stands, crowned with holographic torches that blaze like twin suns. Coppers in tactical armor patrol each side, while above, drones circle in silent arcs, their lenses scanning with red pinprick eyes. The security is so intense that it feels like we’ve drunk-crashed onto the front lawn of the Golden Gate Manor.
Once we’re cleared, the gate yawns open, but we don’t go far. I sigh in disappointment when I realize there won’t be a cruise down the shining strip, past the cocktail lounges with chrome chandeliers and the dress-code-only clubs spilling champagne into the gutters.
Instead, Edmund stops at the valet booth of the first building on the Mile, a jewel box of blue, pink, and gold. Ivy clings thinly to the filigreed stonework, like a scanty, indecent gown. Tangerine trees, integrated into the architecture itself, climb the sides, their glossy fruits shining like coins. Above the wide entrance, a sign hangs from the sprawling glass window,tinted a dusky blue:The Tangerine Tree.
“What is this place?” I ask.
“A place anyone who’s anyone knows,” Dickie jabs.
“Breakfast, darling,” Jack says. “We eat here every Thursday.”
“Breakfast?”
Jack shrugs. “Yeah.”
