Page 49 of Lethal Kiss

“If I thought there was something I couldn’t do on my own, I would bring you. But there isn’t. It’s simply foolhardy to create another factor that could get us caught. I want to protect you.”

“I’m not a ‘factor,’ I’m a human being, and I can protect myself just fine, thanks.” Her voice strengthens to a shout. “I got here, where I am, without your help. I survived years of this bullshit, from grade school to high school to undergrad until now, and I didn’t have a grand protectress holding my hand and shielding me. I found Laurel’s body. I know what the stakes are.” Her fingers tighten until her knuckles go white on her wineglass’s stem. “She was my friend. Stop treating me like a kitten and let me help.”

The truth is, this is my fault. I could have prevented her from seeing that body. I could feel it before we even entered that darkened hallway. Certainly, I smelled it from the moment we entered the building. I could have handled this on my own, but I didn’t stop her. She’s my responsibility. I have to walk this back. “I’ve let you in as much as I can—”

“Don’t start that with me. I know everything. I was in a closet with you, for god’s sake!”

“That was lovely.”

Lacie slams to her feet, growling. “What do you want from me, Marcella? I’m here and willing and ready to help you. You saw I was happy to sneak around. I know this university and the department like the back of my hand. I know what they like to drink, what their schedules are, who they’re sleeping with. Let me help.”

What do I want? Maybe I’m still sick from whatever it was I ingested, because my intentions with Lacie feel so clouded, even to me.

“Sit down,” I say, the words an order, “and stop that wretched shouting. No need to get in a snit over something as casual as a disagreement.”

Frowning, she sits on one of my accent chairs, her fingers absently twitching at a thread. I’d be a fool to deny that I feel something for her, despite my best intentions. Flirtatious though I might be, the idea of having feelings for a person makes my skin crawl. But if I’m honest … I would like to take her. To have her near me. If I can’t get her to stay away, I’d rather keep her close.

I weigh my words carefully as I say, “Oh, alright. Perhaps you would be an asset. You do know these fools better than I do.” I sigh. “I’m sorry for doubting you. Won’t you come with me?”

She doesn’t even give me the gift of a smile. She just inclines her chin a little, and I can’t even muster up the indignation to be angry with her.

“That’s settled, then.” Well, I may as well let her into my suspicions. “One thing I know,” I say, “is that this is odd timing. I take it invitations to an event as involved as the Winter Ball’s after-party aren’t given out particularly freely.”

Lacie rips her glasses from her face and folds them roughly. She rubs her eyes, and when they meet mine again, they’re rimmed in red. “Lyle said he got his weeks ago, but it was the first time in years he’s even been invited.”

“We should keep that in mind. It would be convenient enough to explain away this invitation as coming late because I only arrived last week, but I’m not entirely sure. It doesn’t sit quite right with me. Let’s not discuss this with anyone.”

“I’ll be careful, don’t worry,” she snipes. “It’s not like I could really be of help anyway. They say the party changes every year: the theme, the date, everything. I assume a peon like me would be told to shut their mouth by any attendee lest they spill some secret.”

“That’s not how I meant it.”

“Isn’t it?” Her words have a deep, near-smoldering heat to them. And though the argument is over and she got what she wanted, there’s something else beneath. “It’s fine. I never wanted to go to any of it anyway.”

Tension crackles around her. No, that’s not quite right: like everything else, she’s tucked it all inside of herself. It’s eating her alive.

“Lacie,” I murmur, “tell me what’s wrong.” I hope she can’t hear the pleading in my voice. Someone needs to unlock her, to let her out.

I don’t even know why, but I want it to be me who does it.

“Sims keeps heaping coursework on me. I have to give exams next week, and then there’s winter break, then spring semester deadlines, then showcase.” She looks up at me from her knees, her voice breaking. “How are you bearing up under all this?”

I ache for her, and I place a tentative hand on hers. “You’re doing fine. It sounds like he’s intentionally trying to drown you. Between that and what I’ve heard about Laurel, it’s probably a ploy. Sims is carrying out Shea’s dirty work, dragging professors down. But we won’t let that happen.” I won’t.

“We don’t even know if either of them have something to do with all this.” I give her a long look and she glares. “What?”

“Please stop acting like the truth isn’t right in front of your face.”

“That killing was not normal. How do you expect me to believe that Dean Shea, who looks like he hasn’t lifted anything heavier than a textbook in twenty years, could crush a person? Laurel was broken. Like she’d been run over by a truck.”

“Dean Shea is not human. Or Sims isn’t. Or they both aren’t.”

She closes her eyes lightly, then stands. “I’m tired, Marcella.”

“You promised to do your research.”

“And I will,” she snarls, her eyes blazing. “I haven’t had the chance. I’m too busy.” When she speaks again, wrestling herself back under control, she’s icy. “Good night.”

“Lacie, come now—”