“Tonight shouldn’t have happened, Sar,” he mutters. His dark brows draw together as if he’s seeing it happen all over again. “Nothing like that… has ever happened before. When the Regents find out…”
Sarah’s tone turns soothing. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“That’s not what they’ll say,” Sel whispers, his hoarse voice almost lost to the wind. His eyes land on me and narrow accusingly.
“She’s Nick’s Page.” Sarah shakes his shoulder. “The King’s Wisdom, pal. Don’t even think of laying a hand—”
Sel scoffs. “He’s fucking dormant. No wisdom there. Head’s so far up his own ass, he wouldn’t notice Arthur’s Call if it bit him there!”
His eyes find Nick’s sigil on my chest and harden to golden flint. “If you harm him,” he murmurs, his voice cold, hollow, “I’ll kill you. Burn through you until your blood becomes dust.” Sel watches the fear flood my body, and his mouth curls into a vicious grin. “You know I will, don’t you? You know I can.”
Sarah turns, pressing her back against Sel’s chest to face me. “I’ve got him. Can you make it back on your own?”
My feet were already carrying me backward in the damp grass. Now I turn and sprint while Sel’s laughter follows me across the quad.
* * *
My hands are shaking so badly it takes three attempts to get the key in the door. Once it opens, I fall through and shove it closed.
As if a door could stop Selwyn.
I lean against the wood, chest heaving. Waiting. Waiting.
Just in case.
“Bree?”
I jump. Hand pressed to my heart, I seek Alice out in the dim light.
She fumbles for her bedside lamp. “Do you have any idea what time it—” Her voice cuts off abruptly when the lamp light floods the room. “What the fuck?”
Alice never curses.
I shield my eyes against the light. “Sorry I’m late.”
Alice leaps out of bed in her pajamas, snatching her glasses on the way. “What happened to you?”
I don’t even know what lie to make up right now. What the fuck, indeed.
“I—I—”
“Bree?” I stop stammering at the tremor in her voice. She’s right in front of me, her hands hovering inches from my shoulders, eyes roaming over my face, down my chest and legs. “Oh my God. You’re hurt.”
I blink. “What do you mean?”
Her voice is frantic now, panic making it soar. “You look like you’ve been dragged! Through mud!” She claps a hand over her nose. “You smell like a swamp. There are holes in your shirt. You’re filthy. Your hair is… God, Matty. What the hell happened to you?”
17
MY MOUTH OPENS and closes like a fish. I want to lie to her, but where are the words? There just aren’t any. No words to explain what happened to me tonight. What I chose tonight.
Horror dawns over Alice’s face. “Did someone do this to you?”
I shake my head. No. No one did this to me. No one human, at least.
“You can tell me if something happened.” She grabs both of my hands, tears welling up behind her glasses. “I’ll believe you.”
Alice has known me for half my life. We are sleepovers and skinned knees and first crushes and always making sure our lockers are side by side.
Her tears break me.
The sob I’ve been holding back since the woods finally bursts out.
“I can call someone. The campus cops, the—”
“No!” I shout, mind flashing to Norris, the dean. “It—it isn’t like that. I promise.”
“Okay,” she says, her eyes darting back and forth as she processes. “If you—okay.”
Once I’m satisfied she won’t call on a Vassal without realizing, my head thunks against the wood.
Alice rubs my forearms. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
As with William, I let her guide me outside our room to the communal hall bathroom, my shower caddy tucked under her arm. When we enter, a girl washing her hands at one of the sinks gives us a funny look.
Once we’re next to the row of empty showers, Alice tugs on the bottom of my shirt. “You’ll feel better after a shower. Do you need help?”
She’s speaking quietly and clearly, like you do when someone is so freaked out they can’t handle complex sentences and you’re trying to calm them down. I realize what she’s doing, but I let her do it anyway. It’s working.
“I got it,” I mumble, and lift my T-shirt over my shoulders. She’s right about the rips. Three thin cuts cross the fabric where the uchel’s claws held me.
The door bangs open and closed, leaving us alone. Alice leans into one of the stall showers and turns the tap on. While she tests the water, I slip back to the other side to look at myself in the mirror.
No wonder she cursed.
I look wrecked.
My “cute bun” from earlier is long past cute. It’s mostly intact, but ruined with the uchel’s muck. Dark globs have plastered escaped curls to my forehead and the nape of my neck. Glossy eyes, puffy cheeks, bits of dirt on my nose. Most of the slime was on my shirt, but some of it’s caked on my arms and caught in my inner elbow. A long red bruise follows the line of my rib cage. I tug my bra down to hide it. Nick’s coin glints on my sternum. I take the necklace off and stuff it in my pocket.
“Water’s ready, shower stuff’s inside.” Alice comes around to stare at me in the mirror. Opens her mouth to ask another question, but thinks better of it, whatever it was. “I’ll be outside if you need anything.”
Once she’s gone, I undress as quickly as my rib will allow and step into the shower. The water pressure here is weak, but at least the stream’s hot. Uchel stench wafts around me in a noxious steam until vanilla body wash chases it away.
My brain tries to piece together the next steps of a shower—and comes up blank.
This used to happen at home. In the weeks after my mom died, I’d manage the first step of some mundane task—get naked and into the shower, open the fridge and set out the deli meat, dump a load of laundry into the washing machine—and the next step would elude me. Like an old mill, my mind would wheel around and around until it picked up the next directive.
Hair. My hair is dirty. Yes. I can handle that.
I hadn’t planned on even getting my hair wet for at least another week or so, but I can’t avoid washing my curls tonight. Not when they smell like sick and swamp. They’ll be clean and gorgeous tomorrow, but the unexpected added time makes me groan. That’s another hour and a half at least before I can really climb into bed, even if I skip deep conditioning and styling and throw everything up into a wet pineapple.
Alice returns as I part my thick damp hair into sections.
“Okay in there?”
“Yeah. Just realized I need to wash my hair.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah.”
Silence. She doesn’t leave. I’m okay with that, because I want her company. Not just anyone’s. Alice’s.
She must be thinking the same thing, because from the other side of the shower curtain I hear her say, “Okay if I chill in here? You seem pretty rattled.”