“No buts. Furball told me everything. You took stupid risks. You almost died. Today, you rest.”
She turns to me, glaring.
“Why’d you have to involve my brother? This whole thing was nothing.”
“Someone had to retrieve your snowmobile.”
I cock an ear toward the door. Something’s coming. I recognize the woodsy scent—Esteban.
He bursts in a second later, looking pale and shaken.
“Esteban?” Neela asks. “You okay?”
He barely notices me, trembling with anxiety. What the hell happened?
“As promised, I went to Youssef’s place this morning. Viktor was already there. We carried him on a stretcher behind the snowmobile, got him to the medical unit.”
“Thank you. Is he worse? Did something happen?”
“No… no, that’s not it,” Esteban stammers.
“Then what? Spit it out!”
“I think Marjorie killed him.”
14-Neela
I stare at my friend in disbelief.
“I think Marjorie killed him!” he declares, his tone dramatic.
What on Mars is he talking about? Youssef was perfectly fine—apart from his ankle.
“Calm down and explain,” Kiran tells him firmly.
“When we got there, Youssef was a bit… floaty.”
“Painkillers can have that effect on some people,” I confirm. “He had another dose scheduled for this morning, in addition to the one I gave him last night.”
“He’d already taken it. On the way there, he was babbling, saying he’d seen things but wouldn’t say what. He kept starting sentences, then stopping and ending with, ‘but I won’t say anything.’ When we arrived at the care unit, Vassili and Marjorie were already there.”
“I’ve told you about Vassili Porkoff,” I say to Prax.
“Marjorie is one of his closest associates. What were they doing there?”
“They were waiting for Youssef! They must’ve heard he was being transferred this morning. As soon as he saw them, he freaked out, kept repeating he hadn’t said anything. We settled him in a room and went to the front desk to wait for you. That’s when I saw Vassili leave.”
“So what?” I say, maybe a little disingenuously. “The Regent checked in on Youssef after his accident. Why is that so strange?”
“You really don’t find that suspicious?” my brother asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
He’s right. Vassili and his crew never bother with our people unless there’s an agenda. But what exactly is freaking Esteban out? And what’s this about Marjorie?
“Esteban, deep breath,” Kiran advises. “You’re all over the place.”
We steer him to the couch, and a steaming mug somehow appears in his hands. Three pairs of eyes are fixed on him, waiting.
“When Viktor and I dropped him off in his room, I stayed behind to get him a glass of water. He grabbed my wrist and told me again that he’d seen things but promised not to say anything. He said he slipped while running home because he thought someone was following him. That’s how he hurt his ankle.”
