“I don’t care about any of these people. The only person I care about is you.”
And Charlotte.
I want to correct him but don’t, because he obviously doesn’t realize he’s singled me out.
“Fine,” he says. “Let’s go outside, so you can—”
A shrill scream rents the living room, cutting him off. Only the music remains, thumping along with my pulse.
Our bodies go rigid as we spin around and see Charlotte’s navel-baring pink angora sweater catch fire.
35
Slate
Charlotte drops the champagne bottle she’s fitted with a giant sparkler and starts swatting at her sweater. Brume has messed me up so much that, for a full five seconds, seeing a girl on fire doesn’t strike me as odd.
My first reaction is,Huh? This is entertaining.
But then I’m like,Oh, fuck!
Adrien’s reaction is instant. In a matter of seconds, he hurdles over his bulky, old-man furniture, skates through the champagne foam, and tackles Charlotte full-on yelling, “Cadence! Slate! It’s my piece! Get everyone out of here, now!”
Putain de merde.That snaps me into action. “Out! Everybody out!” I shove Charlotte’s friend away from Adrien and his lit-up, in every sense of the term, girlfriend, then extend my arms and rake through the crowd.
Cadence and Bastian are throwing coats and scarves at random to the students funneling out of the house. Charlotte’s friend—can’t remember her name, something with a G maybe—offers to help, but I signal Bastian who calmly escorts her out, barring me from shoving her into the snow. It’s a goddamn circus, but a small one. In less than a minute, the party’s over and the door’s locked. No other guests are left except Alma, Cadence, Bastian, and me.
Shit. Alma.Should she be here?
I stare at Cadence, whose reddened eyes are wide with alarm. I hate that I did that. That I stood there and took the coward’s way out of our doomed relationship by accepting my burglarizing Casanova reputation, because losing her respect beats breaking her heart.
Let her go. She’s better off without you.
Everyone is.
Charlotte’s friend bangs on the window. “Let me in!”
I ignore her. We all do.
“A little help!” Adrien yells, straddling Charlotte, batting at her sweater with his palms.
I grab the ice bucket on the coffee table and dump it, turning her into a sputtering, angry mess. The flames fizzle, leaving behind the mangy remains of her fuzzy sweater and patches of blistered skin.Holy hell.That’s got to hurt.Wait.Does this mean she’s cursed, or is this some fake-Charlotte? Emilie’s listless body flashes behind my lids, and I stiffen like an ice-carving.
I glance at the ring on my middle finger.“Adrien, wait. The ring. It’s not shining.”
Adrien holds Charlotte to the ground, an arm shoved across her throat. “I’ll kill you,diaoul,”he growls. “Salt! I need salt!”
“Adrien . . .” I’m about to repeat my warning when the stone flares to life and a cramp shoots up my knuckles and tendons. I clench my jaw, breathing through the pain.Putain de merde,I was wrong. “Keep on doing whatever you’re doing,” I mutter through gritted teeth. “Bloodstone’s aglowin’.”
Charlotte’s eyes bulge as she thrashes about, high heels and pale fists alternatively banging the varnished wooden floorboards and Adrien’s powder-blue sweater-vest.
Cadence snaps into action, sidestepping me and the pair writhing on the floor. A second later, she returns clutching a grinder filled with fancy pink flakes. Doesn’t anyone own normal salt in this town?
Alma tugs at Adrien’s sweater, stretching the collar. “Adrien, you’re hurting her!”
Bastian steps up behind her and puts a palm on her shoulder, probably to haul her away before she can make contact with the piece and get cursed.Sagacious kid.
“She’s a firediaoul.” A lock of hair flies into Adrien’s slitted eyes. “A demon!”
