She scrambles for something to say. Something witty, like Lys. Something clever, like Poppy. Something brave, like Asher.
She comes up empty.
“I can hear you panicking,” says Paris. He tucks her hand back into the crook of his arm, tapping his fingers in time to the tempo of her pulse. “It’s such a pretty sound. An aphrodisiac. Has Oliver ever told you so?”
“He hasn’t mentioned it,” she lies.
Paris cuts her a pitying glance. “He’s behaved very poorly, then. It’s unsporting, to keep you in the dark. This is a birthday party. A very special one.”
Through a slit in the paint, a Scorpio moon leers in at her.
A coincidence, Lys called it. Fear cramps her stomach.
“Enough small talk.” Paris guides her out of the crowd and up the stairs. “I have someone here that’s been waiting for you. Another young woman who stumbled into my path at a most fortuitous time.”
Just as he says it, Shea becomes aware of a girl standing at the top of the stairs. She’s dressed in a gown of poured gold, her platinum hair falling in waves down her back. At the sight of her, a sick trepidation slithers into Shea’s chest.
It isn’t because it’s Camellia Thorley. It’s because of the look on her face. There’s hunger there, the Rot weaving just beneath her skin in pale blue fibers. The hazel of her eyes is slightly off-color, her pupils blown. A thousand memories of Camellia cycle through Shea’s head. Camellia under a starry sprawl. Camellia passing her a note in the back of class. Camellia in the bathroom, her cheeks wet with tears.
“Camellia?” Her voice is smoke.“Ellie.”
“You’re here.” Camellia’s voice is remote. A moon knocked out of orbit. “I was hoping you wouldn’t come.”
“Shefinallymade it,” booms Paris, beckoning Camellia closer. “Isn’t it fantastic? Looks like your big brother kept his promise after all.”
“I left you a note,” whispers Camellia. “I told you to stay away.”
Shea barely hears her. She’s looking at Paris, a wordless something imploding horribly inside her chest. “What promise? What are you talking about?”
“Answer a question for me first,” says Paris, tapping a finger to his lip. “I’d like to parse out if you’re truly as clever as you pretend. How do you think it is that Asher Thorley knew to come looking for you after his sister’s tragic disappearance?”
Lys’s voice wings through her:I think Thorley is hiding something.
“He needed help,” coaxes Paris. “He trackedyoudown. Why?”
Shea cuts a glance toward Camellia and finds her staring at her feet. Skeins of blue fracture across her throat, her jaw, her cheeks. Bloodlust, endless and all-consuming.
“Because I’m her best friend,” Shea whispers. Even as she says it, she knows it’s wrong.
Thorley is hiding something. Thorley is hiding something.
“I’ll tell you why he did it,” says Paris. “BecauseItold him to.”
The world shifts beneath her, the ground crumbling out from underfoot. She grabs hold of the railing, knuckles white against the sleek varnish. It was right in front of her nose. She saw it, and she ignored it. Lys saw it, and she called him a liar.
“Come on now,” goads Paris. “Did youreallythink a first-year ranger came up with the brilliant idea to assassinate me all on his own?”
“I don’t understand. Why would you put out a hit on yourself?”
Paris’s laugh rings out like a bell. Several heads turn their way, a dozen hungry eyes glittering in the light. “At no point in any of this did Asher Thorley intend to hurt me. He was, however, doing whatever I told him to do in order to rescue his poor sister from my clutches. Isn’t that right, Camellia?”
A single tear tracks down Camellia’s cheek. She doesn’t look at Shea at all.
“This whole thing was a trap,” says Shea, understanding nearly knocking her off her feet. “You used Asher to lure Lys away from Mercy Ridge so you could kill him.”
“Killhim?” Paris looks genuinely aghast. “How appalling. Contrary to what Oliver might have told you, I think very highly of him. I’d never harm one raven hair on that beautiful boy’s head.”
“Then what?” Her voice wrings out of her, hoarse. “What was the point of all this?”
