Across the room, Sebastian was laughing with Kumar, Regina, and Leopold. There were about twenty legacy seniors most years, and only four became caretakers. Less than a quarter of us were in the resistance.
Would that be enough to bring our families down?
As the partywas winding down, Bianca approached and handed me a beer.
“Isn’t this fun, Jessica? Being at war with our own kin.”
I put the bottle down unopened. “When did you know the Lindqvists were wrong?”
“Have you heard of a blood eagle?”
I nodded—an old Viking punishment. The back flayed open, ribscarefully broken, and the lungs extruded, all while the victim was still alive.
“I thought that was a myth. A mistranslation of some saga.”
“Sometimes myths become real,” she said, and took a drink.
I didn’t ask who, or why. “I’m surprised you picked Regina instead of your brother.”
A pained expression crossed her face. “Xavier won’t stop talking about his Hefnd, howbeyondit will be. But he only wants sanctioned rebellion. He loves our family.”
“And you don’t?”
“As much as you loved Peter—sometimes you have to cull.”
Jess, I need to come back up.
“Again?” Bianca laughed, reaching out to touch my wet cheek. “This is worse than New Jersey.”
“New Jersey? How…”
She put a gentle hand on her heart. “Who do you think switched off the alarm?”
I stared at her.
“It was my idea,” she continued. “Sebastian wanted to test you in some gentle way. But I knew the Morton prodigy needed a little extrapush.”
The portrait of Hiromi on the backs of my eyelids, that could never be blinked away. The lightning bolt that had finally shown myself to me.
“Bianca, I don’t understand you.”
“What’s to understand?”
“You killed someone for being rude. How does that square with making the world less shitty?”
She took another long drink, thinking about the question. The others kept talking around us, Sebastian’s laugh peeling out now and then, as if it was some party at the Terraces with cheap tequila and expensive weed, everyone calling him Baz.
Finally, Bianca shrugged.
“Can you think of a better way?”
54
Dear Blessica!
You thought you had escaped me. But you were wrong.
Your next question might be, how did I find you? Well, the nurses here all know about The Mortons, because your family:
