I nodded.
“Youbuilt an incendiary bomb?” she went on. “If someone handed you a Molotov cocktail, you’d drink it.”
“Peter built it—for his Hefnd. He wanted to impress you.”
Bianca turned away from me, staring at the dog run as she considered this. An Aussie sheepdog came toward us, sniffed our knees through the fence, and trotted away again.
“It was certainly impressive,” she finally said. “The foundation cracked from the heat.”
“If he’d used it on people, the FBI would’ve shown up and never left.”
“Then why the hell did you set it off?”
“Because of what you did to Peter! He was making headway with his roommate, but he played your little Hefnd game instead. He threw away his future.”
She stared at me. “What do you mean, his future? He fell.”
I said nothing.
Finally, understanding reached her eyes. “So hewasculled.”
“Also me,” I said.
Maybe it was my missing night of sleep, or the leftover burn in my muscles from the wrack, but a lightness came over me at this confession. As if gravity had switched off and I could float into the air.
Now that Bianca knew, everyone would. I had been blooded on my own cousin, had burned down Halcyon Hall. No more secrets.
Very slowly, she pulled off the mask. “We thought you loved Peter.”
“I did.” I took a breath. “That’s why I blew up your clubhouse.”
“Revenge,” she said, a slow smile coming over her face. “Your own little Hefnd. Maybe you aren’t such an aunties’ pet.”
“You aren’t angry?”
“Xavier will be furious, but he’ll forgive you. We can find another place. You keep surprising me, Jessica.” She was staring at the dogs again. “This explains why your cousin called last week.”
“Sebastian?”
She nodded. “Drunk and ranting, angry at the rest of you. Wouldn’t say why.”
I’d sent Sebastian more texts—asking him about Albany, telling him about how much he’d have loved the scene at Mixed. But instead of answering me, he was drunk dialing Bianca Lindqvist.
“In honor of Peter,” she said, “he committed a little Hefnd of his own.”
“What did he do?”
A low laugh rolled through her. “Ask him yourself, Jessica.”
“That’sAuntJessica to you,” I said.
Bianca snorted at this, putting her mask back on. “I’m glad we had this little chat. Mawmaw Brynhild will be pleased to hear about Peter. She loves a good culling.”
“Whatever settles things down,” I said.
“Oh, this isn’t settled,” Bianca said, the clown smile matching her eyes. “Things are just getting interesting.”
With those words, she walked away.
