Page 89 of The Witch They Fear

I am crying. I didn't notice. My face is wet, tears flowing down my cheeks.

"I'm sorry. I—" I swallow. "He was drinking. He was drinking too much. I started losing consciousness. I think I tried to channel through him—I don't know—I don't remember. The next thing I remember is the floor. My cheek on the floor. And the white in the infirmary."

The lie is small.

The lie is the size of a man. The man who saved me.

"You don't remember anything else?" Leyonna. Watching me.

"I–I don't remember anything else."

A beat. Two.

I do not look at Aamon. I do not look at Aamon. I do not look at Aamon.

I look at Aamon.

He hasn't moved. He is watching me the way he watches the resonance stone when it does something I am not supposed to be able to do. Steady. Level. Taking it in.

He knows I am lying.

I see it the same way I see every other thing in his face. The centimeter jaw shift is a five-alarm fire and it is happening right now. His thumb is moving back toward his bottom lip before he catches it and sends his hand to the crook of his elbow. His eyes have not left mine.

He knows I am lying. I can feel it.

He is not saying so.

Why isn’t he saying so?

"I see," Leyonna says. She has not turned her head. She has not noticed Aamon. Or she has, and she has decided not to. "Calypso, listen to me. I want to be very clear. You are not in any trouble. Mr. Vasreaux assaulted you in a place where you had every right to be safe. The fact that you survived an attack by a vampire much older and stronger than you is a testament to your power and your instincts, not a problem. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"There will be questions. The Vasreaux family will—they will have questions." Her voice cools by one degree on the family name. Old family. Inconvenient corpse. "Those are mine to manage. Yours is only to recover. Take the rest of the week. We will reassess your training and class schedule when the infirmary clears you."

"Thank you."

"The girl. The fae girl. You're certain you didn't recognize her?"

"No."

"And you don't know how Mr. Vasreaux died."

I swallow against the pain in my throat. "No."

"Mm." She pats the bed-rail once. The bracelet flashes. "Rest. We'll speak again tomorrow. Officer Vance—" Zeva straightens—"you'll remain on the door."

"Yes, ma'am."

Leyonna leaves. Her footsteps recede. The door clicks shut.

The silence she leaves is enormous.

Zeva exhales. "I'll be outside," she says. To Aamon, not to me. Aamon's head tilts the half-degree he uses for acknowledgment. She crosses to the door. The door clicks a second time.

It is just us.

He pushes off the wall. He doesn’t come all the way to the bed. He stops a few steps short of it.