Chapter 35
THIRTY-FIVE
GWENNA
I don’t know how long I stay in that corner.
I count to one hundred.
Then two hundred.
Then a thousand.
And after that, finally, it feels like maybe I can move again. All of me feels stiff and alien, stunned with shock from what happened with me and Kingston, and worried, terrified, actually, about whatever Kai came in to get him for.
Swallowing the burst of panic rising in my throat, I grab my coat, grab my bag, and before I leave, blow out the candles.
Can’t be too careful.
All the lights are on at Camlann House.
When I come close, a different direction, a circuitous route, just on the off chance anyone’s watching where Kingston came from, and a pit forms in my stomach. I know this isn’t good, but I don’t know what kind of not good it is.
As I make my way up the steps, I hear voices in the living room. Male voices. Some sharp, some low and rumbling, mostly familiar, but some not.
At the door, I pause, smooth the front of my sweater, tuck my hair behind my ears. No matter what happens, I need to look composed. I push into the door, thinking I’ll glide past everything, go upstairs, catch up later.
That is not what happens. Every eye turns on me when I enter. Kingston, Kai, Lanz, Callahan, but also Luther Pendragon, resplendent in his suit, a woman I recognize as a librarian, and the dean of the college.
“Miss Vale,” the dean says. His voice, somber. “There you are.”
“What’s…what happened?” Any attempt to keep my voice from sounding flighty and nervous fails instantly. I look instinctively at Kingston first, but he is standing soldier straight, arms folded, eyes front, not looking at me or anyone else or anything in particular. And that just scares me more.
“There’s been an accident, I’m afraid.”
“An accident?” My mind races. My heart races. “Is someone?—”
“No.” The dean cuts in quickly. “Nobody was hurt. But…”
“The archives,” the librarian interrupts. “The manuscripts. They’re…They’re gone.”
“Gone?”
I blink, clutch the strap of my bag. Images of jewel heists, Indiana Jones, tarp-covered shipping crates float into my mind.
“Destroyed.” That’s Luther Pendragon’s voice. “In a fire.”
Oh. Oh no. No.
“But…” I start.
“That’s the B level,” the dean goes on, “where I’ve been given to understand you spent a lot of time.”
Oh no. No. No.
“Yes,” I say, “but?—”
“And this is yours?” The librarian bows her head and produces something, which she hands to the dean .
My scarf. Or most of it. It’s half as long, now, one end fringed in ashy burn marks.
“No!” I say out loud, “I mean—yes, that is mine, but I didn’t?—”
“Things went dark at around 6 p.m.,” the dean goes on. “From then on?—”
My chin is stuttering, big fat tears are flowing down my face, because I know where this is going. Know what they’re saying to me.
And yet I can’t bear to hear it.
“I didn’t do it!” I say. “It wasn’t me. It?—”
“She couldn’t have done it,” someone else bursts out.
My heart leaps. It’s Lanz, gesturing wildly. “She wouldn’t do that. She’s?—”
“So you have an alibi for her, then?” Luther Pendragon snaps.
“I—” Lanz withdraws a little, doesn’t meet his eyes. “No, but?—”
“Had I known,” Luther says, “of this girl’s predilections, of the fact that she was to be placed in a class with my son ”—he angles his eyes at Kingston—Kingston, who doesn’t move, who doesn’t speak, who maybe half an hour ago was kissing me incessantly on the floor of his father’s office—“I never would have allowed her on this campus.”
“No,” I say. “Please.”
Something warm and firm wraps my shoulders. I look up. It’s Callahan. He says nothing, barely even looks at me, but squeezes hard.
I don’t know where to look. My eyes flail around the room, land on Kai, who’s sitting in an armchair, jittering a leg and chewing on the edge of his thumb, saying nothing, eyes flicking to me and then away again.
“That was,” the dean says, “a priceless collection of manuscripts and books, one which Luther Pendragon had personally financed, worked for years to acquire.”
“Gone,” breathes the librarian.
The pain in her voice is so real, so recognizable, that my stomach gives a guilty heave and I know I didn’t do anything wrong. “Impossible to be replaced. And?—”
“ I didn’t do it! ” The words burst out of me again, cut off by another sob.
My shoulders are shaking even too hard for Callahan’s grip.
Because I’m not an idiot. I’m Laura Vale’s daughter. I know what a preponderance of evidence is. Malice aforethought. Mens rea, actus reus, corpus delicti. All the Latin phrases.
“I want to believe you, Miss Vale,” the dean says, and his voice sounds like almost, almost he really does. “I do, but I’m afraid it doesn’t…look very good for you right now.”
“I wasn’t there.” I try one more time. “I was?—”
The sentence hangs in the air.
Everyone looks at me.
Lanz, Luther, the dean and librarian, Kai, even Callahan.
Not Kingston.
“Where were you, Gwenna?” the dean asks.
I shake my head.
Say something , I mentally scream at Kingston. Say it. Tell them. Tell them I was with you .
But he can’t.
No, I think, he won’t.
He could if he cared.
He could if he ever thought about anything but himself. About what he needs to do to get ahead. About his goals, his objectives.
His needs.
And that , I realize, like a razor to my heart, is simply not who Kingston Pendragon is.
“We have a…lot to sort out,” the dean says. “Obviously, the li brary is closed until further notice. And we’ll be meeting with the fire marshal?—”
“But is she under arrest or something?” Kai drops his hand from his mouth, lifts his chin.
“Kai,” Luther says sternly.
“I’m just saying,” Kai gets to his feet. “Is she?”
“No,” the dean says. “Not presently, anyway.”
Not presently? I want to cry. Instead, I just sniffle, blink more tears down my cheeks and chin.
“Then why don’t you leave her alone?” Kai barks. “Leave all of us alone. Come back when there’s something you need us to do.”
The dean stares at him, and Kai stares right back. To my surprise, the dean blinks first.
“Very well,” he says, and glances around to the four of them. “I trust that you’ll…” He purses his lips, doesn’t finish the sentence. “Good evening.”
He takes his leave with the librarian trailing, and Luther goes last, casting a look at first his foster son, and then his natural one.
“Pitiful,” he mutters under his breath.
The door slams behind them.
The sound does something to me, sends my muscles weak, and I have to lean against Callahan even more than I was before. I’m ugly crying now, snotty, frothy, hiccuping, almost hysterical.
What will I do? I think. What will I do? Mom will find out. She’ll get me. She’ll be furious. She’ll force me to?—
I don’t even get a chance to finish my thought. Something, someone, wrenches me by the elbow, away from Callahan, into the middle of the hall.
I trip over my own feet, look up. It’s Kai.
“What are you doing?” says a deep voice from behind us.
Kingston. At last, he speaks, and the change in tone, the chill that’s come back, the formality puts a crack in my heart .
I am such a fool.
“I’m showing her what she needs to see,” Kai says, and pulls me firmly in the other direction toward the dining room and the door to the fencing salle. “What she should have seen long ago.”
Callahan sucks in a breath. Lanz lunges forward.
“Kai—”
“ No ,” Kingston roars.
But it’s too late. Kai has me, pulls me away, through a door I’d barely even noticed before, downstairs.
Into blackness.