Page 30 of What Happened on Roslyn Street?
“I’ll have your location!”
“And you’ll what?” I ask. “Run across town the minute you smell my fear?”
“Maybe I will.”
“I won’t use it unless there are no other options, I promise. I just want a way to protect myself.”
“And why should I believe you aren’t going to turn around and use it on me?” She lifts her head higher.
Margaux thinks after the loss of our friend, I would truly want to lose her as well. She thinks I couldharmher.
The air between us is tense, filled with words that have gone unsaid for months, tension built that’s been waiting for release. She doesn’t back down, her piercing gaze fixed on me.
“Because you’re my friend,” I say. “You’re my oldest friend—the only one I have left. How can you think I would hurt you?”
She softens. It doesn’t take much to defrost her.
“You haven’t been treating me like a friend,” she says.
“Because I was upset with you,” I say. “We’re stillfriends. Best friends fight sometimes. We stop talking for awhile. You know that.”
“Never for this long. We didn’t speak formonths.”
“I know…” I shift uncomfortably. “But I need you now. I was taking some space. That doesn’t mean I want you todie. I want you in my life. I know you’re trying to protect me, but the best thing you can do right now is trust that I can look out for myself.”
“Butcanyou? You came to the most dangerous place in Castine. You’re going on a date with someone you barely know. You’re reckless, Tobey. You’ve always been careless and brash, but I don’t know when it became this extreme.”
But she does know; she must. It happened the day we lost Poppy. I changed, and I don’t know how to go back. I don’t even know if Iwant to. We look at each other with unspoken words, neither of us daring to fill the space or acknowledge the obvious.
My care for Poppy trumps anything—fear, rationale, and self-preservation.
“I’m not careless,” I say softly. “I’m doing thisbecauseI care. Someone has to stop this, and it’s going to be me.”
Her lips form a small pout. “Why couldn’t you letmedate the potential suspect?”
I roll my eyes. “Because, for whatever reason, he’s interested in me.”
“Or he’s interested in drinking you,” she says. “Or damning you with eternal life. Or?—”
“Okay,” I say, cutting her off. “Or any of that. Sure. Please, don’t make me spiral more than I already am.”
Margaux takes careful steps away. She steps lightly toward her dresser, rummaging in the top drawer until she finds what she’s looking for. What she pulls out is a pretty, polished, birch wood stake.
She holds it out with delicate hands and an unsure look on her face.
“Don’t use this unless you have to,” she says.
I take the item, holding it to my chest as if it’s something precious. It may be the thing that saves my life.
“I will,” I say.
“Please,” Margaux says, staring deeply into my eyes, “I’m serious. We don’t want to cause another needless death. There have been enough of those already.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
Chapter Eight
I’m not expecting Caldwell to be punctual. Something about himscreamsthat he loves to waste other people’s time. Maybe it’s a vampire thing; the potential of immortality, and all that. It would explain Margaux’s consistent tardiness.
