Page 93 of What Happened on Roslyn Street?
“How could you think that would work?” I shake my head. “You know what? You were right; I don’t want to know.”
I step closer to Caldwell. A storm brews inside of me.
“Coming here was the wrong move,” I say. “Ireallydidn’t think you were this stupid.”
“I know.” A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “But it was either they kill me before I see you, or… I take a chance and get to see you. Even if it is the last time I lay my eyes on you, it will be worth it.”
“They weren’t going to kill you, but you might die this way.” I gesture to Margaux without looking away from him. “She’s hungry.”
“Poor thing.” His lips turn into a mock frown, his gaze drifting to my friend. Whatever good nature there was between the two of them no longer exists.
I can understand Margaux’s perspective, but why is he being so rude?
“You said you have proof.” I grind my teeth together and hold the burning watch tighter.
“I do,” he says.
“Then stop gabbing,” Margaux snaps. “If you don’t share your proof now, I’m calling my father.”
“Oh no.” He chuckles under his breath. “You’re calling your father? I’m petrified…”
“Caldwell.” I’m begging—I can’t help it. I don’t wantto draw this out any longer, and if I leave them to their own devices, they may bicker for the rest of the night. “Show your proof, please.”
His gaze flickers back to mine, eyes lingering on me for a moment too long. “The proof is in the watch.”
“This could be a trick,” Margaux mutters. “That watch is full of magic.”
“Itisa magical artifact,” Caldwell says. “But it is not a trick. Take it out, and I’ll teach you how to activate it.”
“How?” I open my palm, and the watch cools down. “I’ve already tried to activate it a hundred times…”
“Not like this.” He sighs, flexing his fingers. “It can only be activated by me. You’ll need a drop of my blood.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Margaux flashes her fangs.
“No.” I step between them. “I’ll do it.” I turn to Margaux.
To my surprise, she doesn’t argue.
“You’re right, you deserve this.” She smiles deviously. “I’ll fetch a knife.”
I don’t have time to worry about being alone with Caldwell. She’s back in a flash, gone with a burst of air and returning with the same gusto. A jeweled dagger rests in her hand, and she offers the handle to me.
“Didn’t your mother teach you not to run with knives?” Caldwell drawls.
“Didn’tyourmother teach you not to mess with blood magic?” Margaux lifts a brow.
“It’s not blood magic,” he says. “It’s ancestral magic.”
I don’t know the difference, and I have no interest in arguing with them. I take the dagger carefully in my hand. There’s power in the weapon.
I’ve never held one before. The closest I’ve come is the stake buried in the bottom of my bag.
I could end it all. It would be easy todrive the dagger into his heart. All I have to do is think of Poppy. Hell, I could stab it in his leg and give him a fraction of the pain he’s put us through.
I don’t. I’m delicate as I poke the blade to his index finger, drawing out the tiniest prick of blood.
“Now what?” I mutter. My attention shifts to the pocket watch.
