Page 51 of Live To Tell

Forced to exchange pleasantries with the man who approached, Josef allows me to walk away.

This time.

Chapter 18

VIOLET

Chase returns to where I stand with Holly and looks between us. Is he aware I dislike him? Since I’m perceived as disliking most people, he wouldn’t notice, but I’m less tolerant of him due to his connection to Holly. Witches in general look down on other students and although Holly’s firm friends with female witches, I’ve witnessed Chase’s indifference to her when with his friends. He’s happy to spend time together privately, but not so much publicly.

Unless it’s in the dark.

“Violet.” Someone touches my arm and I look around. Leif? “There’s a problem.”

His voice wavers enough that the worst leaps into my head. “Who died?”

“What?” asks Chase.

Holly’s eyes go wide. “Violet?”

“Nobody,” says Leif quickly, then bends to whisper. “Problem with Grayson.”

Without a word to Holly and her beau, I hurry away, following Leif. Rowan and Grayson aren’t here—nothing’s changed in the vicinity—still the same dancing and drinking and intimate socializing. No blood-soaked bodies decorating the floor.

“What’s happening?” I ask as we emerge from the room.

Ahead, a stern-faced middle-aged man in a brown tweed suit shepherds disgruntled partygoers towards the room the adults occupy, and another with a similar expression passes me and Leif to enter the room behind. The music cuts off.

“Who died?” I repeat as the man continues to usher guests into the adjoining room.

“Nobody,” says Leif. “I think.”

“Then why herd everybody into one place?” I edge backwards against the wall to avoid joining the grumbling kids leaving the dancing room.

“Oh. That’s for the big moment Kai’s trying to avoid. Everybody has to attend.” With a furtive look around, Leif tugs me in the opposite direction.

We reach the spot where we interacted with Kai and where Grayson now stands, back to me beside Rowan. Marci’s slumped on a sofa, struggling to lift her head as she mumbles and gestures. Another two girls confront Grayson, one jabbing a finger at him. These girls in their pretty dresses aren’t academy students; they’re human friends of Kai’s.

I march over. “What is—?”

He turns his head. Grayson’s face. A set of slash marks run diagonally across his left cheek—an adornment that didn’t afflict him earlier. His eyes meet mine, face lined with frustration. My focus shifts to the incapacitated Marci.

“He tried to attack her!” snaps the blonde girl and jabs a finger at Grayson.

“I didn’t touch Marci,” he says harshly.

“Everybody saw you follow her out of the room,” says the other. “Then Marci staggered outside and collapsed, and you’ve scratch marks from when she tried to defend herself.”

Grayson throws me a despairing look and shakes his head. “If I’d attacked Marci, a scratch on the face wouldn’t stop me continuing,” he says with quiet menace. “Where’re the marks on her?”

“You didn’t get the chance!” says the first.

“Yeah, but if I’d grabbed her or whatever, there’d be a mark.”

The blonde girl’s eyes narrow. “Then who scratched your face?”

He hesitates and glances at me. “Not Marci,” he replies.

“When did this happen?” I demand.

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