Page 138 of By the Moonbeam and the Mist
The silence had thickened over the house like a congealing shadow, filled with the ticking of the clock and the beating of my heart as I stole glances at my best friend in search of signs that she was fighting the Mind Manipulation.
Nothing. Not even a flutter of her eyelashes as she deadpanned the spooning motions over and over, going through pomegranate after pomegranate like a child made of cogs and gears.
Now, that same shadowy silence fell behind her door. As if Quinn knew that she was about to be betrayed by the one person who’d seen what her mother had done to her and how much it had affected her.
No, I reminded myself. I wasn’t going to coerce her into doing anything. I was simply going to lower my blockade in her direction. And she’d betrayed me ten times over by agreeing to take part in thatpranklast year, so I—
The door opened a crack.
An inhale stung in my nose.
Through the tiniest crack behind the statue, I could see that Quinn’s hair was no longer a glossy curtain of ruby red, but pale, stiff, and cropped to her shoulders. The color blended into her pallid face as she took in her visitor.
“Dazmine.” Even her voice sounded more hoarse than usual. “What do you want?”
“Aww.” Dazmine tilted her head. “Is that how you greet an old friend?”
“We had a mutual friend, butwewere never really friends. And I don’t think you’re under any delusions that we were, sowhat do you want?”
“To talk.”
Quinn puffed out a dry laugh. “No, thanks.”
Just as she was slamming the door shut, Dazmine stuck out a shoe.
“Would you like to talk in your room or out here?” she asked sweetly. “I’m fine with either one… though I’d love to meet the lucky guy in there.”
Pupils narrowing into lines that could cut, Quinn spared a glance over her shoulder, where I could hear the soft stirring of quiet breaths: probably whoever she’d come up with earlier. If this were any other circumstance, I’d feel horrible for interrupting them.
For a moment, sparks flared to life beneath Quinn’s fingernails, as if she had half a mind to blast Dazmine out of the hallway with her magic.
Then movement behind her had a panicked look scurrying across her face. She definitely didn’t want whoever was in her room to come out.
“Fine,” she muttered and slipped out into the hallway, quickly clicking the door shut behind her. The sparks beneath her fingernails died. “Go ahead, then. I’ll give you two damn minutes of my life.”
Caging in a breath, I slowly chiseled an opening into my blockade.
“Let’s start with that hair,” Dazmine said. “What happened?”
“What happened?” Quinn’s nostrils flared. “Whathappenedis that I had a Shape Shifter dye it because I wanted a change. And why should you be inquiring about my hair, anyway?”
Lie. She’d altered her hair herself—because Mr. Gleekle had branded her with Shape Shifting weeks ago. I heard that truth burn right through me with roaring flames that nearly had me gasping for air again.
Dazmine was already ploughing on.
“Why did you go into the jungle with Jenia and Fergus that day?”
Quinn’s eyes flashed in alarm at the mention of those two names. I didn’t blame her, necessarily: one dead, the other exiled. They’d practically become a taboo topic.
Through gritted teeth, she said, “Last I checked, you’re not on the Good Council, Dazmine. I’ve already explained to the real people in charge that we were just going to play a harmless little prank.”
Lie. But her thoughts behind that lie were too muffled for me to pick them apart.
Dazmine drummed her fingertips over her crossed arms.
“Did the Good Council tell you anything else? Have you been in contact with them since thatharmless little prank?”
The breathiest pause, then— “No.”
