This Might Hurt(90)
No sooner had I locked the trailer door than I saw Jeremiah standing a few feet away, whistling an attempt at nonchalance. I automatically reached for my hair, found only scalp.
I hadn’t called on him in class that morning or even made eye contact—partly because Teacher had told me to cut ties with him, partly because I was avoiding passing along her threat.
“How’s the foot?”
I glanced around. No one from gen pop was nearby. “All good, thanks.” I headed for the cafeteria, signaling an end to the conversation.
Jeremiah walked alongside me, matching my pace. “It looks like you’re limping.” I didn’t respond. “You should get a gel or lotion or something from Sofia. Help it heal faster.”
“I already have.”
He went to tap my arm but I twisted out of reach. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I told you I am. Why do you keep asking?” In the back of my mind, I noted faint sobbing coming from one of the guesthouses.
“Because you were branded last night.”
“Keep your voice down.” I stopped short and peered around. We were still alone. “Are you questioning the q’s?”
“Are you not? You’ve scarred your body for life.”
Jeremiah had never spoken so brazenly—he must have been terrified about his own q2.
“I see it as a badge, not a scar. And you’d better join me soon.”
“Or what?”
“Or Teacher said she’ll send your q1 to your old boss.”
Jeremiah glared. “I never should’ve . . .” He trailed off.
The nape of my neck tingled. “You’re not having second thoughts about the IC?”
He studied me. “What are you going to do if I say yes?”
I hesitated. My q2 had rattled him more than I’d thought. “I have to do what’s best for Wisewood. We all do. So why don’t you think long and hard before you say something you’ll regret. I can’t have my loyalty called into question.” Again, I didn’t say.
His face turned red. “Don’t you care about anything more than her?”
Where was this animosity coming from? “I thought you admired her too.”
“Pretty hard to admire a liar.”
My mouth fell open. “What are you talking about?”
He shuffled his feet, regret plain on his face.
“Tell me.”
“Forget it.”
“Tell me,” I said more forcefully.
His gaze shifted to the tiny camera affixed to the roof of a nearby guesthouse. You wouldn’t have noticed it unless you were searching for it—but it was pointed straight at us. He glanced back at me, then tipped his chin a fraction of an inch toward the hedge. I blinked twice and left him standing there. Mind racing, I walked an indirect route to the outskirts of campus, chose a spot away from any doors or cameras. A minute later, Jeremiah joined me. The trees beyond the wall swished, eavesdropping and whispering, passing secrets along like a game of telephone.
When he was sure we were alone, Jeremiah stepped toward me, his eyes wild, fists shaking. A growl escaped his throat.
“Rebecca killed my brother.”
39
Kit
DECEMBER 2019
I STARED OPENMOUTHED at Jeremiah, too shocked to speak.
“When we were kids,” he said, “my parents took us to see a magician at the high school two towns over, this girl wonder named Rebecca. She chose my brother as her assistant for a handcuff trick. Gabe was transfixed. He’d always been interested in magic, but from that moment on he was obsessed.”
He told me about Teacher’s life before Wisewood—her Madame Fearless persona, the death-defying stunts, Gabe’s role as her business partner of twenty years, how she’d mistreated him yet ended up with his inheritance.
“It’s her fault Gabe’s gone.”
“I thought your brother died in a freak accident.”
“He drowned in a half-frozen lake. During one of her shows.”
I choked on a gasp.
“Even if the whole thing was an accident, she’s still responsible for his death.”
I rubbed my hands together to warm them, trembling in the cold. “Jeremiah, that’s ridiculous.”
He barked a laugh. “You don’t know her like I do. I’ve spent years researching her, this place.”
A new fear sprouted in my ribs: Teacher’s safety. How had I so misjudged this man? All his devotion and swooning had been a lie.
“You’re hoping to do what, exactly?”
He gestured at the island around us. “She took my brother from my family long before he died. Now she’s doing the same damn thing to the people who live here. I can’t let her keep endangering people, ripping them away from their loved ones. This is bigger than Gabe.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
Sweat glistened at his temples. “Make her take responsibility. That woman has been manipulating and abusing her followers for years. Somewhere along the way she must have screwed up. If I find proof of that screwup, I’m handing it over to the police. If I can’t . . .” His expression clouded. “I’ll get justice my own way.”