“No,” I answered quickly, then wondered if that was the wrong answer.
“No signs of depression, hopelessness?”
“I mean, Gail was always a little sad, you know, because of her parents….”
“Ja, and you saw her every day?”
“I did.”
“I’m led to believe you and Miss Monfort had been fighting in the weeks before her death.”
I froze. Yes, Gail and I had fought, but it was because of how close I had gotten to Zephyr and the Kings. She was scared for me. It had nothing to do with her death. I told myself this so many times, every morning and every night. I needed to believe it because I already hated myself for our petty fighting in her last weeks. If I’d contributed to her death . . . that would just be too much to bear.
“We never fought, Gail and me. We were close, and. . . .”
I trailed off. This wasn’t good. I was lying to the police.
It was absurd too. This detective clearly suspected the same thing I did: Gail’s death was not a suicide. So why wasn’t I telling the truth? Why wasn’t I doing everything I could to help his investigation?
“And vhat, Miss Quinn?”
“I think . . . um, I think Gail was acting strange around the end of term. Her parents’ deaths were weighing on her. I wish I had spoken up about it.”
I realized at that moment that I couldn’t tell the police what I suspected. To do so would reveal how Gail, Theo, and I were secretly investigating the last generation of Kings, men who were so powerful they could snuff out both our investigation and our lives. I had to play dumb to protect myself and Theo. Even worse, I needed to protect Zephyr, even though he was the leader of the Kings. He might unknowingly have sanctioned Gail’s murder.
Which meant . . . I could have been complicit in her death as well.
What could I say to the detective? Even if I were willing to reveal what I suspected about Stormcloud and the Kings, I didn’t think he would believe me. All I could do was parrot the official line, the story that Gail’s killer wanted the world to believe: she had killed herself.
“You seem suddenly quite certain, Miss Quinn.”
“I didn’t want to admit it to myself, I think . . . but I guess Gail was wrestling with demons, and I ignored her struggle.”
The detective grunted his acknowledgment and stared deeply into my eyes.
Did he buy my explanation? I didn’t know.
I didn’t care. He didn’t matter to me.
I would find Gail’s killer myself.
CHAPTER 1
BIBA
“Do hurry up, Quinn.” Miss Amelia tsked at me as I loaded myself down with student medical reports and scuttled out of her office.
For the better part of three months, my role as Amelia’s assistant had been like something between a secretary and a student. I would come to her office each morning, and one of two things would happen. If she had concocted an idea in the night—a better rooming arrangement for first-year students, a symposium series of prominent alumni—it was my job to commit it to paper. In these instances, I would sit cross-legged in the middle of her indigo and red hand-knotted Persian rug and take hours of dictation.
If Amelia had no Stormcloud business, she would pour me a cup of Darjeeling and proceed with a lesson—in whatever subject she judged me in need of learning before my second year began. It was an eclectic mix: Romantic art, industrial chemistry, DH Lawrence, Copernicus, and 20th-century German economic theory. Early in the summer, I’d slipped up and wrinkled my brow when she veered abruptly from Hayek to Sons & Lovers.
She had snapped at me. I suppose you don’t see the value of my lessons, eh? I supposed you’ve become too clever for some past-her-prime administrator’s wisdom?
No, I’m sorry, I had replied. I just didn’t understand the connection between—
You don’t need to understand, Miss Quinn. I’m working from the assumption that you do not understand a bloody thing. It’s pure chance that you survived a single term at Stormcloud Academy.
My expression must have fallen because Amelia had stopped scolding me. It was true: I had just barely made it through my first term at Stormcloud. Gail didn’t.