Evangeline thrust her dagger into Petra’s chest, right on the edge of her chain-mail dress.
Petra made the worst sound Evangeline had ever heard, or maybe it was just the awful ringing in her ears, the sudden flash of horror and regret that swallowed her as soon as she’d thrust the knife. This wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted to pull it out. She wanted to take it back.
A laugh gurgled up from Petra’s throat as blood leaked from her chest. “I was once like you … but now you’re … just … like me.”
31
Tears coated Evangeline’s cheeks as she released the knife and backed away from Petra’s body. Her unmoving body lay in a swell of blood. Evangeline had never seen so much blood. When she’d thought Apollo had died, there’d been no blood. He’d just stopped moving.
But Petra’s blood was there. Red and thick and damning. Even with the knife still in her chest, the blood had soaked through her white chain-mail dress and oozed onto the floor.
Evangeline started to shake, or maybe she’d already been shaking.
She had killed her. She’d chosen her life over Petra’s. It was just what Jacks had said would happen. She’d killed someone for the stones. She’d sworn she’d never kill anyone, but then the moment Evangeline had been given the choice, she hadn’t failed to act.
Yes, Petra had attacked her, but she wasn’t thrusting a blade when Evangeline had stabbed her. Evangeline brought her hands to her face, stopping when she saw there was blood on them as well. She wiped them on her skirt, but that almost made it worse, as if she were trying to wipe away not just the blood but what she had done.
“Little Fox!” Jacks’s urgent voice was accompanied by the sound of running.
Evangeline shook harder. She didn’t want him to find her right now, especially not like this. She was shaking and covered in blood, and she felt too weak to face him. Yet she’d never been so relieved to see him.
“Jacks—” His name came out like a sob. She knew he wasn’t a savior, but she didn’t want a savior just then. She didn’t want someone to hold her while she cried and tell her it would be all right. She wanted fury, she wanted rage, she wanted a villain to tell her she’d done exactly what she needed to do.
“What happened?” Jacks slowed his steps as he approached, eyes furiously going back and forth between the blood and Petra and Evangeline.
“I killed her—” Evangeline cried. Saying the words made it even realer, and the guilt was suddenly too much. Her chest was tight. She couldn’t breathe. She could barely even stand. Then Jacks was crushing her to his chest. He held her like a secret, pulling her close to his pounding heart. She remembered her vow not to let him touch her. But if she pulled away, she felt as if she might break into a thousand tears.
Evangeline let herself lean against him as one of his hands slid into her hair, gently pressing her head to his shoulder. The other hand was at her waist, fisting the ribbon tied around it as if he also knew that, were he to let her go, she would shatter.
She tried to hold back the tears, but she sobbed until his shirt went damp. “I’m a murderer.”
“There is a knife in her hand,” Jacks said. “She would have clearly killed you if you hadn’t stopped her. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But it doesn’t feel right.”
“It never does.” Jacks carefully released the ribbon at her waist and slowly rubbed a hand up and down the length of her spine.
Evangeline took a shuddering breath. She’d thought that she didn’t want a savior, but maybe a part of her needed one. Or perhaps she just needed him. Another time, she would have felt guilty at the thought, but she’d killed someone tonight. In comparison, it hardly seemed wrong to want Jacks to hold her closer, until the hallway and the body and this terrible night disappeared and all that was left was the two of them.
Jacks’s hand went suddenly still. “You should go back to your room now. Pack a bag you can carry. I’ll be there to get you shortly.”
“But—what about her—”
“I’ll take care of the body.”
Jacks let her go.
Evangeline felt numb as soon as his arms were no longer around her. It was tempting to fall apart again when she cast a look toward Petra, still on the ground with a halo of rose-gold hair exactly like Evangeline’s. Petra’s blood had stopped seeping, and her body did not stir, but Evangeline could still hear her accusing voice: I was once like you, but now you’re just like me.