Page 227 of Depraved Boys

Leopold slung an arm over Prakash’s shoulder and leaned into his friend. “Speaking of getting screw—”

“You’ve got some nerve!” snarled a voice from behind.

We turned around to find Cormac advancing toward us through the hallway. My stomach plummeted, and my back stiffened for a confrontation. Ever since Prakash had gotten arrested for the assault on Ashley, Cormac seemed to take every opportunity to berate me with words or disappointed looks about my involvement with the kings.

Cormac’s hands balled into fists, reminding me of the first time I had met him. It had been on this hallway, and he’d accused Leopold of sexually harassing Ashley and me. “They should never have released you from prison!”

Prakash’s nostrils flared, and a muscle in his jaw flexed, but he didn’t defend himself. I hoped it was because he was too dignified to comment and not out of guilt about Corrine.

Leopold stepped forward. “Are you going to blame him for Wilmington and Riley, too?”

Cormac tried shoving Leopold aside, but Leopold stood solid. He tried walking around Leopold to get at Prakash, but Leopold placed a hand on his shoulder.

Cormac slammed his fist against the door of a storage cupboard. “Let go of me, or I’ll—”

“Run to Claymore?” Leopold sneered. “She’s not here to support you anymore.”

Cormac stepped back, his face flushed. My chest tightened at the sight of my friend being so distressed. I completely understood that the reopening of Corrine’s case and the death of the knights had stirred up old feelings, but Prakash hadn’t killed or assaulted anyone.

I walked around Leopold and placed a hand on Cormac’s arm. “Listen—”

Cormac jerked away as though my touch was scalding. “Don’t tell me my suspicions are unfounded. Corrine didn’t kill herself, and the police know it. I couldn’t…” He pressed his lips together and drew in a deep breath, as though tamping down a torrent of rage.

With softened eyes, Cormac turned his gaze on me and murmured, “I couldn’t stand to hear those words from you, too.”

My shoulders deflated. Deep in my gut, I knew Prakash was innocent, but how could I communicate that to Cormac?

Prakash moved to my side. “Gibbons, I don’t know what happened to Corrine on the summer solstice, but I can assure you of one thing. I did not kill your sister.”

Cormac glowered down at the parquet floor. “That’s for the police to decide.”

I ran a hand through my hair. This was partially my fault. I’d translated enough of Corrine’s diary to work out that she had been in a relationship with Prakash, and not all three kings. Maybe passing this information had focussed Cormac’s anger on just Prakash.

For the rest of the week, tensions between Cormac and the kings died down to a distant but seething resentment. Cormac continued to glower at us from across the classrooms and the dining room, but he was perfectly cordial whenever he saw me alone.

I would have felt torn between my best friend and my boyfriends if Cormac and Geraldine hadn’t taken every opportunity to flaunt their relationship. The aggravating part was that Geraldine and her friends had attacked me on numerous occasions.

Any straight-thinking person would classify forcing a lethal amount of alcohol down a person’s throat and leaving them to the elements as attempted murder. Unlike Cormac, I didn’t shoot anyone filthy looks.

One day after classes, I was walking back to the east wing when a hand closed around my bicep, and the scent of mothballs and dry-cleaning fluid filled my nostrils. Then a smooth voice said, “A word, if you please.”

I whirled around and glared into the indigo eyes of Mr. Byrd. The man slicked his hair back like a stockbroker from the 1980s, and his lips flattened into a grimace of distaste.

Glancing around the hallway, I clutched my hands to my chest. Most of the students had already left for prep, leaving a smattering of little first and second years.

Of their own volition, my feet shuffled back toward the nearest doorway. “What do you want?”

“Your signature,” he reached into the inside pocket of his pinstripe navy suit jacket.

“W-what?” I continued to back away.

His brows rose. “Bianca gave you the package, yes?”

I glanced over my shoulder, paranoid that Bianca might ambush me from behind. “No.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he said through clenched teeth. A scowl twisted his features into an even more menacing visage. “My daughter delivered it into your grubby hands, and my contract is now awaiting your signature.”

My mind raced through possibilities. The only thing Bianca had given me this month was a hard shove down the stairs. I’d never seen her hold a pack—Realization slapped me on the side of the head. He was talking about last term’s blood money.