Page 39 of Depraved Boys

Leopold cocked his head to the side. “Can’t you go back to the painter and ask for another one?”

“My mother painted it.”

Sebastian’s cold mask melted, and compassion shone in his green eyes. For a moment, he reminded me of the guy who had driven me home from Hessington Hall. The guy who had opened up to me and understood the sadness in my heart. The guy who had given me my first kiss and awakened something in me I wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

“I didn’t send anyone to your room,” he said in a voice as gentle as a caress. “Neither would Leo.”

“I know you didn’t, but someone out there thinks I’m taking up your attention and wants to send me a message.”

He gave me a slow, understanding nod. “Hence, the broken portrait.”

“And notes made from cut-out newspapers.”

Sebastian grimaced. “I can’t think of anyone fixated on me enough to go that far.”

Leopold gave his friend a nudge. “What about—”

“No.” Sebastian grabbed Leopold and jostled him to the back of the lecture theater, where they exchanged hushed and angry whispers.

Curiosity burned in my chest, fueled by the pounding of my heart. Someone was out to get me. Leopold knew their identity, but Sebastian was in denial.

I glanced in the direction of the queens. Geraldine and Bianca both glowered at me from across the lecture theater. Maybe Sebastian wanted to protect Bianca from suspicion.

I edged toward the kings to catch a name, when a voice from behind said, “Has it crossed your mind that you don’t fit in?”

“What?” I turned around and glared into Prakash’s dark eyes.

“The pranks, pig slurs, that disgusting bet. And now someone has broken into your room and damaged a precious and irreplaceable object. How much more of this will you take before you finally get the message?”

“Which is?” I folded my arms.

Prakash’s eyes hardened, and he leaned into me, filling my nostrils with the intoxicating, citrus scent of bergamot. “There’s no place for a girl like you at the Brittas Academy.”

“That’s harsh,” Leopold said from behind. “You could have at least waited until I’d won Geraldine’s bet before trying to chase her out.”

I whirled around and slapped him on his pec. “You’re a pig.”

“Speaking of pigs,” said Leopold, “Have you been keeping an eye on your sister?”

“What do you mean?”

Prakash clamped a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t wait for a calamity to discover that neither of you belong here.”

“You’re both talking in riddles!” I snarled.

“Leave,” Prakash snarled. “Whatever they’re paying you to stay here isn’t worth your life.”

Miss Claymore stood. “Good morning, class. Turn to page two hundred and five of your textbooks.”

We all scrambled to our seats, and I turned around to see if Cormac was in the room. He sat at the back next to Michelle with a textbook between them. I turned back to the front and tried to concentrate on Miss Claymore’s lecture on Annie Besant’s use of persuasive language in her speeches and pamphlets.

I still couldn’t work out who might have been in my room last night. All the likely subjects weren’t determined enough to trash my room then tidy it up again. Whoever did it was extraordinarily twisted.

As soon as the class ended, I rushed out of the lecture theatre and into the parquet hallway. Cormac and Michelle walked ahead, and I jogged up to them, reached into my bag, and closed my fingers around the diary.

“Cormac, can I talk to you for a second?”

“See you at lunch.” Michelle continued ahead.