“Can I turn on a light?” I asked tentatively.
“I haven’t seen you since we entered the ball that night,” she said, ignoring my question.
“I—”Shit. How could I explain my long absence? I couldn’t very well tell Gwen that I’d known about August and Neha’s deaths since Sunday evening, or that I’d been too exhausted to function.
“Why aren’t you more upset?”
“Everyone grieves differently,” I evaded, hating myself even as I spoke the words. I didn’t want to shame Gwen for her grief. To stall, I walked over to turn on the desk lamp. “I suppose I’m still processing,” I said. “Maybe I’m still in denial.”
A raw, choked sob tore from Gwen’s throat. “I don’t understand. Why would Neha hurt herself? She wasn’t—Shewouldn’t—It makes no sense!” Her voice broke off into incoherent sobs.
Desperation and despair clutched at my heart. I couldn’t stand to see Gwen in so much pain. When she collected herself enough to speak again, it was in a small, painfully childlike voice.
“W-we were happy, Neha and I. We spent the night together on Saturday, and then at the ball, I asked her to be my girlfriend. She said yes.” Gwen’s face crumpled.
“I am so very sorry, Gwen,” was all I could think to say.
“T-their throats were c-cut open. Did you know that?” she asked through ragged sobs. “It wasn’t in the paper, but I overheard some of the Gilded Circle gossiping about it over breakfast. Why would they do that to themselves?” she asked, her voice quavering under her grief.
“I don’t know.” I hesitated, debating how much to reveal with Casimir listening just outside the door. “Maybe… maybe they didn’t do it to themselves.”
Gwen’s sharp intake of breath cut off my rambling. “You think someone did that to them? Who?” she demanded.
I gnawed on the inside of my cheek as I considered how to answer her. I couldn’t let Gwen think Neha and August had been murdered, that their killer was still on the loose. But was allowing her to believe Neha had committed suicide any better?
Before I could reply, Gwen suddenly asked in a small voice, “Do you think she knew?”
I faltered. “Knew what?”
“That I loved her.”
It was such a simple and yet profound statement that for a moment I was rendered speechless.
“I’ll be right back,” I said, and fled from the room before Gwen could protest.
Casimir met my panicked expression in the doorway with a probing glance. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Not here.” I clicked the door shut behind me and dragging Casimir into the stairwell by his shirtsleeve. When we were alone, I turned to him. “Whatever potion Veronika gave her, it wasn’t enough.”
His brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“We can’t let her believe her girlfriend killed herself! It’s inhumane! She’s devastated, Casimir!”
“Well, of course she’s devastated,” he replied. “It’s a tragedy.” He spoke as if the circumstances of Neha’s death were as expected and mundane as bad weather. His lack of urgency only increased my desperation.
“You can make her forget,” I said. “Give her more of that draught—and glamour her, if you need to. Just fix this!”
A shadow of comprehension crossed Casimir’s face and his eyes hardened. “You want me to make her forget that she ever loved Neha?”
“I—” The words were strangled in my throat as I cowered beneath his heated glare.
Casimir was furious. It was evident by the burning in his eyes as he invaded my space, his arms pinning me against the wall. “You want me to remove the memories of someone she loved, without her consent? Is this how you treat your best friend?”
All I wanted was to remove Gwen’s pain. To erase it, as thoughit had never existed in the first place. In a small, pained voice, I replied, “Wouldn’t it be better if she didn’t remember her at all?”
“You tell me, Farrow,” he growled, his eyes narrowing into slits. “Would you take that option if it were on the table?”
I flinched at the vitriol lacing his voice. Was he truly offering? Was this his way of giving me an out, as well as Gwen? I didn’t need to consider my answer.Never. I would never take that option. Despite the horrors I’d witnessed the night of the blood ritual, despite the emotional tumult I’d endured these past weeks, I wouldn’t want to forget how I felt about Casimir. On the contrary, I was determined to remember him for as long as my lungs drew breath.