A Matter of Heart (Fate, #2)

“Too bad your opinion means nothing anymore,” Jonah says. It’s then I notice Astrid has a hand on his arm, too.

This statement, though, is enough to send Jens into a rage. “Why are none of you questioning her? Are you truly such puppets of this . . . child?” One of his long fingers shoots out toward Jonah, who now lunges. Karl whips out to grab him, one hand still on Kellan, while Astrid tries her best to restrain my fiancé, as well. “She’s a Creator, for gods’ sakes! They have been known to do this sort of thing in the past! If she’s a murderer, then we need to—”

“Touch her,” Jonah says quietly, no longer struggling against his mother or Karl, “and this child”—he touches his chest—“will kill you where you stand. Do I make myself clear?”

I realize I am hyperventilating when Caleb does the equivalent of slapping my face in my mind. BECAUSE OH MY GODS. Jens thinks I murdered people. Earle! Nividita! Harou! And Jonah just threatened to murder him.

THIS IS INSANE.

“Do not look at her again,” Jonah continues. “Or even say her name. Chloe Lilywhite is off limits to you. Do not doubt I will carry through with my threat, Jens.”

“I don’t doubt you mean it at all,” Jens replies coolly. “Which is why nobody with a Connection should be allowed to serve on the Council or Guard.”

“Luckily you have no say in the matter,” Kate says. “Especially now you are on neither entity. You’re nothing more than a neutered bull put out to pasture.”

Callie snaps the laptop shut just as Jens attempts to tear into the Shaman. We can still hear his muffled yells through the walls, though. And finally, Karl’s booming voice joins in, rattling the door. “Well,” she says to me, a wry smile teasing her lips, “at least we now know why nobody wanted you in there.”

Despite my protests earlier, I can totally see why and actually agree with their logic. Because now that I know at least one person out there thinks I’m a murderer, I wish I could go back to being in the dark.

“I didn’t do it.”

She actually laughs. “No, really?” And then, “Sorry, but c’mon, Chloe. I highly doubt you’d kill a spider, let alone three people.”

I think back to my behavior when I’d caught her and Jonah kissing last year. “You’ve seen me destroy things before. I wouldn’t be surprised if you thought I’d be capable of bad stuff.”

“Yeah,” she muses, “but it wasn’t because you’re evil; it was because you have so much love in your heart. You were hurting. I knew that even then. And I know that those boys in there would never defend anybody, Connections or no, who could do such heinous acts. You’re no more a murderer than I am.”

I want to cry—in shock over these charges, in relief that people are defending me, in surprise that somebody I’d never think is on my side—but I don’t. Instead, I just stare at her, too afraid to move because, once I do, I’m pretty sure I will collapse under the strain of everything that’s happened to me in the last week.

Callie stands up and holds a hand out to me. “Mom and the boys have things well in hand. Let’s go get some drinks. ”

Did she just say what I think she said?

“Drinks,” she repeats, like she knows I need repeating. “Only in Annar does a hospital have a fully stocked bar. Let’s go, Helen of Troy. Let the Council and Guard battle it out over you while we pretend we’re in Maui, sipping Mai Tais. They’ve got a simulator in there, like a jukebox. You pick the setting, and the room transforms into what you want.”

I take her hand, even though I say, “Me and alcohol don’t really mix well, remember?”

She pulls me to my feet. “Trust me. This is what you need right now.”

For the life of me, I cannot remember why, just last year, I vowed to never have another drink again. For one, drinks are tasty—or, at least the ones Callie orders for us are. And two, I feel really good right now. Light. Non-accused-murderer-like, which I like a heck of a lot more than, you know, being an actual accused murderer. And this place—THIS PLACE!—is sososo awesome. Callie plugged enough coins in the jukebox to ensure that we will be lounging in Maui for hours. The bartender, somebody Callie has known for a few years (I think they might have hooked up once or twice? I can’t remember now) is handing out Mai Tais with pretty lil’ umbrellas like they’re smiles.

We relax in lounge chairs, overlooking an ocean view. Callie does the bulk of the talking, sounding much like an auctioneer. I like that she sounds like this. It makes her all hyper and happy, when earlier she seemed so stern. “Clothes!” She holds up her drink, and we clink. Several guys nearby holler, “Cheers!” and we laugh. “I love ‘em.”

“Those guys?” I slide a piece of pineapple off of the umbrella. Fruit is so much better than Jell-o. I don’t want to eat it again, not for a long time.

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