Page 124 of Blood and Moonlight

For a few minutes, with Simon tending to me, I’d forgotten what happened. Now it comes crashing down on me like Sanctum scaffolds. “Simon, he was there.”

Simon rinses the cloth and squeezes it out, still refusing to look me full in the face. “Who was there? Remone?”

I shake my head, tears leaking from my eyes. “No.Him.The killer.”

He freezes with the cloth dripping water into my hair and finally meets my gaze, disbelief on his shadowed face. “What?”

Taking a shaky breath, I reach into my over-tunic with my left hand. “What happened today at the Sanctum wasn’t my fault or Remi’s.” I pull the long braid out to show him. “And it wasn’t an accident.”

Even coated in dust, the ebony gloss shines through. Simon drops the sopping cloth and takes it from me. “Is this…?”

“Marguerite’s hair, yes, or some of it.” I’m too exhausted to do anything but babble. “I found it wrapped around a broken piece of scaffolding. I don’t know how or when, but he did it. He killed those people. He killed them because of me, like he killed Mother Agnes.”

Simon comes to his knees in front of me again, anger radiating from his eyes. “No, Cat.Noneof this is your fault. It’s his.” He cups my cheek with his free hand. “It’sallhis. And mine. For failing to stop him.”

Firelight throws shadows across his cheeks and the hollows under his eyes. I still haven’t told him the worst part. “Simon,” I whisper. “He came back to the Sanctum tonight. I saw him.”

Comprehension dawns on him. Simon releases the braid to fall in my lap and takes my injured hand in his as the other slides into my hair. “Hedid this to you?”

I nod again and slowly tell him what happened, finishing with, “And when I looked down, he was gone.”

Simon closes his eyes and lowers his head, shaking it as if in denial. His fingers tighten in my hair and around my bandaged hand, and the muscles in his arm tense, bringing me closer.

Then, without warning, he pulls my mouth to his.

The restraint he had before is gone, and he’s kissing me—not with gentle agony like last time—but with urgent need, as if he desperately wants to tell me something before it’s too late.

I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.

I’m not sure what he’s apologizing for—for being angry with me, for what happened tonight, for not kissing me every time he wanted to—maybe all those things and more, but it’s effortless to kiss him back. I want him to know how sorry I am, and that I never want to hurt him again.

I almost lost you.

I use my lips to tell him that he didn’t. That I’m here.

Save me from myself, Cat. Please. You’re the only one who can.

Wait. Something’s not right.

It’s almost physically painful to break away, but I place my unwrapped hand on Simon’s chest and push him back. His heart beats like a drum against my fingers as he searches my face. Something about the firelight gives the brown flaw a reddish cast, like dried blood, and there’s the beginning of a bruise on one cheek and a recent cut in the corner of his mouth. A tiny drop of blood emerges as he licks his lips.

“What happened?” I reach up to touch the spot, straining in anticipation to hear what it will say.

Simon leans back, covering his cheek with his hand. There are several small puncture wounds above his wrist I hadn’t noticed earlier, with flowering blue-black spots beneath.

“Juliane,” he says. “Lambert and I had to restrain her.” Simon looks down at the fresh bruises on the back of his hand. “Lately it’s harder and harder to talk her out of her delusions. Tonight she was convinced the shadows in her room would kill her.”

My heart aches for her and for those watching her deteriorate. “Was your father like this?”

Simon nods wearily. “For years. And this is only the beginning with Juliane.” He rubs his neck as he rises from his crouch. “My uncle found out we’ve been usingskoniato calm her down, andhe was furious, him being the provost and all. At least Oudin never used it in the house.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugs. “I think it was starting to do more harm than good. And the doses had grown dangerously large.” Simon glances at the empty teapot, and I understand why he’d swept it away from me. “She’s been asleep for the last few hours. Madame Denise is with her.”

I stand, wincing with all the bruises and scrapes. “Is there some way I can help?”

Simon shakes his head. “They want to keep this quiet like they did with her mother. In the family.”