Page 80 of Petrify

“Mrs. Beauchene.”

She whirls around and I catch the scowl painted on her face for a split second, before it's hidden behind her usual facade. “Mallary. Good morning.”

“Can I talk to you for a moment?”

She glances at the watch on her wrist. “I have a couple minutes. What is it?”

Now that I am standing in front of her, anxiety tightens my chest.

I knew you would be rational.

She knows what happened to Bastien—sheis responsible. She knows he’s not a ghost. He’s alive and breathing, confined to the shadows.

But confronting her, revealing to her that I know, jeopardizes everything. Baz is a secret for a reason—because she wanted to sweep the problem of him under the rug.

ButIknow.

Focus on the music. Focus on me. I will take care of the rest.

I can’t ignore how my heart breaks, just thinking about that look in Baz’s eyes when he told me the truth. I know how it feels to be discarded.

“I know about Bastien.”

For a moment, her expression doesn’t change. Then her eyes narrow. “What are you playing at?”

“I know where he is.”

“This is not funny,Miss Doyle.”

“I know what you’ve done.”

She scoffs. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Your son?—”

“My son is dead.” The words echo through the hall until it’s silent, the quiet ringing between us. Her lips pinch together. “My son is Henri.OnlyHenri.”

That she hasn’t left tells me that maybe,maybe, I can get through to her. “Mrs. Beauchene, that’s not fair to?—”

A sharp laugh. “Fair?Fair? What would someone like you know about what’s fair?”

I’m not sure what she means bysomeone like me. A roiling, sour feeling rises onto my tongue.

“What’s not fair is that my son was so troubled. What’s not fair is that we’ve had to make these difficult decisions because ofhisactions. What’s not fair is thatmy son is dead.”

I bite my lip so hard, to keep silent.

She blames him, has spent every day attempting to convince herself that her firstborn is dead, rather than the truth?—

That they locked him up inside this house. That they stripped him of his identity, his name.

Andthatis all their fault.

“What’s not fair is that he was ripped away from us just as he began to make something of himself. And now Henri has that reputation to uphold. Tobeat. He’s only a young boy, and he will never meet his brother, because his brother isdead. Don’t try to tell me what’s fair, Miss Doyle.”

Disbelief is ice in my veins. “Did you even try to help him?”

“You are crossing a line?—”