He’s a good man. My mom’s a good woman, the best woman.
I still can’t wait to get out of here.
Because I’m a wild thing, just like my mother was once upon a time.
I don’t want to be cared for and protected.
I want to hunt.
“Make sure you say goodbye to Caleb and Noelle,” my mom says. “Especially Caleb.”
“I will,” I promise her.
I know how upset Caleb would be if I didn’t. He tries to act all tough, but he’s a fucking marshmallow on the inside.
Being the oldest is a tricky thing. Your siblings are annoying as fuck for most of your life, but you still love ‘em. You can’t help it.
And I’ll admit, Caleb isn’t shaping up too bad. He’s a little scrapper at school, he might give our cousin Leo a run for his money on the basketball court one of these days, and he can be pretty funny when he works on his material and keeps his anecdotes tight.
Give the kid a couple more years and a couple more inches, and we might be legitimate friends. For now I can still bend him up like a pretzel if he gets lippy.
Noelle is a different beast. She’s smart, and I mean scary smart. She’s like an A.I. computer that might discover the cure for Ebola, or else might decide that humanity is the virus and should be wiped off the earth.
Too early to tell with her. For now she looks damn cute in a pair of pigtails and her Sailor Moon shirt.
My dad comes into the kitchen, freshly showered and wearing an impeccably tailored suit.
His hair turned prematurely silver, which creates an alarming contrast with his bright blue eyes. My mom likes to call him a White Walker when she really wants to piss him off.
“He’s alive,” my dad says when he spots me.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“Breakfast with Uncle Nero.”
“I don’t know if that’s worth dressing up for,” I say. “Since he’s probably gonna show up in coveralls.”
“I’m not taking tips from somebody wearing moon boots.” My dad frowns, shaking his head at my sneakers. “What the hell are those?”
“They’re . . . fashion!” my mom says, doing jazz hands.
“They’re the re-drop of the Nike Air Mag,” I inform him. “They only made eighty-nine pairs. I could sell these for thirty-five thousand dollars right now. Used!”
“I will pay you thirty-five thousand dollars if I never have to look at them again,” my dad says.
“Tempting,” I say. “But if I keep trading up, I might just get my hands on a pair of the solid gold OVOs.”
“Please tell me you’re keeping at least some of your money in an IRA,” my dad says.
“Don’t worry, Dad.” I grin. “The nice thing about money . . . is you can always make more.”
Taking my mom’s last apple slice, I head up the floating staircase to the upper level. I was planning to flop down directly on my bed, but I can’t because my mom helpfully dumped my empty suitcase there, along with the fresh new uniforms.
Taking the hint, I chuck the rest of my clothes and books into the suitcase, as well as a nice thick wad of cash wrapped up with rubber bands. That’s my seed money for the semester ahead. I’ll sprinkle that cash amongst the fishermen and the greediest of the school employees, and soon I’ll have my own little Silk Road bringing exotic delicacies onto the island that I can sell to my fellow students for exorbitant prices. Tea and porcelain ain’t got nothin’ on vodka and Molly.
Packing complete, I zip up the suitcase, chuck it on the ground, kick off my sneakers, and roll into bed.
I drift off to sleep counting dollars instead of sheep.
3
Cat
I leave for Kingmakers on the first of September.
I kept praying that something would happen to prevent me from going. My main hope was that I simply wouldn’t be accepted, applying so late in the year.
Then a heavy gray envelope arrived in the mail, sealed with wax the color of dried blood, stamped with the crest of the school: a crowned skull. The handwritten address bore my full legal name, Catalina Resmella Romero, in script that looked a hundred years old.
I already knew what it would say before I opened it—or at least, I thought I did.
Catalina Romero,
I am writing to inform you that you have been accepted to Kingmakers Academy. Having reviewed your application and assessed your qualifications, we have assigned you to the Spy division.
School will commence on the 3rd of September. You will depart from the pier in Dubrovnik at 10:00 in the morning on September 2nd.
Admission to our campus is singular and irrevocable. If you decide to leave for any reason, you will not be permitted to return. Be sure to bring all items you will require for the duration of your program.
Enclosed is a list of our rules and regulations. Sign and return your acknowledgment of the contract, including your willingness to abide by our arbitration and punishment system. Your parents’ signature and imprint are likewise required.
We look forward to meeting you. You will be joining an elite institution with a long and storied history. Perhaps someday your name will be inscribed on the wall of Dominus Scelestos.
Your sister distinguished herself in the Quartum Bellum in her Freshman year. I hope to see you do the same when this year’s challenge convenes.
Sincerely,
Luther Hugo
Necessitas Non Habet Legem—Necessity Has No Law
I recognized the envelope from Zoe’s identical missive the year prior. From its thickness, I assumed that I had been accepted, and that it would include the draconian list of school rules and the irrevocable contract on which my father and I would both have to press our bloody fingerprints, agreeing that Kingmakers has the right to discipline or even execute me if I transgress its laws.
I knew all of that ahead of time.
What I didn’t expect was to be put in with the Spies.
Kingmakers has four divisions: the Heirs, who are trained to lead their families as a general leads an army. The Enforcers, who are the soldiers. The Accountants, who handle the finance and investment arms of the business. And then the Spies.
The Spies are the least-numerous and most obscure division. Their job is to surveil and analyze enemy groups—both law enforcement and rival criminals. They predict threats against the family and sometimes liaise with the enemy. And most of all, they ferret out threats from within their own ranks.
I can’t imagine a job less suited to me.
Spies have to be bold and cunning. Ruthless and skilled.
I’m terrified of my own shadow. I cry if someone looks at me sideways. I have no skills at all, other than painting and drawing, and I’m pretty good with computers. I’ve never been in a fight, and I’ve never fired a gun in my life.
As a Spy, there’s no one to protect you. One wrong step, and you’ll be tortured and killed.
I feel like a crab ripped out of its shell.
Worst of all, Zoe and I couldn’t even travel to Dubrovnik together. The Freshmen start a week later than everybody else, so she’s already on campus, while I have to board the imposing ship all on my own, amid the throng of students from all across the globe.