“Your father is no longer the CEO of Malloy International. Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”
I quirk an eyebrow at him. “It’s illegal for a businessman to take a sabbatical now? Fine, I’ll call our lawyers and they can come down here and explain to your supervisor that you broke our gate to harass me about my father’s business decisions—”
He holds up his hands, unease flickering in his eyes. “That’s not necessary, Ms. Malloy. If you show me some identification, I’ll be on my way.”
“Fine.” I slam the door and march across the hall to where I left my ID in a bowl of glass apples that bore the mark of some fancy-ass Italian designer. My fingers seek the pendant around my neck – the gold locket hidden beneath my hoodie, thank fuck, because no way did I want that cop to see me wearing something so unfashionable. I tug at the heart charm on its thin gold chain, pressing my fingers against the familiar stamped surface and sucking in breaths until my heart stops racing.
This is it.
I knew the moment would come eventually. Luckily, Antony and I are ready.
Fuck, I hope we’re ready.
I crack the door again. The cop holds out his hand for my ID, but I toss it at him. He has to stoop and pick it up, giving me ample opportunity to stare down my nose at him.
He frowns at my card, turning it over. “You’re only just seventeen, Mackenzie. Why aren’t you in school?”
I notice he uses my first name now. “I’m homeschooled. It’s a free country. Shouldn’t you be solving some actual crime?”
“Homeschool? A rich bitch like you? I don’t think so.” He notes something on his pad. “What institution? I’m going to check your enrollment.”
“I’m not telling you anything without my lawyer.”
“That line only works if you’re suspected of committing a crime. We’re just chatting.”
“This feels like an interrogation to me.” I fold my arms. “Don’t make me call Daddy on the island to tell him about the trouble you caused just because some neighbors thought they heard a ghost. He’s already going to be upset about the gate.”
The cop sighs. He flips his pad shut and shoves it back into his pocket. “Very well, Mackenzie. I’ll be checking up on you. You’re still a minor, so if I can’t see evidence that you’re enrolled in school, I’ll be sending around some CYF officers to talk to you.”
Quadruple shit. I hunt around in my mind for something to tell him. I grasp for the memories tucked away into the corners of this impersonal home, the little touches that proved actual humans once inhabited it. My mind rests on the school prospectus in the drawer in the mahogany desk in the office. Students in sage-green uniforms, standing around under palm trees and grinning at the camera like smug bitches. “Stonehurst Prep. I’m about to start my senior year at Stonehurst Prep.”
2
Mackenzie
I smooth down the front of my sage skirt. Stonehurst Prep looms in front of me – rows of Corinthian columns jutting from a mock Classical facade, like serrated teeth protruding from the gaping jaw of a monster. Statues of languid gods and bare-breasted goddesses line the wide path leading to the entrance of the school. Students lounge in groups on the perfectly manicured lawn – the too-perfect brochure come to life.
On the outside, I might look like one of them – perfect hair, designer book bag, perfect smile.
Inside I’m a Visigoth storming into Rome to sack the shit out of the place.
I stride up the path, under the colonnade, and into the internal courtyard with its fountain depicting the rape of Leda by Zeus, disguised as a swan. Swans are dicks.
Whispers swirl around me. They start as a faint buzz – like a fly trapped in the room – but soon swell to a steady drone of gossip. I catch snatches of their conversation as I hunt for the main office.
“—can’t believe that’s Mackenzie Malloy. I thought her whole family disappeared without a trace—”
“—on a Caribbean island, and she’s been living in that creepy mansion all by herself—”
“—I heard she’s actually a vampire, and she’s been sleeping in a coffin in the Malloy’s basement all these years—”
This is a bad idea.
I spent the last week re-reading my diaries and searching through every object in my childhood bedroom. I needed to know I could pull this off with only snatches of memory from before the coffin, before my life became a living nightmare. What I read filled me with confidence – not a single birthday card from a friend or photo of me at a beach with another kid. Mackenzie Malloy had no childhood friends. I was a stone-cold bitch back then, and I’ll be that same stone-cold bitch now. It’s the only way to protect myself.
It’s the only way for Antony and I to get what we need.
The office door looms ahead. The voices rise to a crescendo around me. After so many years fighting against the silence, all this noise is disorienting. I reach for the handle.
It’s not too late to turn around and go home. You don’t know for a fact what that officer might do if he doesn’t see you enrolled in school. You can get Antony to put the shits up him. Problem solved.
Problem not solved.
My parents are still dead. I’m still a ghost. Brutus is still out there being a smug bastard, thinking he’s won.
I turn the handle. My mind flies to my father’s favorite quote from Julius Caesar – the words he spoke when he crossed the Rubicon and started a civil war.
Alea iacta est.
Let the die be cast.
Welcome to Stonehurst fucking Prep.
3
Eli
“—track tryouts are next Thursday, so maybe we could meet after school and run through some drills? I know I have a weak finish in the 400m and—”
Noah runs his fingers through his perfect hair as he drones on about tryouts. We’ve been friends for so long – since our parents started holidaying together in Nantucket when we were four years old – that I know his tics. Noah touches his hair when he’s nervous, and he’s nervous as fuck about track.
I’m not gonna be the one to tell him, but Noah shouldn’t even be going out for track. For as long as I’ve known him, Noah’s sport has been swimming. He has a whole wall in his room covered in trophies from state swim meets. His older brother, Felix, was the track star. So three years ago Noah decides he has to be a track star, too, which means he’s on my ass constantly to train with him. As if I don’t have my own shit to deal with – being friends with perfectionist assholes like Noah Marlowe is hard fucking work.
I listen to Noah with half an ear as I toss my books into my locker. Around us, students yell and laugh as they catch up after summer break. I hear snatches of conversation about film sets and meditation retreats in Tulum and beaches in Majorca. Stonehurst is that kind of school.
A hand claps on my shoulder. “Did you see Melinda Perez’s new nose?” A familiar British voice coos in my ear. “More’s the pity, her glorious arse is smaller now.”
“Gabe?” I whirl around. Standing before me, a leather jacket slung casually over his shoulder and the faint smell of weed clinging to his clothes, is Gabriel Fallen in all his glory. He looks like he just stepped off his tour bus, complete with his rumpled hair, eyes rimmed in dark shadows, and cheeky grin. “What are you doing here?”