I hurry between the racks of switches and into the tunnel. It’s pitch black inside, but I can find my way in my sleep so I don’t bother with a light. The clop-clop of my heels echoes along the length, rising with the slope so it almost sounds as if I’m chasing myself. Mrs. Foster expects me to be in regulation shoes by the end of the week, but Mackenzie Malloy doesn’t give a shit about the rules when an extra three inches of height are involved.
I clamber up the spiral staircase into the garage, cross between the rows of dusty vehicles, and reach for the door that connects the garage to the house. I kick off my heels with such force they hit the wall and leave a black scuff against the pristine white paint. My right big toe stings from the stiff leather pinching them all day. One must suffer for beauty.
Queen Boudica sits on the rug, her black fur gleaming from the shadows, her head cocked to the side as if she’s been waiting there for me all day.
“Meow.” She stomps one foot on the rug, demanding to know where I’ve been.
“Don’t give me that shit. I’ve had a bad day.” Too tired to drag myself upstairs to the media room or across the house to the ballroom, I flop into one of the uncomfortable chairs by the French doors that look out over the pool.
Big mistake. A black paw jabs me in the ribcage as Queen Boudica – sensing a lap has been created – climbs up and settles in. Cat gravity officially in effect. Now I can’t move. And I have homework to do.
Homework. What the fuck? I thought rich people didn’t have to do homework. Isn’t that the point of being a rich asshole – you get to make the rules, and the rules never include algebra.
I stroke Queen Boudica’s fur as I gaze out across the ruined pool. Sunlight gleams off the puddle of murky water in the deep end. Weeds choke the filter and dangle over the cracked tiles, snagging a deflated unicorn floatie.
I allow myself to imagine how inviting it would be tidied up and filled with clean, azure water, how good it would feel to dive in and let the water wash away the stench of today.
Maybe one day, if I can make it through this year, I’ll be able to do what the fuck I want with the pool. And the whole house.
If I finish my homework.
But I don’t move. I stare out at the pool and think about everything I have to lose. Sitting by these windows is a risk I don’t normally indulge in, even with the tinted windows and the high perimeter wall. If someone sees me here, during the day, looking less like a ghost and more like a pissed-off brat, I’ll bring a world of trouble down on my ass.
Antony said it was risky going to school, but it would be worth it in the end. I’m not so sure.
I’m crazy to think I could pull this off. I can’t—
My phone buzzes. Only one person has this number who actually calls me. I press it to my ear.
“Tell me all about your first day, Claws,” Antony purrs, using my childhood nickname. I can hear music and people talking in the background. He must be at his club. I wish I’m there, too, drowning my sorrows with cheap whisky and watching men beat each other bloody.
“It was shit. As predicted. Gabriel Fallen goes there. And I broke some teen actor’s nose.”
“I knew you wouldn’t last one day at that stuck-up school.” Antony laughs. I love his laugh – it’s so him; uncontrolled, teetering on the edge of mania. People fear that laugh, because it usually precedes bloodshed. I find it comforting.
What that says about me I don’t like to consider.
I tell Antony about Alec LeMarque’s blood splattered across the table. “By the way, could he sue me for that?”
“A guy like him?” Antony snorted. “Fuck no. First of all, he believes you have the power of your father’s fortune and connections behind you, and he’s not gonna cross that. Second, if he goes after you he risks the press getting hold of the story. Little Alec won’t want the world to know he got beat up by a girl. His revenge will be in private, away from prying eyes. You’d better sharpen those talons of yours, Claws. If he does come after you, call me. I can have someone over there—”
“I’ll handle it.” I decide not to tell Antony about Elias recognizing me or me recognizing him, or Coal-Eyes’ threat. That look in Coal’s eyes concerns me more than Alec, but I need more information before I get Antony involved.
“Fine, fine. I know not to mess with you, Mackenzie Malloy.”
Just saying my name has Antony in a fit of giggles again. He must be drunk. Or high. Probably both. My older cousin loves a good time.
“By the way, thanks for fixing things with the school for me. And for the ID.” I pat my pocket containing my new driver’s license. “You saved my ass.”
“It’s an ass worth saving. But we’re not through this yet, Claws. Our plan just got risky. The press will get wind of your return. Family members might reveal themselves, people we can’t trust. Are you prepared for that?”
No. “Yes.”
Antony sighs. “Claws…”
“What? We’ve come this far. It’s only a matter of months. I can deal with anything for a few months if…”
…if it gets you out of that world. I don’t say it, because I know Antony doesn’t want to hear it. He hasn’t agreed on our next step. But in nine months it won’t matter what he says.
My phone beeps. A message. “That better not be a picture of your dick.”
“Not me. Maybe it’s Fallen’s dick. You should try selling the pic on eBay. Maybe you’d get enough for it that we wouldn’t need your crazy plan.”
I peer at the screen. The name reads ‘Jace’ – one of the few contacts in the phone without a last name. I remember Jace leaving a ton of text messages a few years back, when my family first went AWOL. I never answered any of them, and he must’ve got the message because I haven’t heard from him again. Until now.
“Why wouldn’t you talk to me at school today? What happened to you?”
Great. This Jace goes to Stonehurst Prep, too. It’s bad enough with Elias staring at me and Dark-Hair’s threats, but now I’ve got another guy on my ass who knows me from before? I thought Mackenzie Malloy didn’t have real friends. At least, that’s what my report cards from eighth grade say.
I glance at the time and groan. “I gotta go. Work calls. It’s my last night.”
“Good. I never liked that you worked there. It was too risky, even with your disguise.”
“I was never going to hide away in here and let you pay for everything,” I roll my eyes. “Who knew state-of-the-art mansions have such insane property taxes?”
“Hopefully we won’t have to worry about that for much longer. Be careful, Claws.” The irony of Antony telling me to be careful when I just heard a guy’s skull crack against the concrete behind him makes me smile. Antony and I are more alike than we first appear.
I toss the phone on the chair, push a protesting Queen Boudica off my lap, and pad down to my room. My real bedroom is on the second floor – a suite of rooms painted soft pink with a balcony overlooking the swimming pool. Sleeping in there is not an option – far too freaky with all the porcelain dolls lined up on shelves and closet filled with clothes too small for me – so I’d taken a guest room on the first floor. It’s more my taste – dark jarrah wood floors, crimson linens, soft, modern lighting, and a bathroom lined with tiny black and silver tiles that looks like something Mötley Crüe would shoot up in.