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“Ma’am, I’m here to inform you that you’re occupying this house illegally.”
I toss my head so my golden blonde hair falls down my back, and I laugh. I laugh until my throat rasps, until the officer is squirming and looking unsure of himself. His fingers slip from his holster.
“This is a joke. Who’s your superior?” I hold my phone up so he can see it as I tap the screen. “I’m going to report you for harassment. And for breaking my gate. You’ll be paying for the repairs from your salary.”
The officer’s chin wobbles, and for a moment I think I’ve got him, but then he steps forward with a new determination. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, girl. This house has been empty for four years, yet neighbors have reported noises inside. Squatting in private property is illegal, and I’m under orders from the city to remove anyone caught on these premises.” He shoots me a triumphant look. “Do you care to explain yourself?”
“Check your case law, officer. If I were a squatter, the owners of the property are required to send me a three-day written notice. But I’m hardly going to send one to myself.” I lift my chin and meet his surly gaze with my own. “This is my home. I’m Mackenzie Malloy.”
He staggers back, his hand flying to his chest as if I shot a dagger from my eyes that pierced his ribcage. It doesn’t surprise me – my father always said my don’t-fuck-with-me glare would topple kings. Glaring at people is my superpower.
“Miss Malloy, forgive me. No one has seen you for four years. Where are your parents?” He knows the stories. They all do. The rumors that flew around the world on the wings of the tabloids after my parents disappeared. After I disappeared. Rumors that the Malloy supplement company was involved in dark and nefarious deeds. That some rival had a hit out on us. That we returned as vengeful ghosts to haunt the hills of Emerald Beach.
The tabloids spin a web of lies so thick that even the truth gets trapped there occasionally.
“My parents are sequestered on our private Caribbean island. Mommy’s last plastic surgery went wrong, and she vowed she wouldn’t appear in public again until someone rebuilt her face. Her new surgeon uses this hormone from a rare species of Amazonian monkey, and it takes a long time to milk enough monkeys to fix the crater in Mommy’s forehead.” I shrug, the lie rolling easily off my tongue. “I’m looking after the property until they return.”
“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.”
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.
