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Mac is Claudia.
Claudia is everythinggg…
My head hurts.
Claudia
I don’t sleep. The house is alive with sounds – doors closing, beds creaking, male voices murmuring and breathing in their sleep. I’m not sure which sounds I can truly hear and which are born from my imagination and the raw, needy ache between my legs. All I know is that Malloy Manor will never be silent again.
For so many years I’ve tried to fill these walls with noise to drive away my loneliness. I’ve played music at top volume. I’ve watched every horror film ever made. Sometimes I’ve screamed until my throat bled. After a while, even the most beautiful song is just empty notes against a cold, lifeless house.
Now that the noise has found me, I’m not sure I’m ready.
When my clock ticks over to 5:32AM, I decide I can no longer abide staying in bed. I pad to the kitchen, Queen Boudica circling my ankles. I put down her food and start the coffee machine. When it’s done, I carry my cup to the ballroom.
As my bare feet pad across the cold marble, a dark shape moves at the window. I freeze, my fingers tightening around the handle of my cup. Like a fool, I left my knife on my bedside table. The intruder doesn’t look like he’s seen me yet. I can throw the hot coffee in his face and then try and get to my knives—
A lamp clicks on, illuminating two faces reclining in the seats at the window, a chessboard open between them. Noah slouches on the sofa, while Gabriel sits on an ottoman, gripping his head with his hands.
“What is it with the two of you sneaking around?” I growl. “One of you is going to end up with a knife in the throat if you’re not careful.”
“Sorry, Claws.” Gabriel smiles, but there’s a sadness behind that smile. “I couldn’t sleep.”
He opens his palm, and I see that he’s holding the broken pieces of my locket. My stomach twists. I stare at the chess game – Noah has set up a classic skewer and pin and will place Gabriel’s white king in checkmate before he even knows what hit him.
Noah might be a pampered rich boy, but he understands something of the art of war. I wonder if that’s why he hasn’t run from me.
And Gabriel… when I look at him again, I see the fallen angel wrestling with his fractured soul. I think of what he said last night, that he sees a strength in me that I never knew existed. I wish I could give some of that strength to him, so he can confront whatever happened with Dylan that has him so tied in knots.
I sit down opposite them. “I don’t say this lightly, so don’t make me repeat it again. I’m sorry I got you involved in this. I don’t want either of you to be hurt. I didn’t want to hurt Eli either – at a certain point, it just became inevitable.”
Gabriel drops the locket on the table. The CLANG of metal hitting glass ricochets against my skull like a gunshot. I swipe out my hand to collect the pieces. My secret may be out, but I may still need what that locket contains. “Tell us about your parents,” he says. “Your real parents.”
“What’s there to tell? My father could snap his fingers and order someone’s death. He was soft-spoken, never raised his voice, always had a smile and a joke, but behind that smile was a ruthless streak that made your knees shake. He was obsessed with history – he could trace our family back to the Roman Empire. Our house in Tartarus Oaks was filled with artifacts he purchased on the black market – a bust of Caesar from a dig in Germany, amphorae drawn up from a Mediterranean shipwreck, drawers and drawers filled with coins and knives. He made sure I had every toy or pretty dress I could possibly want, but I was never allowed the thing I wanted most – a friend. He knew that I was his biggest weakness, and he didn’t want me to ever feel weak. He hired tutors so I didn’t have to attend school, but he taught me history himself. He made Julius Caesar and Marc Antony and Augustus so real to me that I imagined they were my friends, instead.” I smile. “Ms. Drysdale’s class has made me see how it’s a warped view of history.”
“And your mom?”
I shrug. “She was a good crime lord’s wife – arm candy in her designer dresses and perfect hair, seen and not heard, but behind the scenes I know she influenced many of his decisions. They would sit beside the fire, sharing a bottle of wine while I read books or drew pictures, talking in low voices about the family business. She brought me books on every subject that interested me. She let me destroy the kitchen trying to make weird delicacies from ancient recipes. She loved to dance – when Daddy was out of the house, she’d put on records and teach me moves. Every weekend they’d leave me in Antony’s care and head out to one of their clubs together – the king in his impeccable Armani suit, the queen glittering in precious ancient jewels.” I grip the pieces of the locket so tight in my fist the broken edge cuts into my skin. I can’t bear their memories being put on display and dissected like this. They were my jailers and I loved them. I love them still. How fucked-up is that? I glare at Gabriel, desperate to change the subject. “What about your parents?”
“You forget, I’ve seen the posters in your room and the stickers on your notebook. You know my story.”
I do know his story. At least, what truths Gabriel offers up to the gutter press alongside his carefully-constructed facade. I know his parents are rich and titled, and they publicly disowned Gabriel when he left to pursue his music. I know his surname – Fallen – isn’t the name he was born to, but the name he chose to mark his own path in life.
Gabriel. The fallen angel. The dark prince who tries so hard to be good.
I turn to Noah. “What about you?”
Noah shakes his head. “When my father looks at me, all he sees is the son he wishes died in Felix’s place.”
He speaks in a flat voice, like he’s discussing the weather instead of his father’s neglect. Noah accepts it as true that he’s a consolation prize, but I will never, ever accept that. I don’t offer up the platitudes that dance on my tongue. I know how useless they are.
“My father was determined that Felix would be his legacy, his greater achievement. Neither of us was a person to Dad – we’re just extensions of his own ambition, and I’ve always disappointed him. He honestly believed Felix would be president one day, and I can’t compete with that. Felix couldn’t help being everything Dad wanted, and that made it impossible to hate him – he was the only thing that made living in that house bearable. Felix would never have taken those drugs if Dad hadn’t insisted, if he hadn’t tried to give his son yet another advantage.”
“Was your mom on board with this?”
Noah shakes his head. “Mom tried to speak up, to say she didn’t think he should be taking something that hadn’t been through proper medical trials. But Dad never listened to anyone. And Felix just went along with it because it made Dad happy. We’ve spent our whole lives making sacrifices and hiding who we are to make Dad happy, and in the end, it killed the two people I loved most in the world. Now I don’t give a fuck about Dad’s happiness, but in his rage and guilt he can’t see that he’s killing Grace, too.”
“And me.” I say it flippantly, but my heart slams against my chest. I hate how much I want him to say that he cares for me with that fierce protectiveness he feels for his stepmother.
