My father’s voice rang in my ears. Every time I tried to turn to see him, the horse would get in the way again. Fur became darkness; I couldn’t even see my feet. Where was I? What was this?
The voice in my ears called again. I knew it was him, and that hurt deeper than any cut, because the voice of the dead can bring nothing but pain. My father was gone; I’d lost him. I’d come to terms with that.
And there he was, waving at me from the other side of the field. Stables white as clean sand stood tall behind him. White Rose Farms. I was a kid again, smiling as I trotted on the horse between my knobby knees.
Faces blurred around me; it was too hard to focus on any of them. Bit by bit, I urged my horse forward. I wanted to get closer to my dad, but the animal didn’t care. I was bobbing in place, going nowhere.
“Dad!” I shouted.
It was all too real. Was this a dream or a memory?
A figure much bigger than any man should ever be came into the frame. He nearly swallowed my father whole, all by doing nothing but standing near him. I didn’t remember this part. I didn’t know any of this.
My dad looked away from me . . . and his frown was lower than the dirt.
I’d never seen that, either. Or had I?
They were talking. Whatever was being said, it made my father clench his fists and look back at me. He caught me watching, the raw determination in his stare stunning me cold.
“Careful,” a voice said beside me.
When I looked, it was a young boy on a stark-midnight stallion. His dimples showed when he grinned, his blue eyes so saturated they blew out all the other colors in the world.
He thumbed his nose. “That horse is real big, can you even ride it?”
“Sammy!”
Desperately I urged my horse toward my father. What was he so scared of? Nothing scared him; I’d never seen him afraid. Not once.
The next time someone called my name, it came from my right. “Sammy,” Kain said, and it was him, fully him, sitting tall astride the same horse he’d chased me down with on his estate. His fear matched my father’s, a perfect mirror. “Sammy,” he shouted, though his lips hardly moved. “Wake up.”
Gasping, I sat up in the grand, golden bed. Sweat made my nightshirt cling to me. It took a bit for me to calibrate where I was. My own sweet, terrible, private, and oh, did I mention terrible room.
Thumping back onto the pillow, I stared straight up at the burning orange sunrise through the circular ceiling window.
“Sure,” I said out loud to myself. “I may be trapped in the bowels of a giant mansion while powerful people decide what’s best for me and my business rots to shit and my mother risks falling in her tub until she starves to death . . . but at least I have a great view.”
My attempt to make myself laugh didn’t work. Mom. Surely she was fine. I’d seen her just last night. I already itched to hear her voice again.
I decided that would be the first thing I’d ask for. As soon as someone showed up—Wait. Wait, wait. My eyes shot to the door. Someone is supposed to be guarding me. No matter who it was, surely they’d have a phone.
Tossing the blanket aside, I pushed my toes onto the soft rug. I didn’t need any lights to see where I was, but I still shuffled toward the switch, flicking it so that the round room was lit brightly by the recessed lighting.
It was a little cold; I detoured briefly, digging through the wardrobe in the tiny hallway that led to my private bathroom. Every article of clothing was brand-name, well-made. Why would they keep so many nice things in here? Who had used this room before me?
I grabbed a long, thick cardigan, wrapping it around myself.
Satisfied that I was less vulnerable—and much warmer—I tiptoed to the door. On this side, the handle was like something from another time, surrounded by scrawling metalwork.
Wriggling the knob, I could barely get it to tick from side to side; locked, of course.
I cleared my throat. “Hey.”
No answer.
I need to be louder. Bracing myself, I knocked on the door. It felt ridiculous to do that while I was inside. “Hey! Hey, open up! Mayday! Help! Fire!” I was starting to shout increasingly drastic stuff, but I needed someone to open the damn door.
It slid inward, making me retreat a step. Costello stared back at me—had he even slept? “Are you okay?” he asked, peering over my shoulder.
“I need to make a phone call.”
His piercing eyes focused on me. “Excuse me?”
“Phones. You use them to talk to people miles and miles away? No? You’ve never seen them? Crazy devices, they—”
“Stop. I get it.” Digging into his sweatpants, he tugged out a fancy smartphone. Before he gave it up, he narrowed in on me so fiercely I felt it. Costello’s stare was as good as a shot of espresso, I was all jittery now, my eyes aching in their sockets. “Who are you calling?”
“It’s just my mom.” At this point, my mother was no longer a secret from the Badds. My palm went flat, ready for the phone. “I’m assuming you’re trying to make sure I won’t call the cops. Out of curiosity, how would you even stop me?”
“I don’t need to stop you. I can tell you won’t do it.”
My heart took an extra beat. “How?”
His shrug was light, a poor excuse for an explanation. “I can just tell. Do you want the phone or not?”
“I do.” Plucking it from his grip, I ran my thumb along the edge. “And . . . thanks.”
He studied me and studied me until I shifted side to side with unease. Costello had a way of looking at you that made you feel like you were naked. Not just your bare skin, I mean down to your bleached bones—to your hidden, inner emotions.
I relaxed a hair when he glanced at the room behind me. He tracked his eyes from one curved edge to the next. “It was always a little cold down here, even in summer. I’ll make sure the heat is turned up.”
“You say that like you’ve spent time here,” I said carefully.
Costello didn’t respond, he just ducked his head and shut the door.
Fuck, I thought to myself. What does it take to get a guy like him to open up? I was incredibly curious about him. For now, I had other things to work on.
Scurrying to my bed, I sat lotus-style on top of it. Costello’s phone was warm—strange, considering how his blue eyes and pale skin made him the personification of frost. Quickly I tapped the screen, calling my mother like I’d said I would.
He’s really so sure I won’t call the cops? It was probably obvious that I wouldn’t. I’d chosen to stay in here to keep Kain from doing anything rash, and involving the authorities would create the perfect environment for tension and nullify my decision.
Yeah, that’s all—it’s just logical I wouldn’t bother. I liked that better than thinking Costello could read me like a damn book.
“Hello?” My mother’s voice was chipper—she always woke up at the ass crack of dawn.
Pushing a smile onto my face to make sure I, too, sounded happy, I said, “Hey! Hi, hi! Morning!”