In the corner of the room is a bright square on the rug where a stela from the fifteenth century BC Pharaoh Thutmose III once stood. I remember my father showing me chisel marks in the stone and the rough outline of an old carving beneath – Thutmose had removed the inscriptions celebrating his stepmother, the female Pharaoh Hatshepsut, and recorded his own achievements on top. “When one king overthrows another, they’ll obliterate their predecessor’s name from history,” Daddy explained to me, his blue eyes shining. “Names carry power – never forget how easily a name, and its power, can be taken away.”
I pick up the horse’s head and hurl it against the wall.
I won’t look upstairs. I can’t face my old bedroom. We move down the hallway to the office.I’m not ready for this.I’m not ready to go inside, but I have to because I’m in this now. I’m fuckinginthis. I shove the door so hard it bangs against the wall. My heart stutters and Noah slams his body into mine, his eyes narrowing as he searches for a hidden shooter.
But there’s no assassin. No whacking will happen in this room today – there’s just me being eviscerated by my memories.
My not-father’s enormous oak desk is gone, replaced by some white Formica monstrosity with gold edges. His shelves of artifacts and gilt-edged books are gone too, and the pictures on the walls have been attacked – my father’s face scrawled out with blank ink or slashed with a knife. Brutus’ attempt to obliterate Julian August even as he stood atop the empire my father built.
The place is a dump – papers strewn everywhere, filing boxes overturned, food and weapons and random trash mixed in. “He cleared out in a hurry when I told him to go into hiding,” Antony says. He picks up a paper and scans the title, holding it weirdly close to his face, before bringing it out a few inches. “We should take what we can. Brutus kept records on paper only, and we’ll need these documents. It’s a pity we don’t have Julian’s material – Brutus allowed a lot of relationships and contacts to slide.”
The boys drop to their knees, sorting the papers in silence. I slide into Brutus’ chair, hating the way the leather hugs my skin, the way I seem to fit so neatly into the place he stole from me. I pull open the drawers, but there’s nothing inside. I use the corner of my foot to kick the lever that opens the secret compartment beneath the bookcase. It swings open, revealing the narrow space where I used to hide.
Noah comes around the table and peers into the dark space. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.
I’m not hunting for a memory today. I’ve got enough of those hidden away to give me nightmares for the rest of my life. I feel around the edge of the hole, searching for the loose…ah, yes, gotcha. I press down in the configuration Julian showed me – three fingers resting on three specific knots in the wood. The board springs loose, revealing a recessed chamber, a secret within a secret. I reach inside, my fingers closing around an object I thought lost forever.
Julian August’s sword.
He never liked guns. He said that even a blind man could kill with a gun, but it took a true ruler to get up close to your enemy, to drive a blade between their ribs and feel their blood run cold in your arms. He might’ve done away with the beast executions and sex trafficking, but he was still bloodthirsty and brutal. His blade is a replica of the weapon Roman soldiers used in close combat. It’s designed to be fast and vicious, and he used it when he wanted to watch his enemies tremble before him.
It’s mine now.I stroke the hilt with my finger, remembering Julian showing me how to clean and care for the blade, how to thrust through the ribcage, straight into the heart. How to cut and slice and stab. I slide the weapon back into its leather scabbard and hand it to Noah, then reach my hand back in for the other object I came for.
The ledger book.
Julian didn’t keep financial records on a computer. Too many crime syndicates have been brought down when the Feds hacked their private networks. The ledger book contains records for every facet of Julian’s business – all the secrets Brutus never got his hands on.
I pass the ledger to Noah, who’s top of the school in math. “This is your responsibility now. I need to you know this book by heart. We need to figure out all the arms of the August business, the secret reserves of cash, and the alliances my father built that we might be able to draw on. We’re going to need them.”
Noah nods, holding the book to his chest. Coal-black eyes acknowledge the trust I have in him, my mirror.
“Where’s my job?” Gabriel pouts. “I want a job.”
“Your job is to write me a theme song.”
Gabriel laughs, but stops when he sees I’m not joking.
“Do you want me to send a crew to clean this place up?” Antony asks.
I shake my head. I’m not moving back into this house. It’s a remnant of my old life. It’s the house where I became Claudia August, and I’m not sure if that name still belongs to me after Julian’s betrayal.
It’s fitting that I should run the empire from Howard Malloy’s office.
My father.
Nope, still doesn’t fit. I don’t fit anywhere anymore. I went to sleep a Queen, and I woke up as a fraud. But then I gaze around the room, at the faces of my three princes and Antony and Tiberius and George, all of them ready to fall on a sword for me. My chest tightens as I remember that home isn’t about having four walls and a roof and a portcullis to shut out the invading hordes (although thatishandy). Home is your heart swelling so big for the people you love that it takes up all the air in the room. Home is living with your puffed-up heart as a roommate who refuses to pay rent and stays up all night watching the city burn.
I’ll raze this city to see them smile.
I steeple my fingers together, the way Julian used to do when he reached a decision. I lean over the desk and grin up at the people who own my heart. “Let’s get to work. We have an empire to reclaim.”
30
Claudia
It’s the last day of school before the holiday break, so classes are a farce. Cleo hands out NYE invites to everyone in our class except me, Noah, Eli, and George. When she delivers Gabriel’s invite to his desk, she strokes her hand through his hair like he’s a puppy begging for treats.
He slaps her hand away. “Another droll party. No thanks.”
