Page 101 of Wicked Games (Fallen Royals 2)

Dad chuckled. “You’re going to be quite the businessman.”

“Or at least good at getting people to pay me for not spilling secrets,” Caleb muttered. “Amelie says she’s Margo’s friend.”

“Does she?”

“Well, she’s not a very good one.”

I stormed out into the living room with only one sock on. “She’s a fine friend! You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Language, Margo,” Dad commented.

“He gets to insult my friend, and you’re telling me to watch my language?” I was so mad it hurt.

“I’m your friend,” Caleb answered, balling his fists. “And she’s not. Just watch, she’s gonna turn into a mean girl, and I’ll say I told you so.”

Tears sprung into my eyes. “Stop it.”

Dad stepped between us, pulling me into his side. “Enough, Caleb.” He knelt in front of me. “Margo, kids can be mean at this age. Caleb, Amelie, the bullies… Take everything with a grain of salt.”

Grain of salt. He explained that one to me last week. Be cautious about everything, he said.

“How about you go put your other sock on and we’ll eat this pizza.” He pats my head, and I rush away.

Dad always knew how to make things better—even Caleb’s harsh words or Mom’s weird moods. He was my favorite. He carried me on his shoulders and made up bedtime stories, checked in my closet for the boogeyman. Never raised his voice. Not at me, anyway.

But he did yell at Mom…

Grain of salt. Maybe she deserved it.

Maybe she deserved everything that happened.

* * *

Present

I can’t go into my room.

It’s a new fear that bloomed out of Caleb finding the mermaid figure. The camera in it. I haven’t told anyone that I’m afraid to step into it, let alone sleep there. Caleb’s been acting dandy, but the discovery was quickly followed by the trip to New York City, and I let the excitement distract me.

But now…

I hesitate on the threshold. Robert and Lenora—or Len, as she keeps insisting—went out to dinner, and I begged to stay home. I’ve been working up the courage to talk to Dad. I figured I could write him a letter or something. That’s about as minimal contact as I can get.

I’m angry at him, but I didn’t realize it until now.

Or rather, I had shoved it away until now. He went to prison on a drug charge. He put drugs ahead of his own child.

Who does that?

The great man I knew as a kid is nothing more than a drug dealer.

And now Unknown has made it virtually impossible to go into my room without being held captive by terror.

I hold my breath, creeping into the room. It’s untouched. My window is locked. The closet door is shut. My bookshelf seems untouched.

I’m not convinced.

I flick the light on, inhaling sharply. “If you can hear me, I’m going to find you.”

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