Page 121 of Wicked Games (Fallen Royals 2)

“Okay, so where do you want to go? In there?”

“Yeah…” I scan the yard and pause on the pillar by the sliding glass doors. My feet automatically carry me in that direction, an old dream rearing its ugly head.

I crouch and stare through the window.

“What are you doing?” Riley whispers.

“I had a dream that I hid here while my mom and his dad argued in the kitchen.” I shake my head, hunkering lower. I duck my head and close my eyes. “I couldn’t hear what they were saying.”

The image comes back, but it’s still without sound. My mom throws the glass against the wall. Caleb’s dad stormed away.

I grimace and open my eyes. Riley’s watching me strangely, but she doesn’t comment.

“I wonder…” I go to the sliding glass door. They used to keep a key on the top of the frame, which didn’t help Caleb or me on the off chance we got locked out—we had to make a big production of dragging a chair over, teetering on it precariously—but now… now I’m taller.

I run my fingers along the top of the frame, pausing when they trip over something cold. Metal. My chest erupts with butterflies. The key fits in the lock, audibly turning the deadbolt, and then… we’re in.

I spare a single glance at the kitchen counter and go to the stairs.

“Caleb lived here?” Riley whispers. “What happened?”

I shrug. “I don’t know.”

He moved away. In with Eli. He doesn’t talk about his parents, just his uncle. Something happened here.

At the top of the stairs, I have a choice. Go left to Caleb’s room and bathroom, or go right, down the hall to the master and guest bedrooms. I go left.

His room is virtually untouched, the same as mine. It’s neater, no clothes lying on the floor or in the hamper. I guess he had more time to pack than I did. Still, it’s a ten-year-old’s room. Blue walls. A train set in the corner. Toys stacked on top of his dresser.

We used to play with this stuff.

Riley follows me in. “It feels eerie to be here,” she admits. “Do you remember anything?”

“Just stuff I already knew.”

I drag my finger through the dust on top of his dresser. Every other room in the house has been swept clean, covered in white sheets.

Why is Caleb’s room different?

I grab the door, intending to close it, and am gripped with a sudden sense of déjà vu. Grabbing the door to hide.

More than once.

* * *

Past

“Run,” Caleb muttered, hauling me by my shoulders and shoving me toward the stairs.

His dad was on a rampage. His yelling echoed through the kitchen and dining room, to the living room where Caleb and I had been trying to learn chess. It came out of nowhere—peace one second, then an earth-shattering roar.

I listened to him. I bolted for the stairs, flying up and to the left. I made it to the safety of his room and grabbed the door, ready to slam it closed behind us… but Caleb hadn’t followed me.

I shuddered and crept out. His dad was still hollering about something, the sound of breaking glass and wood haunting my ears.

If Caleb got caught…

He appeared on the staircase, frowning at me.

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