Kings of Blood and Money (Underworld Kings)

When we get to the bottom of the second staircase, a yummy smell fills the air. It smells like mama’s meatballs. Is she here?

We pass more rooms before entering one through a set of big wooden doors. There’s a long table with thousands of chairs around it. The man from before is sitting on a chair, looking at me. He’s wearing a suit again. Gray this time. With a tie.

“Good evening, Freya,” he says, standing and gesturing to a chair beside him.

I look up at Dominque, who nods her head and holds her hands in front of her. “Go ahead. Remember what we spoke about,” she says before she leaves us alone.

I sit in the wooden chair, getting excited when I see a glass of milk and a plate of pasta in front of me.

The man, Mr. Remington, places a white tea towel on my lap. “Do you say grace?” he asks.

I don’t know what he means, so I shake my head no.

“Okay. Tell me, how have you settled in?”

I sip my milk, swiping away the mustache it gives me with the back of my hand, and shrug. I don’t understand what he means.

“It’s been three weeks since you first came here. Your injury has healed nicely. There will only be a small scar. Does it hurt?”

I shake my head no. “Itches.”

He smiles at me, but it only stays on his face for a second. “That’s a sign of healing.” He points to my plate. “Eat some pasta.”

Shoveling a big forkful into my mouth, I chew until it’s all gone, then shovel more in. It’s so good. Better than Mama’s. I won’t tell her that, though.

“There’s going to be some changes to your days over the next few months.” He drinks from a glass that looks like it was made from crystals. The liquid inside is the same color as his eyes. “You’ll be home schooled starting next week.”

“I like school.” I smile big.

“You seem very bright for your age.”

“I am bright. Mama says so all the time.”

His face changes, eyes getting smaller, making me squirm. “You don’t have a mama, Freya. You have me. You will call me Father.”

Why?

“What about Daddy?” I drop my fork, not feeling hungry anymore. I don’t like when his eyes close and he fists his hands.

“Your name is Freya Remington. You have no mama or daddy. Just Father, which is me.”

My name is Freya G.A.L.L.O. I just learned how to spell it in school.

“Freya.” My tummy dips when he says my name. He’s mad. “What is your name?”

“Freya.” I swallow. My mouth feels dry.

“Freya what?”

I know what he wants me to say, so I say it. “Remington.” It’s so long, it’s going to be hard to learn how to spell.

Leaning back in his chair, he closes his eyes again, jerking his head.

“Good girl. I have chocolate cake for your dessert. Would you like some?”

Chocolate cake is my favorite.

“Yes please.”

Three

Freya

Laying on my bed, my legs outstretched on the wall, Midnight is curled up on my pillow, taking up the whole thing. He grew so fast, he doesn’t look like a kitten anymore.

I’m growing too. Dominque kept complaining about my clothes not fitting anymore. She also said I need a haircut. I like my hair long. I look like a mermaid. Being a mermaid would be so cool, swimming with all the fish. I look over to the balcony I’m never allowed to go on. There’s a pool outside. I can see the water through the gaps in the balcony. Dominque says I’ll be able to use it in the summer, but I don’t think she’s telling me the truth. Aside from dinners every Tuesday with Father, I’m never allowed to leave my room. It sucks. My teacher, Mrs. Hale, gave me a calendar that has the seasons on it. It’s already been summer. I’ve been here a long time. I don’t even think about my old house much anymore.

The door clicks open, and Dominque comes inside with my dinner on a tray. She does this every night. Father brought a table into my room for studying. It’s where I eat my meals too.

“I’m leaving early tonight, Freya. When you’re done with your food, leave it on the table and I’ll take it away in the morning when I bring breakfast, okay?”

Swinging myself to a sitting position, I push off the bed and walk over to the table, lifting the lid on the tray. It’s fish again. I had fish last night.

“Freya, you know I don’t like it when you don’t answer me.”

“Sorry,” I moan. “I understand.”

“You’re to go straight into bed after you eat. No reading tonight.”

“Why?” I whine. I like when she reads to me. Stories are my favorite.

“Because I say so. Now, sit nicely and eat. I’ll see you in the morning—and no feeding the cat your food.”