I pinch my eyebrows together in confusion. Who’s he talking about? The servants? Or the guests?
“I know everything, everyone does what I want, and everyone is afraid of me,” he continues, and then turns his eyes on me, “and money doesn’t buy that. Money and power don’t go hand in hand. Power comes from having the guts to do what others won
’t.”
He drags the snake’s body over my mouth, and I gasp, jerking away again.
“You’re nothing like me,” he snarls in a low voice. “A dirty, little nothing. A mistake.”
He releases me and steps back, and I quickly wipe away the tears that spilled over my lids.
He turns around and sits down in a deep, cushioned chair, petting his snake. “Don’t let your mom come back here again, you understand?” he orders, pinning me with a look. “Or I’ll lock you in a closet with Volos.”
I run for the door and grab the handle, but my hand shakes so hard I can’t turn it. “It’s not my fault,” I blurt out, turning my head toward him. “That my mom had me. Why would you want to hurt me?”
“You’re not special.” He raises Volos and looks at him, acting like I’m not even here. “There are lots of people I want to hurt. And maybe I will someday…when I figure out the best way to get rid of a body.”
He gives a half-grin, acting like he’s joking, but I’m not sure he is.
“I am special,” I say. “My teacher says I’m the smartest in my class.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He shrugs. “In five years, you’ll be riding dicks in the backseat for twenty dollars just like your mom.”
My stomach retches, and I nearly choke on a cough. What? How could he say something like that?
“Damon?” A voice rings out.
It’s coming from the speaker system on the wall, next to the door.
“Damon, your mother wants you,” the woman’s voice says, not waiting for him to answer. “She’s in her room.”
I turn my head and look at him, pinching my eyebrows together when I notice blood trailing down his finger. The snake suddenly strikes him again, and I suck in a little breath. He’s squeezing it too hard. Why’s he doing that?
But he just stares ahead, his eyes heavy like he’s lost in thought. Did he even hear the woman on the intercom?
“Damon?” I say. That snake isn’t dangerous, right? He wouldn’t keep a venomous animal here.
What’s wrong with him?
He finally raises his eyes. “Get out.”
Jesus. What a jerk. I whip open the door and take a step. But then I stop and spin around once more.
“A cemetery,” I say. “That’s how I’d get rid of a dead body.”
He looks up at me again, his eyes narrow, and I lift my chin, shrugging. “I’d find a freshly covered grave. That way they wouldn’t be able to tell it was re-dug. Put another body in there and cover it back up. That’s what I’d do.”
And I pulled the door closed, slamming it shut on his dark stare.
I exhaled, breathing hard but standing a little bit taller.
God, he was a mess. And horrible and mean, and why did he lose it like that when whoever-that-was came on the intercom? For a moment, he looked so alone.
He’s got everything. Why’s he so angry? I’m the one who should be angry. I’m the one who’s alone. A father who doesn’t care about me and a mother who hurts and makes me do things I don’t want to do.
He doesn’t know what it’s like to suffer. To have something to be angry about.
Minutes later, as my mother and I are shown the door—empty-handed, of course—I walk down the driveway, glancing behind me one last time. Damon stands at his bedroom window, watching us leave.