at the top of Beaumont Hills, teetering on the edge of a steep cliff overlooking the ocean. It’s in full swing when we arrive, despite the fact I’m pretty sure Cleo is still at the dance. I don’t know many of the kids here, and I assume most of them are from nearby Beaumont Academy, who had their homecoming dance tonight as well, until Gabriel informs me most of them don’t even go to school.
“These are industry people – mostly wannabe models, YouTube stars, and musicians, but agents and PR and producers, too. They know how important it is to be seen at these parties,” Gabriel explains. “We’re in a clout house.”
“A what?”
He points to a guy in wannabe gangster clothing and a plastic crown holding court at the end of the terrace. “See that dude? He’s a YouTube star with six million followers. That girl dancing over there makes TikTok videos, and there’s a guy in the garden handing out pills of happiness who’s one of the biggest gamers on Twitch. Cleo’s daddy pays thousands of dollars a month for her to live here so she can work with these big influencers and grow her following.”
“That’s legitimately insane.”
“No argument.” Gabriel pulls me to him. “I’ve been to parties here before, and they’re always wild in a manufactured way – everyone competing to be the most extreme, the most fun and quirky and get in with the stars, while the few real people who actually contribute anything of substance get blazed in the treehouse and solve the world’s problems. I can’t imagine living here – sharing space with people who need you to be ‘on’ all the time. That’s why I have my own place.”
I look around the room at all these kids laughing and talking and handing around drinks. There’s a DJ set up in the corner and a bunch of sponsored walls set up where photographers snapped groups together. The furniture looks staged – someone’s best guess of a funky, homely atmosphere. It comes across forced, fake, a cardboard facade that will crumble at the first sign of trouble – like the people in this room.
I couldn’t imagine living in this towering YouTube-shrine, either.
I think of our home back in Tartarus Oaks. Unlike the Lucians and Dios who lived in extravagant mansions to rival Howard Malloy, Daddy didn’t like to flash his wealth around in Emerald Beach. (He saved that for the Romanesque villa he was building on Capri, which he never got to finish). We lived in a nice house – modest on the outside, but inside was another story. If Daddy trusted you enough to invite you inside, you’d step into an Aladdin’s cave of precious antiquities – every rug and statue and chair had a story behind it, and Daddy knew them all by heart. At mealtimes, he sat in a gilded chair taken from a pharaoh's tomb in Egypt. He’d entertain guests with china and crystal pilfered from the Austrian Hapsburg dynasty. We even had a Picasso hanging above the toilet.
Even though it had been my prison, even though I’d seen firsthand the blood price of those beautiful statues and ancient coins, I felt something in that house, something sweet and tender and brutally possessive, something I hadn’t felt again until I met Gabriel and Noah and Eli.
Gabriel is led aside by some music industry people, and Noah suggests we move further along the terrace, where the noise is less oppressive. The breeze whips off the ocean below and carries away the loud voices and pulsing music. I rest my head on Noah’s shoulder and look out to the peninsula where Emerald Beach overlooks the bay. Most of it is shrouded in trees, but I can make out a few rows of grey stones, like jagged teeth jutting out from the gaping maw of the underworld. A shiver runs down my spine that has nothing to do with the crisp ocean breeze.
“Hey.” Noah touches my hand. With a start, I realize I’ve been digging my nails into his arm. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head.
“You’re freaked out, and you’re holding something back.” Noah peels my fingers from around his arm, holding his hand tight in mine. “Tell me.”
I point a shaking finger toward the peninsula. “See that cemetery down there? That’s where I was buried alive.”
“What?”
Noah looks completely shell-shocked. I feel a little stab of pride at being able to surprise him. Of all the things he expected me to say, I bet this doesn’t