Chapter 1

1

PENELOPE

T he three titans of Detroit sit upon their iron thrones. They provide a watchful eye over the honored peasants frolicking below. In the center, my steely-eyed father, with white hair blowing in the unnatural wind. To his right, the hand of our empire, my uncle lies lazily with feet kicked up on the table.

To his left, the dark horse sits with steepled fingers before his face. They call him the demon of Detroit. King of the underworld. God of shadows. The one of many.

I know him as Harker Jameson. And he isn’t anything like I remember him.

He isn’t the abomination my imagination and father’s foul mouth have constructed. He’s tall, brooding, and handsome, not the beast from my childhood nightmares. The gangly limbs and feeble body are instead a broad muscular physique that engulfs the backrest of his iron chair. The wispy gray hair I always pictured him with, is a thick mane of primal, unkempt black strands that twist down his neck. And peering out from the top of his skull, there aren’t black holes but two golden eyes that glow in the low light of the room.

“I’m so glad you’ve left your house on the hill to join us, Harker,” Father says, downing the remnants of black beer from a solid gold chalice.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” A smile creeps across Harker’s face, but it looks unnatural and out of place. As if he hasn’t smiled in years and this is the best imitation of one he can muster.

“Oh, put a smile on that sour puss of yours,” Father slaps Harker on the shoulder. “You haven’t left your tower in years. I was starting to think you were dead.”

A noise bubbles from deep inside Harker’s chest. His attention shifts from father over to me.

“Thinking or wishing?” Harker’s response drips sarcasm. It’s funny to see someone speak to my father like this. Most everyone in Detroit is too terrified to breathe in his direction, so to see outright insolence is a treat.

“Oh, piss off. You know you’re as part of my family as this prick,” Father nudges Uncle Percy in the side. “We’re a mean machine, the three of us. And the gears can’t turn without each piece in place.”

“And what gears does sitting around and spending my money turn, exactly?” Harker asks.

He’s brazen and cutthroat. I’m starting to like him more and more.

“Well, we all do our part, don’t we?” Uncle Percy chimes in. He shuffles through his pockets and draws from them a thin metal cigarette box. He shoves a stick in his mouth and hands one to Father. “Someone has to be the face of this place.”

Harker erupts into a tremendous laughter. It cuts through the noise and music blasting through the banquet hall. All eyes turn to him, and on noticing the guests peering over, he returns to his more reserved self.

He clears his throat before continuing. “Enough. Tonight isn’t about business or the small part Percy plays,” he says sternly. His attention turns to me, and his glowing eyes burn straight through mine and deep into my soul. “Happy birthday, Penelope.”

“Thank you,” I say. I’m sitting opposite them, a few seats over. His wishes come as a surprise. Part of me didn’t expect to get any reaction from the magnificent brute across the table, and yet when he speaks to me, his voice is soft. Almost caring. A sound so unnatural, it doesn’t feel comfortable in my ear.

“Ugh, that’s right,” Father rolls his eyes. “You’re here for the birthday. Well, I’ll have you know, buddy boy, there’s much more to celebrate than the girl.”

Father’s words sting, but I bite them down with a sip of water. That’s more what I expected than kindness.

“I doubt that,” Harker smiles at me. “You know, Zander, you should learn to appreciate what you have in front of you, and not what’s hidden in the pipeline. A bird in the hand is better than two in the bush, or however the saying goes.”

“But the bush offers me a son,” Father says. “An heir. Someone I can teach to rule and conquer as I have.”

“Old school thinking won’t get you very far in this world.” Harker shrugs.

Father’s pride and joy, a baby boy who shares my birthday. What a fucking joke.

It’s been a long time coming, I suppose. Father burned through enough wives, failed pregnancies, and daughters that the conception of a son was bound to happen someday. Why of all days did it have to be my birthday, though? The one day a year I feel like part of the family. When I’m celebrated not only for being alive but for being born into the most powerful family in Detroit.

“Christ, Harker. Loosen up, will you?” Uncle Percy kicks his feet off the table and sits upright. He lights his cigarette before bringing the lighter over to Father. “Taking everything so seriously isn’t going to get you far in this world, either. We’re here to dance, party, fuck. In no particular order.’

“I don’t recall asking for your input, Percy. So go back to smoking your cigarettes and daydreaming about your next failed marriage, won’t you?”

Father laughs at Harker’s comment.

But just as quick as he cut my father and uncle down, Harker’s kindness shines through with another tender smile directed at me.

“Ignore them, dear. Today is your day, and you should enjoy it.” Harker slides his hand into his lapel and draws from it a small, pink box with a glittering bow on top. On the side, scrawled in very neat calligraphy it reads, Happy 23 . “I got you something. It’s not much, I know, but I thought you might like it.”

“You got me something?” I ask, dumbfounded. I wasn’t even expecting him to accept my invitation, let alone bring me anything.

All the stories I’ve heard over the years about Harker Jameson have painted him as a terrible monster. But the person who sits before me is a god treading around in human skin. Every inch of my body screams out for him in a way I can’t seem to explain even to myself. It’s a raw, primal want burning deep in the very fiber of my being. So deep that even the gesture of a gift, no matter how big or small, makes the world around me melt away and my want for Harker intensify.

“I did.” He leans over the table, knocking his golden chalice full of black beer over the table. He ignores the fumble and continues to deliver my gift. “It’s your big day, and though I don’t know you well, I wanted to give you something special.”

I take the box and flick open the top. Inside lies a simple heart-shaped pendant with lines and squiggles of some ancient language engraved in the back.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, removing the heart on the thin golden chain. “What does it say?”

Harker stands and walks around the table. He takes the necklace from my hands, kneels behind me, and clasps it around my neck.

“Queen of the Dead,” he says as if it’s something completely normal.