Rising From Ruin: The Discarded Heiress

Dejah was halfway up the stairs when the sound of a car engine roared outside. Not a normal car. The deep, throaty growl of the Bugatti.

Kathryn froze. "Who on earth..."

The front door, which Henderson hadn't fully latched in his panic, was pushed open.

Casimir Vanderbilt walked in.

He didn't ask for permission. He walked into the Kensington foyer like he owned the deed to the land. His presence sucked the air out of the room. He was wearing a dark trench coat that swirled around his ankles.

Kathryn turned, her face going through a rapid transformation from anger to shock to fawning delight.

"Mr. Vanderbilt?" she squeaked. "Oh my goodness. What a surprise! To what do we owe the honor?"

Casimir ignored her. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on Dejah, standing on the staircase with her bundle of clothes.

"I forgot to give my friend something," he said.

Kathryn blinked. "Friend? You mean... Dejah?"

Casimir walked past Kathryn as if she were a piece of furniture. He came to the bottom of the stairs. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, orange plastic bottle. It was a generic bottle of vitamins, probably something he had in his glove box for hangovers.

"Dr. Lowe said your blood sugar drops," Casimir said, his voice smooth, intimate. "You need these."

Dejah looked at the bottle. She knew it was a prop. She knew he was playing a game. But she played along.

"Thank you," she said, taking the bottle.

Casimir turned slowly to face Kathryn. The charm vanished. His face became a mask of aristocratic disdain.

"Mrs. Kensington," he said. "I couldn't help but overhear at the gate... something about a service entrance?"

Kathryn paled. "Oh, that... it's just a misunderstanding. House rules..."

"Rules?" Casimir raised an eyebrow. "You make a friend of the Vanderbilt family use the servants' door? Are you implying that my company is... unclean?"

"No! No, never!" Kathryn looked like she might faint. "It was Henderson! He's confused!"

Casimir looked at Henderson, who was cowering by the door. "I don't like his face," Casimir said simply. "I'd hate to see it again if I come to visit Dejah."

Henderson dropped to his knees. "Please, sir!"

Casimir turned back to Dejah. He winked. A quick, almost imperceptible gesture. "Call me if the accommodations aren't to your liking, Dejah."

"I will," she said.

He turned and walked out, leaving a wake of terrified silence behind him.

Kathryn stared at Dejah. Her eyes were wide, calculating. She was doing the math. The spare part had suddenly acquired a very powerful shield.

"Go to your room," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Dejah continued up the stairs.

Inside the attic, she tossed the vitamins on a dusty table. She locked the door. She went to the window and watched the red tail lights of the Bugatti fade into the night.

"Useful," she muttered.

She went to the corner of the room where she had stashed her emergency kit years ago-a loose floorboard under an old rug. She pulled out a black tactical bodysuit and a backpack.

She sat in front of a broken mirror. She needed to disappear. She pulled out a small tub of theatrical silicone paste. She applied it to the bridge of her nose and her cheekbones, altering the way the light hit her face. In the dim lighting of the underground, shadows were more important than reality. She bound her chest tight with bandages, flattening her silhouette. She pulled on a short, choppy black wig and darkened her eyebrows.

She practiced her posture. She rolled her shoulders forward, adopted a slight slouch, and changed her center of gravity.

In ten minutes, Dejah was gone. In the mirror stood a sickly, street-smart boy.

She opened the skylight. The cold air rushed in.

She climbed out onto the roof. It was time to go to market.