It started with a blast.

With light that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once and a loud, echoing smash to accompany it, I was suddenly and rudely brought back to life. My useless eyes struggled in the overwhelming nothingness and it took me a moment to realize that the reason I couldn't move my hands was because they were bound behind me.

"Awake, is he?"

A groan escaped me and my tongue darted out, feeling just how dry my lips had gone. My neck was terribly stiff and the muscles in my extremities were involuntarily clenched, but the pain wasn't intolerable. Slowly, I twisted this way and that, testing my limits as shapes and colours began to spring up before me.

"Good. Sit him up."

I was in a dark place, the smell of rotting wood and sewer invading my senses. It was familiar, I knew that much, but where was I? Where were Vincent and the others? And why were people dashing around so fast, the shapes eluding my sight by so little? What happened? And who was touching me—?

A pair of rough hands clasped my face, a thumb jabbing beneath my right eyelid to pry it open and shine a light. It hurt and I tried to jerk away, but couldn't escape it. Murmurs rippled around me, all of them utterly unintelligible until one spoke up:

"I thought you said there would be no permanent damage!" a new voice, higher and feminine inquired, "You're telling me he can't see?"

"Well..."

I knew his voice better than I knew my own. I knew his smell too, that rich, clean-smelling cologne with just a hint of old scotch...

"Father."

My head lolled forward and the fingers instantly vanished from my face. Red spots lingered on the peripheries of my eyes, but when I next opened them, I could see again. Sluggishly and on strained muscles, I raised myself up, taking in my surroundings. Stained glass windows abounded and a gutted chandelier was raised in the aging rafters nearly above where I sat, staring my own Father in the eyes. The rotting wood and the rat feces finally made sense; we were in the Lucian church.

Irina's church...

Shit.

*=*=*(Earlier)*=*=*

I'd just hung up the phone, fingers gripping that gun in my hand with excessive force as I wondered to myself just how far I was willing to go. How deep would I be willing to sink to take what was necessary? I remember with so much clarity how my three handlers had watched on in trepidation of just what their borderline-mad master might propose. Their unease though, was soon put to rest.

"You're all fired," I'd said, rising from my seat and waving dismissively, "You have until tonight to get out."

It came as a shock, perhaps a harsh one, if you want to get into the ethics of job security. None of them budged from the spot, each one either staring at me or glancing between themselves, as though doubtful of my sanity. Jean was the first to brazenly open his mouth:

"So, what's the plan?"

"Nothing that concerns you. I said you're all—"

"—Not leaving," Mathieu-Félix intoned, the sharp look in his eye and the edge to his voice directed at me. "None of us. Not until this is over. What have you arranged?"

I scowled at the lot of them and their stubbornness, shoving the handgun into my pocket. "It's already over. Go back to your families and leave me to deal with mine."

For some reason, they seemed to find this darkly amusing; Jean snorted and Mathieu-Félix made a face as though I'd said something stupidly immature and lit another cigarette. I glared holes into them and demanded to know what they found so damn funny. My classmates were dead and my life was forfeit in Father's morbid game; it wasn't exactly hysterical.

"Not everything's about you, P.P." Jean pointed out.

"That little 'family' of yours affects our lives too." Mathieu-Félix chimed in, "You think we want them in power?"

"Not a goddamn chance."

I was stunned for a moment, caught off-guard by their sudden attention to politics. All this time, I'd assumed they were just with me because I paid them—and perhaps that was part of it—but it had never occurred to me that they might actively believe in my cause too. It made sense; they were employed by and living in Lucian territory. Any powershift from above would affect them too. I turned to Vincent, curious if he felt the same way.

"Toi aussi?"

The big man shrugged simply, "Change is long overdue. I just hope you're up for the worst."

I hesitated. My plan was dangerous, nigh on suicidal, and more than likely to get one or all of us killed even if they tagged along. Perhaps worst of all, it might fail completely and then we'd be left with nothing, but it was time to take a chance. It was time to change our futures.

"Then we'd better prepare for that," I replied sharing a daring look with Vincent.

.

.

"We devoted the next two solid days to set-up. Notes were sent out to all relevant parties; a fair warning of what was hopefully to come. I risked sending Amy a quick message too, although I did so with a small measure of guilt."

"Guilt?"

"Right, I forgot; you're not familiar with that emotion. You see, sometimes, if you do or are about to do something that will harm others, some people feel a sense of—"

"I know what guilt is, twat! Why were you feeling it?"

"Because, true to Amy's plan, we were going to leave Paris the moment Father was safely disposed of. I didn't want to live where the safety of everyone I cared about was dependent on staying in power in the Lucian court. Instead, I planned to leave politics behind with my Lucian status as protection, stay off everyone's radar and lead a relatively normal life with Amy while you ran things. I wasn't going to be the involved leader that you, Vincent, Jean, and Mathieu-Félix were counting on me to be. When the time came to replace you, I'd find another solution, but right then I wanted to concentrate on living my life."

"You cowardly little snot! You were going to just run off right then, were you? You selfish—!"

"Shut up!"

"Don't you take that tone—!"

"I'll take whatever tone I want, because you know damn well it didn't happen my way—bloody simple as that would have been."

"..."

"...I was still going through with my plan—Vikram needed to be dethroned and the 39 Clues put in trustworthy hands—but above all, I had to get that Lucian protection. And for that, I needed Father out of the way. At that time, memos circulated about the upcoming Lucian meeting to be held on the Monday, and excitement and rumours that it would mean the unveiling of the 39 Clues victor spread like wildfire."

"Everyone believed it was you, boy."

"I don't know why. I wasn't even a Lucian at the time; if I'd been acting alone, the logical thing would have been to hand them to the Janus and been done with it. But I digress... the rumour mill worked to our advantage this time, since it allowed me to set up a meeting with Father elsewhere on that day. He knew that those speculations were true—I had the Clues—and that allowed me the opportunity to draw him away from attending that conference. His fatal mistake."

"And yours."

"Well, that too."

"You should have prepared for that! You should have known! You could have di-... Bah! It's just so typical that you wouldn't spare a thought to how anyone else felt, you egocentric little ass!"

"Wow. Do I detect concern with that insult?"

"Oh, don't be stupid!"

"My mistake... clearly. I sent you a request too, remember it? That one you utterly bungled and nearly cost me my life over? Nearly cost Amy hers?"

"I did no such thing! There were unforeseeable circumstances surrounding that!"

"There were bullets in the gun—!"

"I couldn't have emptied it without blowing my cover or arousing suspicion! You know that! Amy knows that!"

"She's being nice about it because you're senile and a walking corpse... I don't see any point in sparing your feelings, because you should feel bad about it. "

"Well I don't!"

"Then you don't deserve her pity."

"Oh right! You want to talk about not deserving her, do you-?"

"Stuff it, Irina. I heard you the first dozen times. Do you want to hear the end of this or not?"

.

.

Vincent's dour forewarning about preparing for the worst turned out to be deadly accurate—and something I wish I'd had the sense to heed. But in my mind, I earnestly believe that what I was doing was safe and that I was upholding my promise to Amy. I'd taken special measures to minimize any personal risk that my plan posed and convinced myself whole-heartedly that that was enough, but in the end, those measures ended up blinding me to the one harsh truth that I had overlooked.

And I paid dearly for that...

That morning, I played the part of a gargoyle, hidden among the potted plants of a rooftop dwelling overlooking the private suite where I knew my Father waited from across the street. It was a bright, shiny day, and a fitting backdrop for me to win freedom for me and Amy—and all without spilling innocent blood. With Vincent by my side and a .32 calibre at my hip, I felt a tranquil sense of security that hadn't been there in months.

"Are you going back to your own family after this?" I asked him feeling uncharacteristically light and chatty. I knew he had a wife and a little girl somewhere in Brittany, which was more than Jean or Mathieu-Félix knew, but still marked the limits of my knowledge about his personal life.

"Assuming this works," he replied, not taking the binoculars from his face.

I hesitated, watching his expression to avoid overstepping my bounds, "If it does, you know I'll have loads of money."

When he was silent and I continued picking my words with care.

"Your girl can go to Harvard if she likes," I floated the idea. "Or Camebridge, or Oxford or pretty well anywhere else on the planet. I can make that happen. You and your wife, you won't have to work anymore either. I can see to that—"

"You want to take care of me now?" he clarified, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"No," I scowled suddenly feeling uncomfortable for ever having opened my mouth, "I just... wanted to help."

"You can help by being a good Branch Leader," he replied, turning from the mission to look me squarely in the eyes with a stare that chilled me to the marrow. For one dreadful second, I thought that he'd guessed the truth about what I was planning, but he quickly returned to his surveying. "That's it. And don't underestimate the challenge."

I nodded, ignoring the squirm in my belly, "Consider it done."

We returned our attention to the suite, watching from our position as Father adjusted his tie before the mirror. The permanent look of disdain in his reflection probably matched mine as I watched the arrogant prick. Natalie hadn't accompanied him to France and we had watched Mother leave earlier in the day to visit an old friend in the city. It meant that apart from the two armed men who stood guard outside his door, he was alone in the apartment, preparing for a meeting with me that would never take place.

Well, at least not the one that he had in mind.

"And we've got our signal," Vincent announced putting down the binoculars and slowly rising to his feet. The plan was in motion.

I gripped the telephone line suspended just above my head and began fastening the end of a second, stronger line to it on zip cable. When I was finished, Vincent sent it off with a rough push. We watched as it sailed over the street below and onto the roof of the penthouse where Father resided. Although couldn't see him at the moment, Jean was in place on the other end to tie it off securely so that we could swing down together and onto his balcony.

"Mathieu-Félix is in?" I asked, staring down at Father's room trying to catch a glimpse of him on the inside.

"Not yet."

"What's taking so long?" I huffed getting agitated about all this now. He should have been there already.

"Patience." Vincent advised, securing a piece of rope that would serve as his zipline handle to our new cable. We had no harnesses like those I had used when Amy and Dan had helped me escape in England; this was a one-shot deal. I was either going to make it or fall eight stories to my death. Across the way, I could see that Jean had tied it off on the other side and had slinked back down into the building without my notice. At least something was going right...

I pulled out my handgun, tied up my own line, and double-checked the cartridge load as I waited. The guards outside wouldn't have stopped him for so long. Maybe he was just running late. Or maybe he'd blown everything. Finally, after a few endless minutes of waiting, I watched as Father made his way to the door and opened it. Mathieu-Félix was there, attired in a workman's uniform and armed with a toolbox.

"Now," Vincent ordered, pointing across the way, "Jump."

It takes a lot of guts to leap off a building with nothing but your own skinny wrists to save you. In order to reach the balcony, the rope had to be made longer than a normal zipline—which meant I was going to freefall before it caught me. For a glorious moment, it felt like I was flying; the next, my arms were being wrenched out of their sockets. The drop was only a few extra feet, but it still hurt as I hurtled through the air, trying not to look down. At last, my feet were hovering over Father's balcony. If Vincent hadn't been seconds behind me, I'd probably have hung on longer, too instinctually afraid to let go.

"Come on, gun out," Vincent warned me as we dropped down and pushed aside the glass door and into Father's suite.

The look of shock on Vikram's face was as good of a treat as I might have hoped for. I can only imagine what mine must have looked like as I stood there, gun held to his head as I panted from the arm strain of holding it up on sore muscles.

"Hullo, Dad," I said with mock cheer. "Is this a bad time?"

Behind him, in the hallway, the two guards were pounding on the door as Mathieu-Félix drew his own weapon, aiming it at the door. I felt my heart leap into my throat. We were going to be in trouble the second they broke that down. With a panicked look, I gestured for both Vincent and Mathieu-Félix to cover it. I wasn't taking any chances.

"Don't suppose you'd like to chat now, would you?" I sneered, trying to keep up the bravado while fear toyed with my insides. "Something came up for this afternoon."

"You're a damn fool, boy," He spat in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah?" I asked, humouring him. "Why's that?"

"You've already lost! Even if you succeed in killing me, every Lucian on the planet will come after you. You'll be dead before my body's even gone cold."

"Too true. So why don't we avoid all that then?" I proposed, my words almost cut off by the battering coming from the door.

"A truce? Don't tell me that's why you're here…"

"You're going to stop this," I continued, ignoring him, "Stop killing innocent people, stop burning Paris to the ground and stop going after those I care about! Swear to me that all of that ends today. In return… I'll let you keep a spot on the council: as counselor to the Branch Leader."

"That being you?" he surmised, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Eventually," I replied, purposely keeping my answer vague. "Let's consider it a partnership; running the empire between the two of us; sharing the council and the clues."

"Only you're in power."

I shrugged, flashing him my best shit-eating smirk. "For practicality's sake. Only one of us had the sense to keep his nose clean and that's clearly not you."

His eyes narrowed in contempt, but he continued with our farce of a bargain with the appropriate amount of scorn, "Oh, and now I suppose you want me to recognize you as a Lucian again? Will that be all?"

"Won't be necessary," I replied casting a cautionary glance at the door. The wood at the latch was beginning to heave and splinter with each pounding that it received. It would only be a matter of seconds. "I've taken care of that."

"How could you have—?"

He never got to finish his sentence before the door burst open from the outside and the two guards charged into the room, guns raised and searching for the intruders. They found, however, the ends of my handlers' guns pointed at them; Mathieu-Félix and Vincent from inside the chambre and Jean from behind. My target stayed firmly on Father, although I did spare the time to catch the aggressive yet uncertain looks sent our way.

For one horrible moment, there was an awful lot of yelling; French, English, Russian all screamed to be heard overtop one another and tension skyrocketed. My pulse was racing and I was sure someone was about to get shot. Then, above it all, I heard my Father's booming voice:

"PUT THE GUNS DOWN NOW!"

And like that, the cries subsided. When I turned back to Vikram, I realized just how pale his face had gone. It was the only sign of discomfort I could see on him, as he retained his usual dominating composure, but at least I knew I wasn't the only one who'd been terrified. Slowly and with marked distrust, the two guards disarmed themselves, placing their weapons on the carpeted floor and raising their hands in a symbol of surrender.

"Good," I breathed in relief, betraying my confidence.

"You're no leader," He told me roughly but honestly. Still, the remark struck a sour chord.

"Watch me," I boasted in a snarl, suddenly inspired by the idea of fulfilling my promised role just to show him up."You don't know me anymore. You don't know what I'm capable of—"

"Do you?" he asked me seriously, gesturing to the gun in my hand.

I growled low in my throat, but the truth was that I didn't have an answer for him. All of my survival instincts—the instincts he had taught me and Vincent had honed—were crying for me to take him out; to end all the misery he had already had and would inevitably cause. He was the cancerous mass that was keeping me from living my life and putting the only person I cared about in danger. He was the monster that had killed my classmates and would, in an unflinching moment, kill me too if the tables were reversed.

But then there was my pathetic, little conscience stirring to life. I knew somewhere, in the back of my mind, that it was wrong; this was murder. Sure it was just a word, an action like any other, but a ghastly one that had the potential to dog me for the rest of my life. How was it fair that it conferred so many more benefits at the same time? Falling back on less virtuous inclinations, I pushed it from my mind.

"I know what needs to be done," I answered, my voice gravelly. "If you leave me no other option, I'm prepared to take it there. I'm hoping that won't be necessary."

Vikram snorted and took a pacing step around me, "You're not even a Lucian; you'd have shot me by now if you were."

"Don't move!" I ordered him raising the gun higher, but he only took another step.

"You're just a weak, ordinary nothing now—"

"P.P.," Mathieu-Félix piped up fear gripping his tone. "Get him under control!"

"I said 'don't move'!" I repeated menacingly, thrusting the gun closer to him, but it might as well have been loaded with water for all the attention he paid to it. And the truth of my bluff hung there in the open, naked for all to see.

His black eyes shone with a cruel delight, "Not even fit to lead this pathetic bunch, let alone my empire—"

"Ian, shoot him," Vincent demanded.

I froze. Rarely had I ever heard him give such a direct order before, let alone such a lethal one. A guilty heat slapped me across the cheeks as, unable to push it away in time, I thought of Amy. I could too easily imagine the look of horror on her face if she ever saw me take another person's life—no matter who that person happened to be or how richly he might have deserved it. She'd never even glance at me again without feeling guilty or appalled by what she saw. All of this would be for her; so that we could live freely together, so that our future could even exist! But would she even want to live with me when I was no better than he? Should that even matter? What about everyone else that was counting on me to keep Orion from his clutches? Irina, Vincent, Mathieu-Felix, Jean—the goddamn, peace-loving world was on my shoulders!

"I…" I hesitated, watching helplessly as Vikram circled around me in the direction of the door.

"Ian! Now!" I heard Vincent cry.

But it was too late. In a second, Father had pulled out that pistol he always kept on his person from his suit jacket. I watched it happen in slow motion as he raised it to my head, evening the score. The air felt thick and stagnant as all eyes in the room trained on father and son. In that moment, all I saw was the murder in his gaze, ignorant until that crucial point in my life that it was even a tangible feeling. I didn't flinch. I didn't move. I just stared, only dimly aware that this was all happening. For one dizzying, blissful second, I wondered if it already had and if this was just my mind manifesting this moment again. Dry, soundless laughter burbled up in my chest. How could this be real? Vikram was my father. He would never…

Barely an instant later, I was tumbling to the floor, Mathieu-Félix crashing on top of me as the gun let out its deafening bang. I felt the jolt through my friend's body and realized what had happened. Misery gripped my guts and yanked as I let out a gutteral, nearly inhuman howl.

"No!" I screamed, shaking his shoulders as I rolled him off of me, that motionless weight beginning to crush my soul. "No! No, no! Get—get up!"

It was killing me, but as I rolled him over, I couldn't tear my eyes from his frightened expression and the horrible, gushing blood that now coated my own face and arms. He spluttered, his lips opening and closing wordlessly as his neck, where he'd been hit, continued to bleed. Mathieu-Félix had jumped in the way to save my life, and now he was going to die because I was too afraid to go through with what had to be done. My hands clasped his neck as my fingers dug into the gaping wound the bullet had left behind. I had to save him. I had to! No one else—least of all someone I cared about—was going to die because of me! I'm not even sure what I was saying as far as I knew I was probably babbling, but we needed help.

"Jean! Get Amy! Get someone!" I yelled to anyone who could hear me. "He needs—! Get him a doctor now!"

I'd always been so oblivious to the situations around me, but never was it more obvious than in that moment. Like walking in on a scene you hadn't meant to interrupt, I found myself with worse footing than I'd thought.

"Stop!" My voice was hoarse and came out as a rasp.

I hadn't even heard the second gunshot or seen my second partner fall, but when I had jerked my head up, there Vincent was lying on the floor, clutching his upper thigh with red-stained hands as my Father stood over him, pressing a boot into his skull. Jean was frozen in the hallway, his gun trained on my Father's men as they quickly stooped to recover their lost weapons. He fired once, struck one of them in the back with a revolting crunch before bolting down the hall and away from all of us. The uninjured man quickly gave chase to my fleeing companion while the other lay on the carpet howling, twisting and writhing in pain. I tried to block out the sound from my mind, tried to steel myself against his pain and torment, but it was impossible. Swallowing hard and sucking in a shaky breath, I concentrated on Vikram and my fallen compatriot.

"Get away from him!" I roared at Father, "Now!"

One grip held Mathieu-Félix's wound and the other, my .32— and like hell was I going to hesitate now! My teeth grit so hard I thought they'd shatter from the pressure as a new determination took hold of me; I wasn't going to lose either of them today. That was not going to happen. Slowly, Father turned away from stepping on Vincent's head and turned his attention on me. The gun was still in his hand. That damn gun; the mark of betrayal…

Irina, that bitch, I thought vengefully, the iron-rich taste of blood on my tongue.

It wasn't supposed to have been loaded! I'd sent a note telling her to load the gun in his office drawer with blanks. It was his pistol, and since he'd been under serious investigation in England, he'd started keeping it in his desk at the Council. It would have been easy to walk in there and switch the bullets without anyone being the wiser. It would have made my side of the plan infinitely safer.

Apparently, she had wanted me out of the way after all. The bitter, toothless old snake had bared her hidden fangs in the end, just as my Father had.

Speaking of which…

"...Bastard!" The word tore itself unbidden from my throat, "You sick, sick bastard!"

"Consider it a lesson, boy," he replied frigidly, raising his own gun to me as he took a few lazy paces in my direction, "A final lesson. Mercy is a fool's gambit."

"So is vengeance," I snarled right back.

"Vikram! Vikram, no!" A female voice rang out across the room. For a half second, it was enough to distract everyone, drawing their gazes towards the only exit. I inclined my head only enough to catch a brief glimpse of her outline in the doorway, her short brown hair swaying gently in the breeze from the window. I'm not sure why, but it didn't even register with me at the time who that was. Only one thought entered my mind.

Now was my chance.

I raised my gun to Vikram with the knowledge and conviction that I would have pulled that trigger, had it not been for a sharp, sudden pinch of metal at my neck. Confused and surprisingly sluggish my arm muscles seized and I drew a hitched breath. Refusing to let go of my friend's neck and without releasing my gun, I clumsily felt along my own throat until my fingers brushed the tranquillizer dart that was protruding out of my skin.

My vision lurched violently, the last clear image that I recalled being Isabel standing framed in the doorway. I remember thinking that she looked as pretty as a portrait; the summer wind rippling through her pale blue cotton dress, a pool of blood at her feet and a tranquillizer gun clutched in her delicate hands...

.

.

"That was how my last plan fell to pieces; at the guilty hands of my mother.

"You shouldn't blame Isabel... That poor woman; she thought she was protecting you."

"You're right. I should be blaming you."

"Oh come off it—!"

"There were bullets in Father's gun! That's your fault."

"We've talked about this! When are you going to let it go?"

"Unbelievable—"

"It's been seven years since that day, horrible accident that it was. I think it's been quite long enough for you to stop punishing me—"

"He's dead, Irina."

"…"

"Mathieu-Félix is dead because of you."

"You know it wasn't intentional!"

"Doesn't matter. You're no less responsible now than you were when you were healthy and not nearly so pathetic… If that's why you brought me here—hoping to mend fences— you're wasting both of our time."

"…"

"Oh, come on! Of all the… Was it?"

"If you must know… it was Amy's idea."

"Should have figured. Cor, this reeks of her intervention. "

"Just finish the story. Hate me to the grave if you like, but do me the kindness of leaving me with one happy memory. Finish the damn thing."

"Skip the dramatics. You forget, I grew up with Natalie; I'm immune… But yes, I'll finish it. Not that you deserve it, mind; I've been far too patient with your simpering and whining already."

"Yes, yes. Enough with your preamble!"

"What do you think this entire story is but one long preamble? The show's just getting started… Like you know, I woke up in the church where I'd last seen Amy, roped to a chair and more dizzy than conscious. There were quite unexpectedly a lot of people standing about in front of me, a wash of shapes and colours half-hidden in the dim light of the church that I didn't care enough to distinguish between. I could feel Father was there and Mother too, though I didn't know where. As the cocktail of drugs in my system slowly began to wear off, I found a comforting sense of finality in one particularly grim thought; this was where I was going to die. Well, probably. And all these wonderful people had turned out to watch the show."

"You mean your Father's guard?"

"Yes. I was very drugged. In my mother's worry over any negative side-effects from shooting me, she'd asininely doped me on some serious painkillers. The result wasn't exactly helpful for Father, who immediately started his interrogation the second he was convinced I was lucid enough to talk. There isn't much point in relating just how furious he was; Vikram had journeyed well beyond reasonable sanity to tread the thin boundary between psychotic rage and homicidal tendencies. And somewhere on the list of 'Dick-ish things Ian Kabra did in the past year' he'd found the justification he needed to carve up his own flesh and blood like a mafia rat."

"The scar—?"

"Don't interrupt! I was painting a picture here… So, there was Father, looking imposing in that blood-splattered shirt and suit jacket, sleeves rolled up past his elbows, and a small group of his bodyguards at his back, some with weapons drawn, others without, ready to back Vikram up against the threat that was his own unarmed son. It was too dark to see his eyes properly, which only added to the ghoulishness of everything, but I could see that Mother was at his side, pale as a wraith with arms clasped over her mouth in horror and worry. I felt a heavy wave of resentment wash over me and I scowled at her, hating her for her weakness almost as much as I hated him."

"You really don't give her enough credit!"

"No, actually I think I give her far too much. Just because you feel guilty for your deception and 'taking her son away' doesn't make Isabel infallible. She isn't and she about cost me my life right then. Don't mistake me, I love her, but she needs to learn to stand up for something."

"She stands for her family—something I hope you'll learn to respect one day."

"I find principles are easier to defend; they tend to go on fewer murderous rampages. But I digress; you wanted to hear about my torture and interrogation, didn't you?"

"Don't be morbid."

"It actually wasn't that bad."

"What?"

"No, really. And not just because I'm a man and can handle myself—"

"Oh ha! A joke—!"

"Compared to what else I've known him to do, he went easy on me. Vikram wanted the answer to one simple and important question: who was I working for? Unsurprising really. He'd followed me and Amy to this very church—a former Lucian base of operations—the whereabouts of which were known only to a select group of high-ranking Lucians. I would have had no way of knowing of its existence, and neither would my mongrel Cahill friends. So which other Lucian had manipulated his son into betraying him?"

"He didn't ask about the 39 Clues?"

"No. His empire was divided, his reputation destroyed and he was facing at least six criminal indictments back home in England; the Clues were of little importance by then. This was about revenge and weeding out the traitors to regain control."

"I see. And?"

"And what?"

"I'm curious; did you betray me in the end?"

"…"

"…Oh you little rat! I knew it! I knew you'd never stick your neck out—!"

"Yes, well, you thought wrong! Of course I didn't. It was, after all, to my benefit to hold out on that information. So, with a cock-sure grin, I spat in Vikram's face and told him that I was the brilliant mind behind this resistance."

"Oh…"

"Was that the world's most inadequate apology?"

"You misled me."

"You doubted me. I figured that, with Mother there, Vikram was less likely to do anything drastic to me. And, if I hung onto the shred of an advantage I had left in this game until the proper time, I might survive long enough to keep him in permanent check in the Lucian Council. All I needed was enough time for you to claim the throne and the rest would fall into place."

"So, you were stalling."

"I do that so well."

"Why wouldn't he just have killed you then and there if he thought you'd been acting alone?"

"Because, of course, he didn't believe me. I had little faith that he would either. With a sneer in my face and a jab about lacking the intelligence for such a scheme, he continued to harangue me. I just persisted with my boast, and it wasn't until his hands were gripping my collarbone with increasing pressure that he suddenly seemed to remember himself. As he recoiled, I felt a sense of awe wash over me. He'd finally remembered that, under it all, I was still his son. Could it have been that I had misjudged him? Perhaps I really didn't have anything to fear…"

"Bloody likely..."

"Barely a moment's pause later, and with a voice as calm as I'd ever known it to be, he ordered Mother to get to the Council and do what she could to assess the situation there. Maybe they could stem this before it was too late. He'd join her in a moment. The flash of fear that rippled over her features and the ice that suddenly seemed to pervade the air didn't slip by me as the two of us exchanged a panicked glance."

"No… She wouldn't…"

"She did."

"…"

"Now you see why I'm reluctant to forgive her? Without a word of protest, she turned and left me in that church, at the mercy of my father as two or three of his men trailed out after her. I watched her retreating back and the blood that already streaked her fair skin up to her elbows imagining that mine may just have been added to it. I swore at her, called her all manner of foul name and told her she'd just signed my death warrant, but it changed nothing. As the door swung shut behind her with an echoing bang, I realized I had just lost. Maybe our cause hadn't. Maybe there was a brighter future. What did it matter though?"

"You saved us. You gave us the time we needed to overturn the Council. Isabel was there at the end, but it wasn't enough. We took power because of you."

"Yes, yes... but meanwhile, I was about to die. You understand I don't buy into this for-the-greater-good bollocks. I never turned martyr or offered myself up as a sacrifice. I'm far too well-bred—evolutionarily-speaking—for that."

"Never change, boy..."

"Why would I...? The problem was that Father had apparently given up on using me at all. Far too enraged over the devastation I had caused after he had allowed me to live and my flippant refusal to cooperate, Vikram was seeking to put an end to the one who had ruined him. Cocking and leveling the pistol at my head, he eyed me with one last look of contempt, but couldn't resist informing me that I could have had what I wanted had I only been patient. We could have ruled everything together, united the Cahills and used the 39 Clues to control them all. Instead, I had probably undone the Lucian Empire with the chaos this new power struggle would bring. Because he wasn't about to back down and, if he couldn't have what was rightfully his, he was going to make sure what I valued most joined me in death."

"Let me guess…?"

"Oh you don't even need to. That's the problem with having your weakness on display for the world to see. Again, I must thank Natalie for calling that to my Father's attention; I somehow doubt he'd have cottoned onto Amy otherwise. But I was far from finished speaking."

"Isn't that always the case?"

"From some place of calm I didn't know existed within me, I forced a cold laugh. When was it, I asked him, that he had let himself slip? Had I been the one to rattle him into thoughtlessly ignoring logic in favour of fulfilling petty jealous whims? I wasn't sure if I should be honoured or mourn for the loss of his sanity."

"Oh Christ! You would try to provoke the lunatic."

"And it was frighteningly easy. I knew the buttons to push; I knew how to get inside his head. Had he not underestimated me at every turn? Hadn't he given into the complacency that had caused his financial ruin? And now was he really intent on doing away with the very last redeeming advantage that could secure his place in the Lucian Council? Well, so be it. If my demise was because I lacked ruthlessness, his would be because he'd been a vengeful fool."

"Ha! Brilliant!"

"Pity Father didn't share your admiration. I didn't even see it happen. It was almost as though time had jumped forward, because the next thing I knew, I was leaning forwards in my chair, straining involuntarily against my bound hands with blood dripping all over my lap. My right eye felt like it was in the process of exploding as little fluorescent lights dotted my vision. With effort, I lifted my head just enough to stare up at Father. He had on an almost bored expression as he calmly wiped my blood from his pistol with his handkerchief. Had that bastard really just pistol-whipped me? I swore and spat on the ground at his feet."

"He hit you with a gun? And you didn't you tell me?"

"Yes, well he also tried to kill me on numerous other occasions. A little violence seemed low on the list of things to report. And since when do you care?"

"I-I don't! It's a matter of principle and property—not about you in particular!"

"Property, am I-?"

"You know what I meant!"

"I'm going to excuse that as a one of those severe lapses in judgments you people call 'senior moments' and we're going to move on... Once his handkerchief was again carefully stowed in his breast pocket, Vikram sighed theatrically and began to lament over what a great disappointment I'd been to both him and my mother. Did I know that she was so terribly ashamed of me that she'd ceased to even acknowledge my existence? But, he concluded, all could be remedied in time and it surely would be—I merely would not be around to witness it."

"Scathing, I suppose. For him."

"He ended with something about having meant to splatter my brains out in my sleep. Imagine the kind of therapy I'd need if I were anything but a Lucian…"

"I wouldn't disregard the idea of therapy entirely."

"With perhaps more balls than brains, I laughed and wished him all the best with grooming Natalie—of all the lost, high-maintenance causes— to take my place in his Kabra dynasty. What a merciless scavenger… At least I had a moral motive and the mental capacity to plan ahead! She'd turn on him the moment she smelled blood in the water and there would be no proffered partnership from her. Vikram could be damn sure of that."

"You're too harsh on the poor girl!"

"She told me she'd have killed me…! And she whipped that cookie at my head."

"Sibling rivalry—"

"Oh what? Are you determined to sympathize with every one of my heinous family members but me?"

"They're more redeemable. Some of them."

"Well, I'm glad I beat out Vikram… It annoyed him to recognize the limitations of his future options, but it wouldn't sway him—and really, until that point I had only been grasping at straws while trying to keep my dignity intact. That gun wasn't going to be moved from my face through reason and logic. And neither would those of the four men remaining behind him. Instead Vikram just scowled, ignoring my barb, and told me this was long overdue as the cold touch of the pistol once again rested against my face. Good riddance."

"For the third time, the melodramatic knob…-"

"—And that was when the broken chandelier, which had hung just shy of the pulpit above us, crashed to the ground with clamour that shocked every one of us…"