Dominic’s apartment was just as I remembered it, right down to the mid-century style of furniture.

I ran my hand over the back of the low-slung sofa with its simple lines and lack of decoration.

“At least I’ll make a fortune off the furniture if I run out of money,” I muttered with a grim smile.

The entire place was like a time capsule, straight out of the early sixties. Kennedy was President the last time our mother had decorated. Before that, it was Roosevelt. The first one.

“Ah. You’re here.”

I jumped at the sound of a familiar voice coming from the hall, followed by the clicking of dress shoes on the parquet floor.

Dominic always believed in making an entrance, and always dressed like he was on his way to an important event.

Even when all he was doing was greeting his disgraced brother.

“I didn’t know you were,” I replied, crossing the room to shake his hand.

His signet ring pressed against my palm, like a reminder of who he was—and who I wasn’t.

I’d returned mine when he stripped me of all power.

“I was looking through the library,” he explained. “When I think of all the days we spent in there…”

“Doing anything but reading,” I finished, and we chuckled warmly at the memory.

We could relate to each other when discussing the past.

When things were better.

There had been no chasm between us then.

No shame to pointedly ignore while it hung over everything we said, every look we exchanged.

“Remember the time we built the pulley system and mounted it to the window frame?” he laughed.

“So we could lower the poor dog to the sidewalk instead of taking him out for his walk,” I recalled, shaking my head. “That poor dog. Always the subject of our schemes.”

He looked around, his smile fading. “As I said, you can stay as long as you like. It’s yours, too, you know.”

Yes, as he felt necessary to remind me every time he made it sound as though he were doing me a favor.

“I know,” I replied, and left it at that.

No sense in having an argument when I’d just arrived.

“You must be tired from all your traveling. Did you sleep at all last night?” He brushed invisible lint from the sleeve of his deep blue pinstripe suit.

Three-piece, complete with a pocket-watch on a gold chain. He’d inherited our mother’s penchant for holding on long after styles had changed, hence the time capsule apartment we stood in.

“I slept when I needed to. Never very well, if I’m being honest.”

“No nice hotels on the road?” He went to the bar, situated in the corner of the living room.

I checked the time when his back was turned.

“It’s not quite five o’clock,” he muttered.

“How did you know I was checking the time?”

“You’re predictable.”

I held back a sigh. “To answer your question, I wouldn’t know whether there are nice hotels since I didn’t feel as though I could afford one.”

His eyes were wide when he turned back to me, holding a glass of bourbon in one hand.

I could smell it from where I stood, and the aroma turned back the clock, and I was a child again, running up and down the halls with model airplanes, imagining I was a flying ace who shot down countless Germans and earned a chest full of medals.

I didn’t know back then that people like us didn’t do things like that. It was fine for humans to participate in war, but not us. Their lives were dispensable. Not ours.

While we had played, Father had enjoyed his bourbon. Along with the recreational activities he had shared with us when he felt we were old enough to understand.

He swirled the bourbon in the glass, sharpening the aroma. “Where did you sleep? Not in the car, I hope.”

“In motels along the way, of course.”

He did know how to get under my skin.

“Motels?”

The way he grimaced, I wondered if I should’ve told him I camped out in the car.

“Dominic, I don’t feel like getting into this with you right now.” I took off my jacket and hung it by the door. “You know my situation and why it isn’t a simple matter of spending the money to stay in a fine hotel.”

“You must realize I’ll do everything I can to keep you comfortable, to be sure your needs are met.”

The very idea sickened me.

As if I wanted to be under his thumb for the rest of my life, constantly reminded that what was mine was really his—and in the next breath, reminded that I was welcome to it.

Just the way he treated the situation with the apartment, which of course was half mine according to Mother’s wishes. He acted as though he were doing me a favor by stepping aside and allowing me to use what was mine. When he wasn’t using it for himself.

I took a deep breath and counted to five before answering. “That’s a generous offer, but I don’t think it will come to that. I’ll find a way.”

“You have no skills, brother.”

“Thank you for the reminder,” I growled, looking out the window in a vain attempt to distract myself.

“You’re too good to perform menial work, you know.”

“What makes you say that?” I turned my head just enough to look at him, standing there with his expensive drink and his smug, self-satisfied expression. “I’m no better than any other human.”

“Don’t call yourself that.” His words cracked like a whip.

“It’s the truth,” I insisted. “I have no power. I’m as normal as any of the people walking along Fifth Avenue.” I pointed out the window and down, toward the street with its throngs of pedestrians.

He scoffed, taking another sip of his drink. “You’ll never be one of them. You were born into greatness, and you’ve spent decades living life as you were intended to. There’s no going back from something like that.”

“Is this supposed to encourage me, or drive me to suicide?”

“Stop being immature.”

“Stop being condescending. And stop deluding yourself. I’m average. Normal. Human.”

I emphasized the word, if only to see the way his face fell when he heard it. Perhaps I was as immature as he’d accused.

“Not so long as I have anything to say about it,” he promised.

“You’ve said enough already,” I murmured, holding his gaze.

We stood that way for a long, silent minute, sizing one another up. He could’ve ended me in a single wave of his hand, sent me flying through the window and splattering to the sidewalk. If I took out a few humans when I landed, so much the better for him.

I glared at him, daring him without words.

Instead, he placed the glass on an end table. “I’ll let you get your rest, then. Please, come see me tomorrow. We’ll talk about a plan for you.”

“I don’t need you to—”

He cut me off with one sharp, cold glare. “You and I both know why I need to. I’m not the only one behaving condescendingly here.”

He took his coat off the hook and threw it over his arm before leaving without another word.