Page 30 of Liar
Later that evening, dinner with Malcolm does not go as planned.
He and I are in a convenient sort of cease-fire and I was hoping to use that when I sat down with him in the formal dining room. I could comfortably go over Savannah’s benign revelation that she wanted to maim Aiko. Malcolm’s aware of my involvement in the Societies and is fully accepting of how violent it can get, yet it’s still rather difficult for me to explain that I laid into a fellow student with such unfiltered rage that I dented his skull. All while Thorne and Damion, the two people Malcolm despises most, looked on.
Yeah, this truce should’ve come in real handy with both of us enjoying safe topics of discussion with the possible light treading into the status of the FBI investigation into the Briars, but nothing more than that. Not if we wanted to keep dinner at a low decibel.
The first sign that my plans were about to go awry was when the dinner plates were set before us. Marta fixed Cornish hens, their little corpses roasted and browned just for our tastebuds.
I stare down at mine, swallowing a lump of bile while picturing Zeke’s bloody head sprouting out of where the hen’s neck used to be.
Malcolm hacks into his chicken with aplomb, his sharp knife splitting the breast open. Of course he has to pick this time to actually eat his dinner instead of allowing it to cool untouched on his plate before he storms out.
He sticks a forkful of juicy meat into his mouth, a flap of crispy skin hanging out before he sucks it in, leaving his lower lip shining with grease.
My body jerks with a barely contained gag. I reach desperately for my glass of ice water and chug.
Malcolm frowns. “Something wrong with your dinner?”
An ice chip breaks hard against my molars. “It’s—uh, I think my hen’s undercooked.”
Malcolm’s lips pull down even lower. “Really? That’s rather unlike Marta.” He snaps his fingers for Dash, who manifests from the walls and swoops up my plate.
“Oh, you don’t have to—I’ll just take a salad. Tomatoes and cucumbers only. No meat.” I swallow thickly again.
“Is this the part where I ask my unpredictable teenager if she’s turning into a vegetarian?”
“Vegan, actually,” I mumble into my place setting. “Definitely vegan.”
Malcolm makes a thoughtful sound in his throat. “Very well. I’ll give Marta grocery instructions for tomorrow.”
I shift uneasily in my seat, finishing my water. Dash somehow reappears in record time, refreshing my glass with a pitcher.
“I was about to ask if your quietness was due to the news this morning,” Malcolm says.
I lower my drink. “News?”
“Of a fellow student’s car accident.” Malcolm dabs the corners of his lips with a napkin, somehow failing to notice my spine fusing with the back of my chair. “Zeke Aiden. Isn’t he a celebrity’s kid?”
My hand slides from the icy-wetness of my glass as I study Malcolm closer. He knows very well who Zeke Aiden is. Why is he playing dumb?
“Zeke’s the celebrity, not his parents,” I correct with deliberate calm.
“Terrible tragedy.” Malcolm takes another bite. When he sticks the fork back in his mouth, his eyes never leave mine.
I don’t have silverware to fidget with, so I force my hands to my lap instead. “It is.”
“Do you think the Societies had something to do with it?”
Direct fire. Shit. I level my shoulders. “He’s not a member. Not that I know of.”
“Indeed.” Malcolm pauses to chew. “But that’s never stopped their punishments before. What do you suppose he did, and who did it to him?”
“I … wouldn’t know.”
As of now, Malcolm believes me to be low on the hierarchy list in the Societies. I hope to keep it that way, at least until I understand myself and my position a bit more. I want to help him. I’m happy to bury the Briars and stop Damion’s illegal run of this town. My morale is practically made for this shit. Perfection and praise for doing the right thing is in my veins. So why am I stalling?
Because you’re the one who helped put Zeke in the hospital. And you liked it.
My back aches with how tightly I’m holding it. Maybe, just maybe, it’s not because I enjoyed the power and I just I don’t want the hopeful light to die in Malcolm’s eyes when it comes to me. He has so little left to cling to.