Page 65 of Liar
Aiko doesn’t need much persuasion to get on the next plane to her father.
I hated to do it. I practically screamed at her during our drive back to Raven’s Bluff to pack her stuff and beg her father to disclose his location so she could join him.
It wouldn’t be a hard sell. Mr. Nakamura was making noises that his daughter spent way too much time home alone and that it might be better if she started traveling with him.
If anyone could protect her from the Societies, it’d be a military base.
Aiko argued to stay. I countered that if she did, she could be used as bait, and everything we worked for, risked ourselves for, would be for nothing.
It took over an hour to convince her that remote learning was a thing, even on Army bases. I promised her that as soon as it was safe, I’d text her and she could return.
I swore to Aiko I’d do everything in my power to protect Savannah, too.
Waving to Aiko at the end of my driveway, I hope I can keep my promises.
Once Aiko’s headlights disappear around the corner, I head into Weatherby Manor. My turn forces me to glance across the road at the copse of trees I know shroud the Briar home, and the two stone ravens who guard it.
An arc of light distracts me from my too-long stare into the darkness on the other side of the street.
Dash has opened the front door. “Come in, Miss Weatherby. Master Weatherby is waiting for you in the drawing room.”
“He’s here?”
“Yes.” Dash responds to the stupid question without judgment, but a closer inspection reveals the deepened, disapproving grooves on either side of his thin, wrinkled lips.
Uh-oh. My instant thought is that Malcolm’s been notified I skipped school.
He steps aside as I walk through the door, shutting it quietly behind me. The black, sparkling chandelier is lit at full brightness, casting the main foyer in vivid relief, from the faded wallpaper to the unpolished wood staircase to the impeccably dusted portrait of Malcolm and Julie.
I squint, unused to such exposed lighting in the manor. A further sweep of my eyes to the balcony above and hallways that I can see show that those lights are on, too. Why is every light turned on in this house?
Usually, when Malcolm returns from his trips, he wants me to forget he’s home, floating between rooms like a ghost until dinner. He doesn’t flick light switches while he wanders, not even in his office.
“Malcolm?” I call, dropping my messenger bag to my feet.
“Master Weatherby is in the drawing room,” Dash repeats. He hasn’t moved from his spot near the front door.
“Yes, I heard you. I was just…” delaying the inevitable.
Exhaustion weighs me down. I released a lot of emotional baggage today, and my body was used as Thorne’s ultimate pleasure toy. I have the almost irresistible urge to go upstairs, curl up in bed, and wake up with retrograde amnesia.
I trudge through the short hallway showcasing Malcolm’s nineteenth-century collection to the cracked-open door.
“Hello?” I push the cherrywood open further.
“Come in, Ember.” Malcolm reclines in a leather wingback chair near a crackling fireplace. I assume the fire is for ambiance. Unlike all the other areas I’ve encountered in the manor, the drawing room is dark, save for the fire.
“What’s going on?” I ask as I perch on the wingback across from him. The chair is made up of maroon leather stretched to its limit. My tailbone lands on it uncomfortably.
He turns his head away from the fireplace. Half his face turns into shadow. The other is cast in a soft glow, his eye glittering with tiny, reflected flames. “Why would you ask something like that?”
I lick my lips. Fold my hands on my lap. “Nothing. Never mind.”
After the day I’ve had, I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m reading too much into things. Maybe this evening is the night Malcolm likes to test for wonky light bulbs that need replacing in his house. I don’t know him well enough to question it.
“The school called me today.”
I nod, unsurprised.