Liars and Liaisons by Sav R. Miller
11
“Why goats?”
Micah and Willow share an amused look over the curtain they’re repairing. Even Arsen in the corner of the porch smothers a smirk—the first bout of emotion I’ve seen from him yet. A little kid with golden-brown fur and black legs bleats in front of me, then sniffs my feet. They’re covered in dirt from traipsing in the flower beds all morning and in desperate need of a soak.
The kid’s tongue lashes out, lapping at one of my toes. I giggle and pull my feet up in the patio chair with me, then scratch behind his long, folded ear. The other ear is missing.
“Grayson’s grandfather owned the place. The herd was his, and since Alpines are great milkers, he raised them for dairy and took it to Duris to sell.” Willow brushes a braid off her shoulder. “He left the estate to Grayson in his will. When he came here, he decided to keep them around.”
My brows shoot up, and the little fella places his head on the chair beside me. “He milks them?”
Micah snorts. “No. It was just easier to keep them than finding a farm or a facility to move them to.”
“If you ask me,” Willow continues, reaching into the sewing basket on the ground by her feet, “I think the easy thing was an excuse.”
“Here we go.” Micah rolls her eyes.
“What?” Willow shrugs, holding a hand up. “It’s creepy and lonely up here. Don’t tell me you don’t think the man wanted some companionship.”
Micah balks. “Grayson? He doesn’t even like going out. Why would he need companions?”
“Just because he’s afraid of being in public doesn’t mean it doesn’t make him lonely.”
Arsen clears his throat, giving the girls a pointed look as he adjusts the little comms unit in his ear. They veer to a new topic, something about a hockey team whose owner was recently murdered, and I tune them out because sports don’t interest me in the slightest.
Placing my feet back on the ground, I glance up at a section of the estate that’s almost parallel to the porch. Through the window, Grayson sits with his back to us at a piano. His shoulders are stiff and unmoving, and after a few seconds, I realize that he’s literally just… sitting there. Not playing, not writing, just staring out over the top of the instrument at the fireplace, roaring a few feet away.
And I can’t help wondering if what Willow said was true. Is the monstrous, notoriously agoraphobic Grayson James lonely? I can’t imagine him not aching for comfort in some form, given the state of his life currently.
There’s a tug in my soul, something aching to go in and provide him with that companionship. To do what I would for anyone else, which is what I suspect might be the real reason he hired me to come out here.
Maybe he just needed a friend.
“Her name is Faun.”
Blinking, I glance over my shoulder at Arsen. He keeps his gaze straight ahead, but I’m certain he’s the one who just spoke. Neither Willow nor Micah seems to notice, or perhaps they’re used to him speaking randomly and I’m not.
“Faun?”
A nod. “I named her. She’s my favorite because of the ear.”
I glance down at the little brown kid, rubbing over the knot where her right ear clearly used to be. “What happened?”
“Coyotes. We used to have an Anatolian shepherd to watch over the herd, but it got sick last winter, and Grayson hasn’t gotten around to replacing it. Coyotes don’t normally come round here because of human activity, but a young one got in and grabbed Faun and one other.” No emotion shows on Arsen’s rigid face, though I can’t imagine why he’d tell me all of this if he didn’t give a shit. “Managed to grab Faun. Grayson stitched her up himself.”
My heart aches, and I slide my hand under her chin, giving a gentle squeeze. “That’s so sad.”
Arsen nods again and then stops talking. I stare at him for a beat, waiting to see if there’s more or if he just wanted to give me a history lesson. Instead of inquiring beyond that, I focus all of my attention on little baby Faun, squishing her cheeks until she baas at me and skips off to find the herd.
As I lean back in my seat, I try to picture Grayson with his hands covered in blood, sewing the hole shut where the ear used to be. Then, I’m thinking about Kal and the fact that he’s a doctor—a real-life medical professional who has operated on countless people. They even revere him in Aplana for his dedication to serving the public with free clinics and for good bedside manner.
The longer I sit there, comparing the two, I realize it’s possible they aren’t all that different. That the darkness inside of Grayson is the same type inside of Kal, and maybe… maybe there’s more to them than just the abyss.
Maybe, if a person is capable of kindness, it doesn’t matter what color their soul is.
Or if they have one at all.
