Liars and Liaisons by Sav R. Miller

13

Violet beatson the other side of the door, the rapid thud of her fists enough to jar my body as I lean against it.

My fingers curl around the key as I slip her phone into my breast pocket.

It was either this or drugging her again. The drugs wouldn’t have kept her from wandering though, and I can’t have that tonight.

Not when Nathaniel’s decided to attend the shindig.

Eventually, the pounding stops, and a heavier thump presses weight into me. Her weight, as I imagine her body slumps against the door in defeat.

Swallowing, I release the key and count to seven, trying to calm the sudden ferocity of the blood rushing through my veins. The blood that’s desperate for me to unlock the door and pounce—take her where there are no witnesses.

She already occupies my every waking thought. Even the hour or two I manage to exhaust myself into slumber, she’s there, waiting with open arms and legs and not remotely interested in my brother.

I can’t remember the last time someone affected me this way. During college, parties and sexual interactions were used primarily as stress relief—my father disapproved of anything more. Which meant that I looked for release in anyone willing to give it regardless of names or status or gender.

Aside from Priya briefly, I wasn’t serious about anyone. Certainly not to the point where I’d care to keep them from the depravity lurking like some sort of ancient beast at my doorstep.

Before I can change my mind, I push away from the room and pocket the key.

Upon my arrival downstairs in the closed-off southern wing, cheers echo off the walls, loud enough to disturb the house ghosts hanging around. Their presence is as heavy and blatant as usual, the obnoxious partygoers doing little to distract me from their screeching in my head.

That hollow tune, like the frequencies created by a pan flute, follows me like the rain as I make my way through the crowd of masked guests. Some tuck themselves against the walls, laughing and drinking with complete abandon. Others twirl around various rooms, tangled in each other’s limbs, as if warming up to the debauchery these parties are known for.

That’s why the secret identities are required. Anonymity goes a long way, especially in a town as small as Duris, and ticketed patrons are given masks from the James family collection at the door.

Truth is, my father started the tradition of sin decades ago. It’s how he met two of his wives and how Harrison came into existence. Most of my childhood was spent locked away in the west wing, where I practiced classical piano or violin with my brothers, while Ezekiel James succumbed to his most secret desires.

I resurrected it upon my return, just for the guise of something to do. An alibi of sorts for when the music industry’s favorites started dropping like poisoned vermin.

Hardly enough punishment for what they’d done, what they’d taken from me, but for now, it suffices. At least with the masks, no one’s even aware I’m in attendance.

Just like they don’t know Nathaniel is here tonight, sprawled out on a couch in a half-empty parlor as a woman crouches in his lap, snorting a line off his dick.

On the wall across from him hangs a giant, gold-plated mirror. His gaze doesn’t flicker away from his reflection for even a second.

For all intents and purposes, his presence is reminiscent of a king, moments before a dethroning.

He’s wearing a white Venetian bauta mask, his mouth hidden behind the pointed chin line. As I approach, he glides a hand over his short brown hair, watching me as if he’s not sitting with his pants at his ankles.

“Nathaniel,” I greet, pushing the cloak hood from my head. There’s a slight increase of privacy in this room, so I don’t need to be as buttoned up.

Plus, the cloak adds intimidation. It’s alluring—at least to those intrigued by the things they can hide in the dark.

Like the red-lipped, dark-eyed vixen now trapped upstairs.

“Grayson.” His word is muted, his gaze hooded, while the woman between his legs shifts to extract pleasure from him.

I refrain from rolling my eyes at the absolute predictability of the scene. How easily we James men destroy our lives for such frivolous, temporary whims.

“I’m surprised to see you still floating around,” he says after a moment, pushing the woman’s head into his lap. He keeps her there, flush with his pelvis, until her red nails claw at his thighs. “Shouldn’t you be off sulking at your piano by now?”

“You’ve not been to a party in a long time.” I flick a piece of lint from my suit jacket, tucked beneath the cloak. “I think it’s rude of a host not to make the rounds at his own soiree.”

“I suppose it’s also difficult to hide away when you’ve not made new music in so long.” Finally, he swings his gaze to me, and those eyes ripple with something I can’t place, illuminated by the tea candles lining the walls around us. “According to rumor, that is.”

My jaw tightens. “Ah, yes. The rumor mill in Duris certainly enjoys working overtime when it comes to us. Good thing we know better than to pay it any mind.” I cock my head to one side. “Isn’t that right?”

Stone walls erect in his irises. “Depends on the rumor.”

Resentment sings an angry melody in my chest. I reach up with one hand, brushing it over my heart, as if I could feel it cracking in real time.

“Indeed.” A flash of bright red catches my eye in the corner of the room, and I extend an arm and fake smile as Priya flounces in, her dark hair twisted into two buns and resting above the gold jester mask she favors at these things.

She clutches a tray of wineglasses, filled with a Bordeaux from the cellar, and little ceramic trinket boxes. “Boys,” she says, shimmying her shoulders as she extends the tray. “It’s not a party until the hosts are belligerent.”

“I’m not a host,” Nathaniel says.

The woman before him pops his cock from her mouth, swallowing as she gives him a dirty look. He doesn’t even react, as if the very act of coming does nothing to sate the monster that lives within him.

In a huff, she scurries away. Off to score more blow, I’m sure. It’s what most of these people come for.

“Your host status is honorary,” Priya tells my brother, shoving a glass into his hand as he works his pants back up, somehow without actually removing himself from the seat. “Perks of being a member of the James family.”

Nathaniel scoffs, but downs the drink anyway. “Perks, sure. Do I get to rot in the estate, too, or is that something reserved for Grayson only?”

I shrug. “I can have that arranged.”

He stares at me, gripping the glass so tight that I see it crack under his thumb. All around us, the smell of sex and booze and unholiness presses in like a suffocating fog, and I shift on my feet, sneaking a quick peek at the exits as anxiety suddenly assaults my senses.

Fear, or something akin to it, clogs my airways, making it difficult to breathe. I’m incredibly aware of the fact that there are hundreds of people in my home, touching my things, and that the only way to get them to leave is to see the party through.

That melody crescendos like a wave between my ears, and I flatten my palms against my thighs, doing my best to ride it out.

Nathaniel can’t grow more suspicious of my mental state. He’ll tell my mother or our father, and they’ll file some legal motion that will have me removed. My father would likely have the mansion condemned and razed to the ground with me in it if he thought I was a threat to his reputation.

They don’t know about the forbidden woman upstairs—yet. Or the damage I plan on doing.

I can’t have Nathaniel ruining that before I’ve finished.

“Why don’t you take one of these?” Priya says after an uncomfortable stretch of silence. She places one of the ceramic boxes in the palm of his hand, pulling the lid back to reveal a handful of little white pills tucked into the velvet. “It’ll help take the edge off, and clearly, you need it.”

He frowns. “I don’t do drugs.”

Lifting one bare shoulder, Priya reaches for him. Seduction drips from her smile and those long, feline fingernails. “Maybe you should. Would make your little reunion a lot more fun.”

“I shouldn’t have to come here to speak to my brother in the first place.”

My brows arch. “I was unaware you wished for a private audience. Were you or were you not just getting your dick sucked by one of my guests?”

“She propositioned me. Didn’t even know who the hell I was.”

“And that just ate at you, didn’t it?”

Priya shoots me a dirty, warning look, but I ignore it, taking a step closer to him.

“Poor little Nathaniel has to spend a couple of hours unrecognized in a sea of people. How ever will he satisfy his own vanity?”

He jumps to his feet, shoving me. Rage glitters in his eyes, though there’s something else there too. Something hidden behind the anger that I don’t care to decipher.

“Oh, yeah? What about the pathetic professor who had a breakdown because he couldn’t write a decent score anymore? The one who ran to the goddamn mountains after the pupil he spent so much effort on wound up dead, all because he’d pushed her too far?”

The music in this room comes to a sudden halt, and the people around us stop what they’re doing to gawk.

“Talk about fucking vanity, Grayson. You’re a self-centered piece of shit who only cares about the music that can be bled from a person, and you always have been. Like father, like son.”

My eyes dart around the room, cataloging the masked faces of every person bearing witness to my brother’s uncanny outburst. I roll my shoulders and straighten my spine.

“Do you want to talk about why she really died?” I ask in a low voice.

His gaze widens slightly.

“Who really killed Sydney Scott, Nathaniel?”

A short, collective gasp comes from a corner of the room. I don’t turn toward it though, keeping my focus on the man across from me. Priya shifts, her discomfort with the change in plans palpable.

“You aren’t the only one who lost something,” he answers instead, and I bite back a bitter laugh. “Someone. You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“I know I want you to leave.”

Silence floods the room while a different beat pulses in the air from another section of the southern wing. I wonder if Violet’s still waiting at her door, praying I’ll release her soon.

He just looks at me.

“Leave now,” I say, keeping my voice purposely low so the others don’t hear. “Or I’ll shove those pills down your throat and watch your heart give out in front of everyone. Then, I’ll roofie every single guest, just so they’ll have no recollection of what happened to you.”

I flick the collar of his shirt as we come face-to-face, mask-to-mask.

“Just like you did to Sydney.”

* * *

Melodies have filledmy life for so long, blanketing every facet of imagination I’ve ever delved into within my brain, that silence should be welcome. In theory, my sabbatical would have rejuvenated a love for music, and I’d be back at the university with an even greater appreciation for my craft.

That hasn’t happened though. Each day, the silence grows heavier. More aggressive in its stale state, and any music I enjoyed in the past is drowned out by my ghosts.

When the party’s over, hours after I kicked Nathaniel out from the premises, I walk through the halls in a slight daze. The walls creak as I pass—phantoms trapped within seeking my attention, but I don’t give it to them.

Bodies lie everywhere. Some driven unconscious by the laced stimulants, others too weak from dancing and sweating to move. A few don’t appear to have made it at all.

Janus works on extracting them quickly from the rest of the guests. There’s no concrete timer on how long anyone will be passed out, so it’s best to drag the ones who won’t be leaving the estate out as fast as possible to avoid potential witnesses.

Priya finds me among them, folding her arms over the bodice of her red sequined party dress. “This might be getting out of hand.”

“Janus and Arsen will take care of it.”

“When does it end though?” Big brown eyes swing to mine. “I can tell you’re not yourself, you know. The bags under your eyes tell me you’re not sleeping, and Willow says you don’t eat the food they have sent to your room. No one hears music around here even though you told everyone you came to study and play in peace.”

I glance toward the exit. My body suddenly yearns to pass through it. “It’s a slump. Creatives fall into them all the time. If I can’t make something decent, worth listening to, then I have difficulty concentrating on other mundane things.”

“Except the parties,” she notes. “You haven’t missed one of those since you came to Duris.”

My jaw tightens. “What’s your point?”

She just shakes her head. “I hope you find whatever it is you’re searching for. Before the corpses in your yard become too plentiful to bury.”

With that, she walks off, heading for Arsen in the corner. She loops her arm through his even though he’s about a foot taller than her, and they leave the area together, likely to check on the status of the burials out back.

Regardless of her personal feelings, Priya will do as I say. She, like the others I surround myself with, has very little choice in the matter.

Crushing their lives would be entirely too easy. I wouldn’t even need to leave the property.

A single phone call could devastate any one of them.

For a while, I stay and watch Janus continue his cleanup. The scent of sweat and stale perfume permeates the air, and I wait for the noise to accompany it.

I wait for my ghosts to show their faces—in the form of a creaking floorboard or a mysteriously broken knickknack.

I wait for some sort of emotion to solidify in my mind. Something to prove to myself that I feel one way or another about what I’m doing here.

Nothing ever comes. The longer I stand there, hands in my pockets, the more hollow my insides become.

So, I leave. No point in remaining.

I mean to go to my bedroom even though I know I won’t be able to sleep.

I’ll be too busy imagining the bloodcurdling screams of terror and pain when those partygoers wake up. The confusion they’ll feel when they realize they’re not on the couches they passed out on and some of their friends are missing.

Not only missing, but have ceased to exist entirely.

Their identities will be wiped, and no one will ever be the wiser.

Another night will pass where vengeance is partially achieved, and yet I won’t be able to sleep.

So, I don’t go to my bedroom. I bypass the hall leading to the den and then ignore my bedroom entirely.

When I end up in front of her door all over again, I’m not even surprised.

I slide my mask down, unfasten the lock, and walk in.