Master of Salt & Bones

by Keri Lake

  “Well, gentlemen, I don’t mean to rush things along, but I have other meetings--”

  “I’m sure you’ve got other meetings today, so we won’t take up any more of your time.”

  A feigned smile works the muscles of my face as I nod. “Thank you.”

  Both men push to their feet and offer another handshake. “You have Rand give us the details of the dinner party.”

  “Will do. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me.”

  He gives a sharp nod, and both men exit my office. The moment the elevator doors close, I push back in my chair and kick my feet up on the desk.

  “I want a meeting with Boyd. As soon as possible.” It’s strange that he didn’t come to me about this in the first place, but I sense the man has always harbored both contempt and fear towards me.

  “I’ll arrange it immediately.” Rand straightens the departed chairs in front of my desk.

  “As for this masquerade dinner.” I run a hand down my face, pausing over my eyes to rub them. “What a production that’ll be.”

  “I’ll handle the details and get the crew working on the atrium. In the meantime, we’ll get you a tux and a mask.” He clears his throat, his hands clasped behind his back. “Should I procure a date for the evening?”

  “No.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Absolutely not.”

  “Pardon my meddling, Master, but it may put them at ease to see you with a … lady friend. The Widow Lancaster has been asking about you.”

  “Lancaster?” I lower my hand from my face, frowning. “And what is their concern? That I be married? A possible heir to the Blackthorne throne of shit that they can watch and observe over the course of his life? Let them think what they want. I’m not out to marry some desperate woman who’s ten years older than me and looking to secure her future country club membership. I’ve done an arranged marriage once.”

  “I understand. Merely a suggestion. I’ll get started on these plans.”

  “Rand? How old did you say my mother’s companion was?”

  He raises his brows as if the question has caught him off guard. “Isadora? She’s nineteen, according to her file.”

  Young. “What made you choose her?”

  “During the phone interview, I found her to be pleasant, conversant, and well … pardon my saying so, pretty much everything your mother isn’t.”

  With an ungracious snort, I nod. “Isn’t that the truth.”

  “In spite of her appearance, she’s actually quite intelligent, and well-versed in much of the music and literature your mother seems to enjoy.”

  Rolling my eyes, I shake my head. “A repertoire of useless romance novels and outdated composers.”

  “Indeed. Have you had the opportunity to meet her yet?”

  “Briefly. We ran into each other last night. Seems snarky.” I don’t bother to say that I found her bold attitude somewhat amusing, the way one might prod a cat to lash its claws. Exotically attractive, too, which I also keep to myself.

  “That’s odd. I didn’t get that impression, at all.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve brought out the best in someone.”

  “And I’m sure her snark was met with your unwavering charm.” To his credit, he lowers his gaze and smiles.

  I sneer at the remark, tugging a case of hand-rolled cigarettes from the inside pocket of my suit. “I’m afraid not.” Before I can snag the Zippo from my desk, Rand is at my side, the flame already waiting for me.

  “I’d like to give her a chance. Lord knows your mother hasn’t been receptive to, well … any of the companions we’ve brought in. Ones well-bred and educated. Isadora is young, but she’s different. And so far, she’s proven to keep your mother out of her bed longer than the others ever could.”

  It’s been weeks since I last saw my mother outside of her room. While it’s made it easy to avoid her, it’s also gnawed at my conscience to think of her wasting away in there.

  Forgiveness has never been my best suit, but she’s still my mother, regardless of our history.

  “Well, let’s hope the new girl works out. In the meantime, I guess we’ve got a party to plan.”

  “I know dinner parties have always made you anxious, but I think this is the right step.”

  “I’m sure. I’ll give you a raise, if you can find me a costume that makes me invisible.”

  “I believe they call that mundane, sir, and unfortunately, you don’t wear that well.”

  With a slight chuckle, I lean forward and flick the ash off my cigarette. “I see you’re trying for the raise anyway.”

  “One must always aspire.”

  Chapter 12

  Lucian

  Sixteen years ago …

  I hate dinner parties.

  Wedged between my mother and the recently married Darla Lancaster, I’d rather sit between two dentists performing root canals on either side of my face without Novocain. Darla leans in, showing my mother the five carat diamond weighing down her ring finger, over which my mother acts like it’s the most impressive thing she’s ever seen.

  I have to give it to my mother, she knows how to play this game better than any woman in this room. If she didn’t, I’m certain my father wouldn’t have bothered with her.

  Not that Darla’s new beau is anything to write home about. The guy is twice her age and, in spite of the money he likes to flaunt, hasn’t bothered to get the enormous wart removed from his nose that’s earned him the nickname The Troll of Lancaster.

  As something grabs hold of my thigh, I stiffen, and catch the wily grin on Darla’s face, while she continues to converse with my mother. As she prattles on about her nuptials, running her hand higher up my thigh, my mother sits oblivious on the other side of me.

  “I cannot wait for the day Lucian takes an interest in girls.”

  “Oh ...” Darla’s hand slides back down. “Is he … gay?”

  I open my mouth to respond, but my mother answers for me.

  “Oh, God, no. He just hasn’t found the right girl, yet.”

  For fucks sake, I hate that they talk about me like I’m not sitting between them, while one feels me up.

  I twist in my chair, catching sight of Solange, who stands off to the side, ready to clear plates, fill drinks, whatever is needed of her. She slides her gaze to me, only briefly, and the tightening of my stomach comes as a surprise.

  I shouldn’t feel this way toward her. The help, as my mother calls them.

  We arranged to meet down in the cave later this evening, and the sooner this party ends, the faster we can sneak away together.

  Darla’s hand slides over my thigh again, squeezing too close to the growing erection that I’m certain she’ll happily take credit for. Clearing my throat, I straighten in my chair, drawing her hand down to my knee.

  “Mayor Boyd! So good to see you!” Pushing up from her seat, my mother stands to greet yet another dinner guest, and when she nudges my arm, my shoulders sag, and I follow suit. For once, I don’t mind playing polite, if it gets this woman’s hands off me.

  Beside Mayor Boyd, whom I’ve only met once before, stands a blonde, maybe around my age, with a bright smile and blue eyes. The smooth shine of her hair, coupled with a poufy dress, reminds me of one of the dolls my mom keeps imprisoned in her sitting room.

  No doubt my mother is thinking the same, as she takes the girl’s hands, holding them out to get a good look at her dress.

  “My, aren’t you a vision! Look at this dress, Lucian, isn’t it gorgeous?”

  The girl’s doe eyes fall on me, her smile turning demure with the blush of her cheeks.

  “This is my daughter, Amelia.” Mayor Boyd sets his hand on the girl’s shoulder, and I spot the slight twitch of her arm. “Her mother fell ill this evening, so she’s graciously decided to be my date for the night.”

  “Amelia, this is my son. Lucian.” Another nudge is a cue from my mother to play the role I’ve been bred to play since I was old enough to shake h
ands and kiss knuckles.

  “Nice to meet you, Amelia.”

  “Not so much enthusiasm, Lucian.” My mother chuckles, but I know better. It’s a warning that I’m not playing nicely enough. “After dinner, perhaps you can show Amelia the grounds. Take her for a walk in the gardens.”

  “I’d like that.” Once again, the girl’s eyes sparkle like those of a well-bred politician’s daughter.

  “Sure.” I can’t bring myself to fabricate the enthusiasm my mother is expecting from me, but at the same time, it was only two weeks ago that I nursed a black eye for my insolence.

  “Excellent. Now, which school do you attend, Amelia?” It’s a trick my mother has developed over the years. She can gauge how much money and pull someone has by which school their son, or daughter, attends, and no doubt, she’s reading Mayor Boyd like one of the many bodice rippers she tears through a week in her sitting room.

  “We, uh … opted for public schools. I thought it would establish rapport with the locals to know their mayor’s daughter attends the same schools as their children.”

  “Of course.” Not even her best smile can hide the disgust riding on her voice.

  I have to hold back the snort trapped in my throat. Suddenly, Amelia Boyd isn’t so fascinating to my mother, which means she’s just stepped up a notch in my book. “I’ll look for you after dinner.”

  The smile on her face reveals perfect teeth that have undoubtedly seen their share of orthodontic work.

  We settle down to eat, and between Darla’s hand on my thigh, the shy glances from Amelia, and the sultry, jealous stares from Solange, I’m ready to blow this fucking popstand by the time dessert is served.

  “Lucian is quite the athlete!” Darla says with enthusiasm beside me, having worked her way up my leg, where her knuckles have brushed my balls twice. “Does he get that from you, or his father?”

  “Oh, God, Griffin never played a sport in school. I, however, twirled baton in gymnastics up until my senior year.”

  “You were a gymnast?” Mayor Boyd says from across the table, raising a glass of wine to his lips. “Fascinating.”

  “Yes, I did competitive gymnastics for a number of years.”

  Beside my mother, my father grinds his jaw, staring back at Mayor Boyd, but seems to cap whatever thoughts are spinning through his head with a long swill of his drink. He holds up the empty glass, and Solange lurches forward, filling it with more wine.

  “I still have my baton hanging up in my sitting room. Sometimes, I take it down to see if I still have it.” With a chuckle, my mother sips her wine, staring over the glass in the flirtatious way that I know gnaws at my father’s pride. “I may be forty-two, but I can do a backbend like it’s nobody’s business.”

  “Seriously?” Boyd clears his throat. “You are full of surprises, Lady Blackthorne.”

  “Please. Call me Laura.”

  “The talent in your family is … incredible.” Darla cups me, and I jolt upright, setting my hand on hers and swallowing hard as the erection meant for Solange has made itself known.

  My mother couldn’t be more oblivious if she were deaf and blindfolded. “Have you heard Lucian play piano?”

  God. No. The moment I stand up from this table, the better half of New England is going to know I’m hard.

  Clearly tipsy, my mother hooks her arm in mine and tugs. “Come on, let’s go to the atrium to listen to him play.”

  “We’re not going to the atrium.” My father’s voice carries all the annoyance of the evening, and for once, I’m relieved to hear him speak up. “My son toys around with piano, but he’s no Mozart. Certainly not worth uprooting an entire dinner party for.”

  “He’s quite good, Griffin, you’ve just never taken the time to notice, is all.”

  “I notice more than you think, Laura.” He’s undoubtedly caught on to Mayor Boyd’s interest most of the night. Kind of hard to miss his puppy dog fascination with my mother.

  “I suppose you do. Certainly didn’t take you long to learn the help’s name.”

  My gaze flits to Solange, whose tight jaw betrays the fake smile plastered to her face.

  “Somebody has to treat them as if they’re more than pets.”

  My mother releases me and reaches for her glass, shaking her head on a mirthless chuckle. “I’m sure you do.”

  “What do you play?” Amelia asks from across the table.

  Everyone’s eyes land back on me, and for a split second, I hate Amelia Boyd for putting me in this position.

  “Lots of things.”

  “Lots of things.” My father echoes in mocking. “You see? No Mozart.”

  “You’re right. I prefer Beethoven, Father. It has the structural perfection of Mozart, but more emotion.”

  I catch the twitch of my father’s eye, and I’m certain, if we weren’t sitting in a room filled with elite members of society, my father would’ve already backhanded me.

  “I’d love to hear you play.” Amelia lowers her head, but lifts her eyes toward me. “Will you show me to the atrium?”

  A quick glance toward my mother, who is undoubtedly absorbing the insults of my father, making a case for what will be an explosive argument between them tomorrow, and my father, whose red face is the culmination of embarrassment, anger, and too many drinks, and I nod, pushing back away from Darla’s wandering hand.

  I take the lead down the hallway toward the atrium, not bothering to look back at Amelia. I didn’t agree to this for her benefit, but to get the fuck out of that suffocating room.

  “You’re so lucky to live in a castle. Like a prince.”

  There’s no point in answering her. Whatever this is, it’s only show on her part, as well as mine. I’m certain she was coached by her father prior to arriving, just as my mother continues to coach me before every social gathering.

  “You, um … you go to private school?”

  With a huff, I spare her a quick glance. Christ, I thought she’d take the cue that being away from our parents meant she didn’t have to do this shit. “Private tutor. I was kicked out of school.”

  “Really? For what?”

  “Burning the headmaster’s couch.”

  Hearing her chuckle behind me, I do my best to hide the smile, recalling Jude and I sitting in his office the following day. I took the fall, of course. My father may be a bastard, but Jude’s is a bastard with a fucking cherry on top.

  “That’s great.”

  “Great? I was expelled. Now I’m stuck here until I graduate.”

  “Well … was it worth it?”

  Trying to hide my smile is pointless, as I recall the pissed-off expression on the headmaster’s face. The prick who warned me when the year began that, just because I was a Blackthorne, it didn’t mean I was immune to the flames of hell he’d raise if I gave him shit that year. I later found out the couch in his office was something of a souvenir from his old college days, gifted to him by his frat brothers. So I stuffed some dog shit into a paper bag and lit it on fire, tossing it onto the couch.

  Yeah. It was worth it.

  “I guess so.” I come to a stop in front of the atrium and lean against the doorframe. “You don’t have to do this, you know? We don’t have to do this. We can just sit in here until the party’s over.”

  “I want to hear you play. Unless you were lying.”

  “Fine.” I have to admit, this girl is a little more interesting than I gave her credit for.

  I take a seat at the piano, while she sits across from me on one of the few chairs in the room. The second my fingers hit the keys, everything around me falls away. My father. My mother. This stupid fucking dinner party. I’m floating underwater, the notes all around me, pulsing through me, as I pound Les Adieux out on the keys, taking my frustrations from the night out on the music. I’m so wrapped up in the piece that I don’t immediately notice Amelia is sitting beside me, until her hand rests against my knee.

  I stop playing, and it’s then I realize, this hasn’t been a polit
ical game for her. She’s in it for something else.

  “Your mother was right. You are quite good.” Before I can stop her, she leans in and presses her lips to mine.

  It’s a kiss I neither want, nor asked for, and yet, I can’t stop myself from kissing her back. I blame it on the anger running through me. The rush of adrenaline brought on by my parents and the anxiety of the evening.

  I break the kiss, turning my face away from her. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “I’m not sorry, Lucian Blackthorne. In fact, I intend to kiss you again someday.”

  The house is quiet, the last guest having left about a half hour ago. As usual, my father will be in the library, sipping his scotch, until he finally passes out and falls asleep on the couch. After tonight’s events, I suspect he’s already unconscious, but to ensure that he doesn’t catch me sneaking about and decide to take his frustrations out on me, I make my way toward the library. Sounds echo down the hall. My father mumbling something quietly over a distinctly feminine voice.

  As I approach, the female voice drawls out into soft moans. For a moment, I pause, thinking it’s my mother, but then I hear her speak, the accent thick.

  She cries out, and I peek through the crack in the door to find Solange naked, bent over the arm of the couch. Her wrists have been tied with rope that’s stretched across the furniture out until of my view. My father stands behind her, holding my mother’s baton in one hand, his drink in the other.

  “I’m forty-two and I can do a backbend like nobody’s business,” he mocks before taking a sip of his drink.

  Solange giggles, craning her neck to look back at him. “Is she more flexible than me?”

  “Let’s find out.” He pushes the baton up into her, and at her first cry of lust, a ripple of disgust churns in my stomach.

  Hands balled into fists, I will myself to walk away, as my father proceeds to fuck Solange with my mother’s old baton.

  “The next time she decides to see if she’s still got it, it will smell like your cunt.”