Laiken

The kitchen is big and bright. Bold, yellow colors decorate the room on every surface; towels, tea kettles, even seat cushions. There's a spread of leftovers on a long, shiny table. The savory smell travels through my nose into my belly, shaking everything up.

Five maids eyeball us as we enter. I count each of them, recognizing Emma and the bony woman. What's interesting is how surprised they are to see Dominic beside me. That cinches my ability to trust him—if he was spying on me, they wouldn't be shocked to see us together.

He passes me a muffin.

Climbing into a chair, I sniff it. “Aren't you going to eat?”

“I ate already.”

I look at him pointedly. “My mom would say you could use another meal.”

He goes a tad pink where he's siting next to me. We both face the French doors that lead out to a beautiful grassy yard. In the distance, I can see a patch of pine trees surrounded by a chain-link fence.

“What's that?” I ask, pointing.

“The preserve.” He sees my blank face, and says, “It's where Father keeps animals for hunting.”

My eyes widen. I want to ask more, but I'm so hungry. The muffin is different than the ones Mom makes. It's got big chunks of sugar stuck on top, blueberries staining the fluffy bits purple. The first bite causes me to whimper. “Oh, wow. That's so good!”

“Don't talk with food in your mouth,” Emma snaps.

Rolling my eyes at her, I grin at Dominic. He laughs and pours me a glass of orange juice, handing it over. I drink deeply, reveling in the explosion of tangy sweetness.

I'm just starting to feel relaxed when Annie strolls in. Her attention slams on me, twisting the food in my stomach. I wish I hadn't eaten at all. “Here you are,” she says, walking towards us.

“It's where you told me to go,” I reply.

“Not you.” She stands behind her son, hands on the back of his chair. “Dominic, your father just settled into his study. He wants to talk to you.”

Dominic's color depletes from his cheeks. “Okay.”

Annie shifts her stare to me. “But, I think he should see you first, Laiken.”

My limbs become cold. Don't let anyone see that you're scared. Holding my head high, I take another bite of the muffin. It muffles my words. “Show me the way.”

Her eyebrows make perfect arches. “Dominic can. Seems you two are getting friendly.”

He's looking at the food on the table, but not seeing it. Not really. The gloss has left his gentle eyes, and what remains is exhausted defeat. His mother is drilling him... working to make him feel ashamed. Does she not want us getting along?

Clearing my throat, I look straight into her eyes. “You're right. We've become fast friends.”

Dominic gawks at me. The milky-color of his skin does a slow burn back to health. There are sparkles of pride in his eyes. It thrills me to think I made him so happy.

Annie hasn't quit watching me. Her hands are tense on her son's chair. Every maid has stopped working to watch our show; she whirls on them with a frown. “I don't pay you to stand around with your mouths flopped open!”

They rush back to work as Annie leaves. Dominic breathes easier; I slide my drink to him. He lifts it up, hesitating. There's a smudge on the rim where my lips were. Tilting the glass back, he chugs the juice. The knob in his throat moves like a fishing lure in a river. It's fascinating.

“Okay,” he says, setting the glass down hard. “Let's get this over with.”

Together we climb from our chairs. As we round the table, heading for the exit, I take a final glance back at where we were. I don't know why, but I want to check on one thing—and when I see it, confirm it, I smile shyly.

His lips left a smudge on the empty glass,

right on top of mine.

****

THERE ARE A LOT OF people walking through the hallways. Each of them nods politely to Dominic. Most avoid looking at me, or they stare when they think I can't see. Do they know who I am? Why I'm here?

I wonder if any of these adults could be allies, like Dominic. There's a chance they could help me—but even if so, I don't know what I'd ask them to do. My situation is becoming clearer as time passes. I'm free to roam, but not to leave. I'm here to keep my dad in check. There's a ton I don't know... maybe Dominic's father will explain the rest.

“Here we are,” he says, pulling up short outside of a heavy wood door. The handle is a muted gold shade. It looks like all the other doors I've seen here, but the way Dominic is fixated on it, I know it's different.

And I know Dominic is scared.

“Hey,” I say, reminded of Kara in the rain, “It's fine. He can't do anything to me.” I say it confidently. I'm anything but.

Dominic closes his eyes, like he's gathering his strength. I think he's going to tell me something. He looks at me, then at the far wall. “Knock. Then go inside.”

Following his instructions, I tap with my knuckles. There's no answer. I go to knock again, except the door cracks open. “In,” a gruff voice says. Through the gap I catch a glimpse of a weathered jaw, a single eye that's oddly wide and excitedly expectant.

Steadying myself, I push into the room. I nudge the door shut behind me.  Only then do I notice that this place is quiet, a room where no sound can escape. Once, when Kara and I went exploring, I fell into a hole. The dirt pressing around my ears was just like this.

The man who opened the door is standing in front of a desk. It's shaped like a crescent, with him inside the curve. The edges are uneven—it's been carved from a giant tree trunk. “So,” he says, gazing down on me. “You're Joseph Greene's kid.”

His eyes aren't like Dominic's. They're not even like Annie's. The puffy edges look wrong with how sunken in his sockets are. His dark hair is thinning around his temples, the rest cut clean to his scalp. He's trying to smile, but it's all wrong.

I'm frozen.

I don't know why I'm scared. He's just an old man in a room full of papers and books. Is he that old? I wonder, squinting at his lined skin. He could be close to Dad's age. But where my father normally radiates energy, this man is sucking it from everything around him.

“Well?” he asks, leaning against the desk. “Answer me. Are you Joseph Green's daughter?”

Swallowing, I shake my head patiently. “No. I'm Joseph Laurel's daughter.”

His angular brows fly upwards. He's gripping the wood behind him violently. The veins on the backs of his hands flex; he inhales, laughing so sharply it makes me flinch. The sound turns into a wet hack. He grabs at his chest, there's a little triangle of maroon in his jacket's breast pocket. Like him, his outfit is all severe angles and lines. He yanks out the fabric, coughing into it for a long minute.

It sounds awful. I wonder if he's dying.

Tucking the handkerchief away, he nods at me. “Laiken, correct?”

“Yes.” Speaking to him is easier now that I've done it once.

His lids become hooded. “You look like him around your cheekbones. Tell me, are you anything at all like your coward of a father?”

Stunned by his insult, I ball my hands. “He's not a coward!”

“How loyal of you.” A thin sheet covers the window behind him. It lets only a fractional amount of sun into the room, leaving him more shadow than anything else. Pushing off the desk, he makes his way to me. His approach calls forth all the terrible monsters from my nightmares. Except when I blink, I don't wake up.

The top of my head reaches his ribs. His scent is crisp like parchment—like his son’s—but it covers a sickly sweetness that roils my breakfast. I know he's my enemy the way a newborn bird knows to stay silent in its nest when a hawk is near.

I think about elbowing him.

I think about biting his thigh.

I think and think... and I do none of it.

Never have I stood in the presence of someone so paralyzing. I don't even know his name. But I'm unable to move my tongue from the roof of my mouth. When he bends in half, gripping my chin, I feel tears slide from my eyes.

He sighs heavily. His breath is sour. “Don't cry, girl. I'm not going to hurt you. Think about it. Your father won't do as I say if I do anything too terrible, hmm?”

There's a whining in my ears that grows the longer he stares at me. I nod stiffly.

His fingers fall away as he remains where he is. “Annie told me that you weren't interested in hearing your father's history with us. You don't have to know, if you don't want. But living here will bring whispers to your ears. You won't be able to block out what others say when they think you aren't listening. Wouldn't you rather the truth, than fragments that could be lies?”

He's oddly persuasive. “Yes,” I say softly.

“Good.” His thin lips spread benevolently. “Then I'll tell you the important parts.” Standing to his full height, he moves to sit in the wing-backed chair behind his desk. The wall is covered with shiny plaques and medals with different colored cloth; far enough away I can't tell what the words on them say. Did he earn all of them?

I draw closer. There's an engraved, gold nameplate in the center of the desk. Silas Bradley. It must be his name. A small, stump-shaped chair waits in the deepest curve of the desk. I settle on the lacquered surface.

His fingers come together like two crashing waves. He stares at me over the top of them. “Years ago, long before you were born, your father and I worked together. He was brilliant at his job.” He hesitates. “Hopefully he still is.”

I'm hunching close, with my breath boiling in my lungs. “What was his job?”

“On paper he was a programmer, a systems analyst. In reality he was a devious hacker.” I don't know what any of that means—he spots my crinkled brow. “He worked with computers. My god, you don't know even know what those are, do you? Of course not. Joseph would have kept away from any technology that could be traced back to him.”

It's like my brain is swelling, unable to fit in my skull. “I don't understand.”

Silas leans back in his chair. His mouth is drawn tight. “When I said I'd tell you, I assumed you'd grasp the basics. Your father has done you a disservice by letting you grow up stupid.”

“I'm not stupid,” I say seriously.

He glances down his nose at me. “You are.” Putting his fingers to his temples, he takes a moment to think. I know I'm frustrating him, but I'm just as irritated. “Do you know what money is?”

“Of course I do.”

He purses his lips doubtfully. “My family's business was built on protecting people's money. Your father helped me build it into something even bigger. An empire.” Drumming his fingers on the desk, he stares out the window. I don't know why; he can't see anything because of the blinds. “Joseph was my confidant. We did much good together. We also did some things in the name of the greater good, only.”

My muscles hurt from perching on the stump without budging. He said he'd tell me the truth, but none of this makes sense.

He can tell he's lost me again. “Your dad was in charge of stealing secrets and keeping them. He was supposed to zip his damn mouth. Then when things got too hot for him, he vanished, nearly ruining everything I'd suffered for!” His fist slams down on the desk; I startle. In a blink he goes from languid to wild, his lips pulling back over his teeth. “As I said, he's a coward.”

Blood is swishing through my pulse at rapid speed. I can't look away. I worry if I do that he'll strike the way a feral dog would.

Silas puts his palms together at his chest. He starts breathing in a deliberate pattern until he's calm. “You're my anchor, you know? You’re the thing that will keep Joseph from ever, ever thinking of betraying me again. As long as you're in here he won't run. And as long as he doesn't run...” He gives me a smile that's the closest to genuine I've seen from him yet. “You'll be perfectly safe.”

There it is. The last bit that I need to know.

My fate is wrapped up in my dad's. Once, he'd escaped whatever work he was doing with Silas. Thanks to me, he can't do it a second time. Or he could, but—No, I tell myself firmly. He won't do anything that could put me in danger. I have to believe it or I'll fall to pieces.

“Any questions?” he asks. Of course I have plenty. I'm more eager to get away from him, so I shake my head. “Then leave, and tell Dominic I'm ready for him.”

Sweat sticks to my throat. I want to run, but I'm nervous my legs will give out, so I walk to the door instead. When I open it, air and life and every day sounds become music to my ears.

Dominic is waiting for me against the wall. He scans my face, then my trembling hands.

His smile is tragic. “If it's any consolation, it'll be worse for me.”