Page 11 of House of Soot

“I doubt it, sir. I’m afraid I wasn’t able to attend a prestigious school like you did.”

"Huh." He steps closer, and I resist the urge to reach for the weapon at my side. "Could've sworn I knew you from somewhere. Junior year, maybe? You played lacrosse?"

"Never touched a lacrosse stick in my life. More of a hockey guy myself."

The lie flows smoothly. It's not even completely false. I did play hockey.

"Must be thinking of someone else, then." Ronan starts to walk away but then stops again. "You know what? This is going to bug me. I'm going to figure out why you seem so familiar."

My mouth goes dry, but I force a casual shrug. "Like I said, sir, I must have one of those faces."

"We'll see."

I don’t think he means it as a threat, but it does feel threatening to me. If he figures out who I am, I’m well and truly fucked.

"Of course, sir." I keep my voice steady, deferential. It’s not easy because he deserves my wrath, not my respect. "Though I'm sure you have more important matters than checking up on a new hire."

He doesn't respond, just gives me another long look before finally walking away. I keep my stance relaxed until he disappears around the corner. Only then do I let out the breath I've been holding. Close call. Too close.

Still, there’s a certain thrill in standing right in front of him and lying to his face. He has no idea who I really am. The son of the family he helped destroy is now walking his halls, learning his secrets.

Ten years ago, he knew exactly who I was. Now I'm just another face in his army of guards. It's almost poetic, how completely he's forgotten the family he burned to the ground.

Fucker.

I enter the surveillance room, rolling my shoulders to release the tension. I feel like the fox in the hen house. It won’t be long now before the Keans and Jenna Hart pay for their betrayal with their lives.

5

JENNA

The sun barely peeks through my window when I wake. I love the morning sun and dew on the garden, and so my first thoughts in the morning are always bright. But as I rise, reality quickly dampens my spirits as I tend to my mother. Her condition has been worsening at an alarming rate.

I slip on my slippers and make my way to her room. Mom's propped up against her pillows, her face pale in the dawn light. The circles under her eyes have deepened, and her cheekbones seem sharper than yesterday. I don’t think she’s eating enough.

"You're up early." She pats the space beside her on the bed. "Come sit with me."

I perch on the edge, taking her hand in mine. Her skin feels paper-thin. "How are you feeling?"

"Better today." It’s an automatic statement she makes every day. I’m not sure whether she’s trying to convince me or to manifest it.

“Let me get you some breakfast.”

“Tea would be nice.” She moves to rise from bed, but moving to sit takes up much of her strength.

“I wish we could do more for your health."

"The Keans have already done a lot. We can't ask for more." She touches my cheek. "Besides, I have you. That's worth more than any medicine."

I lean into her touch, but I can't ignore how cold her hand feels against my skin or how shallow her breathing has become. The worry gnaws deeper, and I wonder how much longer we can pretend everything's fine.

I help her to the small living area into her chair and make her some tea, eggs, and toast. “Promise me you’ll eat this. You need your strength, Mom.”

“I promise. You go to work. Maybe take some pictures of the garden. It must be filled with spectacular color now.”

I check that I have my phone so I can take the pictures. I think again about getting a wheelchair so I can give her a tour of the gardens since she doesn’t have the strength to walk them.

“I will. See you later.” I give her a kiss on the forehead and head to the main house.

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