Page 103 of Her Dark Lies

Soon it will be time for mine.

59

Some Grandfatherly Advice

“Let me get you a drink,” Will says, and I nod in agreement. There is a large globe near the window to my left, which he cracks opens to reveal a cleverly hidden drinks cart, replete with crystal decanters and thick-bottomed crystal glasses. He pours without asking my preference and returns with two whiskies, neat.

“Oban Little Bay. My favorite,” he says.

I accept mine and take a deep sip, coughing and sputtering a bit at the intense liquor.

“Slow down, dear. It’s meant to be savored. If you blow into it a bit, like this—” he puts the glass to his lips and puffs into it gently “—then take a sniff, then take some on your tongue and let it sit, then swallow and breathe out, you’ll enjoy it more.”

“Is it that obvious I don’t drink Scotch?”

“Yet. You don’t drink Scotchyet. After this, you will. It’s all about knowing how to enjoy it.”

I follow his lead and suddenly, instead of sharp spirits, I smell caramel and peat and salt and rain. I take another, more cautious sip, and he’s right, it does taste good.

“Fascinating trick.”

“I’m surprised Jackson hasn’t taught you already.”

“I’ve always been more of a wine girl.”

We sit together, he and I, by the fire, with our drinks, with the storm screaming at the windows, my hair curling wildly from the soaking. My heart rate drops, and I draw my legs up onto the chair, cradling the drink between my knees and my body. Romulus whines once, in question, and I rub his ears. He is wet, too. Poor guy. Remus has wandered over to the fire, is toasting himself dry. “Go on. Go get dry.”

I swear the dog understands me, he pads to the rug and joins his brother, shaking himself once to rid the exterior of his fur of water.

“Remarkable. I’ve never seen him be so protective of anyone before.”

“They saved my life in the labyrinth.”

“You were worth saving,” Will says quietly, then cracks a grin that makes him seem much younger than his years. “Though Fatima is going to be livid when she sees the mud on these rugs. The dogs aren’t allowed in the house, you know.”

“They are now,” I say.

Will watches me for a moment. “I daresay you’re right.”

The fire is hypnotic, dancing and crackling. It could be now, it could be a moment ago, ten years ago, a thousand years...the same grate, the same wood, the same fire has warmed the people of the Villa forever. I sink further into the chair, my body finally relaxing.

Safe. I am safe.

I’m so used to the silences of the Compton men that when Jack’s grandfather asks, quite conversationally, “So Claire? What secrets are you hiding from my grandson?” I blurt out the truth and he doesn’t blink an eye.

“I killed my father.”

I’ve never spoken of the night my father died. I didn’t tell my mother. My sister. My friends. I certainly haven’t told Jack.

But Will Compton sits to my right in the dim light, ready to hear my confession.

“Tell me,” he says softly. And I do.

The party was loud. Raucous. So much fun. Shane scored some Molly and gave me a double dose. I was crawling all over him soon enough, which made him happy. For a while. After an hour, he got tired of my frisky sloppiness and dumped me onto the couch next to a couple of his Hillsboro friends, who were more than happy to let me coo and pet them. Everything was perfect. Everything was right in the world. I was present, and they were present, and we were present together.

Someone gave me a beer. I didn’t like the taste, even then, but I drank it. It mellowed me out, so I was able to sit on the couch and stare into space.

And then Shane decided it was time to go.