The Truth About Kian

12. Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand

:: C H A P T E R  T W E L V E | UPON PILLARS OF SALT AND PILLARS OF SAND ::

While Liam kept digging through his pantry, I glared at his back. Stupid, scheming Inheritor bastard who thought that a snap of his fingers could—

"Liam?" A tiny girl trudged up the carpeted stairway. She was dressed in a bright red raincoat and boots with a blue backpack that was nearly bigger than her strapped to her back.

"Hey, Claire," said Liam, hauling her, backpack and all, into his arms. "How's my favourite sister?"

"I'm your only sister," she giggled, poking him in the cheek. "And Mom says that you shouldn't have favourites."

"Equality for all, right?" He grinned at me. Lifting my chin, I glared at him. Equality my ass.

"Right," I replied tartly.

Claire's big blue eyes, eerily similar to Liam's (actually all of her was similar to Liam. They shared that same hair colour, eyes, features and freckles) widened when she noticed me.

"You're Reed?" She slid out of Liam's arms and bounded over to me. Like a perfect little lady, she extended her hand in my direction. "It's very nice to finally meet you."

"It's nice to meet you, too," I said, smiling uncertainly at the girl who couldn't be more than eight or nine, but was much more dignified than her older brother.

Liam swatted her out of the way before swinging her into a chair. "Want a snack, Clary?"

"Oreos!"

"Absolutely not," he said, dumping half a dozen Oreo cookies on a plate in front of her. "They'll rot your teeth."

"Then why aren't yours rotten?"

"Smart girl," he said, ruffling her dark hair affectionately. "We'll be working in the basement. Call if you need me, kid. Want anything else, Reed?"

"No thanks." Glancing around the large kitchen, I frowned. "I thought you had a chef."

"We do." Tossing me a bottle of sparking juice and grabbing another box of cookies, Liam led me past the picture-perfect part of his house and into the basement. "But Natalia doesn't need to work during the day. No one's home."

I smiled when I saw the basement. It was chaotic with video games and clothing scattered around the living area that screamed "man cave." It was a nice change from the rest of the scrupulously clean house.

"Nice decorating," I said, poking a pile of black fabric that looked suspiciously like boxers with my toe. "The underwear gives it a really homey feel."

"Shut up." He grinned playfully, nudging the boxers underneath the leather couch. I watched in amusement as he swept the video games off the table by the window that looked out into the backyard and grabbed two chairs.

I dropped my books and binder on the open surface, inspected my seat for any other strange items before sitting down. "Okay," I said, pulling out the list of projects. "What do you want to to do? I was thinking we could do an analysis or a powerpoint."

He raised an eyebrow. "What about the interpretive dance?"

"I think Mr. Weese put that one on as a joke, Sinclair. It's his way of keeping things interesting — seeing who's idiotic to do the easy but embarrassing stuff."

"I don't mind embarrassing myself," he said, ripping open the second package of Oreos and cramming three in his mouth.

"Clearly. Are you addicted to Oreos or something?"