House of Vultures Page 3

  “Wolf, you know that isn’t how this works—”

  “Just do it, Jackal!” Wolf barks at the man, his voice becoming gentler as he adds, “I’m aware of the bartering code in Omphalos. However, I do not want to make enemies of the House of Piranhas, do you? Offer aid to their leader in an attempt to reach a truce before they seek retaliation. Make them understand that I am not attempting to start a war.” Jackal bows his head and hurries over to Shark’s prostrate form, obediently following his leader’s wishes.

  Enough food for two days, I had said. It is difficult to leash my greedy hands as I gather venison, duck, rabbits, a turkey, a couple of pheasants, and a side of elk meat from the table that hasn’t been overturned. “I will need help carrying all of this,” I grumble to myself as I take some gold from Shark’s stores and put it into my pants pocket. As much as I want to take it all, I settle for two handfuls of coins. It seems like a fortune to me, but Shark’s money box looks barely touched. In that moment, I feel like a millionaire. A soft gray wool coat comes next, and I am surprised to see that it is in excellent shape. Only one small hole along the bottom edge of the zipper mars the material. It is probably the best item of clothing I have owned since the windstorm. A small whittling knife tucks into the sheath next to my serrated blade, and a couple of rolls of bandages fit inside my new coat pockets. “Burn ointment?” I question, staring at two of Shark’s assistants standing mute as they oversee my collection. The slim woman with the mask of a lionfish takes one glance at Wolf and hurries to find what I need.

  My arms tremble with the weight of the supplies, Wolf carrying the elk meat on his swaying shoulders, one hand clutching my elbow. We hurry out of Omphalos as quickly as possible, weaving through the forest until we are certain that no one follows. I keep glancing over my shoulder, fully expecting someone to come and rob us.

  “What of your last catch?” Wolf wheezes as he scans the forest for signs of life. We pause next to a huge oak tree, finding shelter under its canopy as I bind bloody knuckles, reset finger bones, and slide teeth out of cuts before using my own hair and a blunt needle that I hide in the hem of my pants leg to suture them.

  I know immediately what he means. “The boy is hidden in the forest. I need to drop this stuff off at the House before I go back to check on him.”

  “So, you are going to let him live then? He is a liability to you, Mynah. It is a well-accepted rule in the Houses that any unmasked being is killed—”

  “I cannot do it, Wolf. He is my responsibility, I know, but I cannot take his life.”

  “It is no different than if it was an animal, Mynah. I am sorry to be blunt, but it is the truth.”

  “Stop it!” I snap, struggling to keep my temper in check. “I appreciate what you have done for me, but do not try to change my mind.”

  “If you keep this boy alive, you put yourself at risk,” Wolf protests weakly, watching my jaw set against his words. Seeing that his arguments will change nothing, Wolf relents. He leans closer to me, brushing my hair across my brow. “Then I will go and check on the boy myself. Even bandage his wounds and make sure he gets food. You have my word that he will be alive in the morning. Condor will get suspicious if you try to leave the House tonight, so let me do this for you.”

  “You need to rest. I can manage Condor,” I announce as I do a final check on Wolf’s injuries. Nothing besides his fingers appears to be broken.

  “Beta, you are stubborn, but so am I. I will see to the boy. You get your supplies to your House. We will meet again in the morning.” Something in the way he speaks tells me I cannot win this battle.

  Instead of trying to fight him, I explain where he can find the boy’s hiding place. Then a different, unspoken question rises to my lips. It is a query that leaves me feeling vulnerable as I ask it. “What do I owe you for all of this, Wolf?”

  He winks as he exclaims. “I think that a kiss will suffice.”

  “I thought you weren’t interested in blackmailing me,” I cry, knowing that I will concede to his request. After everything he’s just endured for me, I’m lucky all he seeks is one kiss.

  “A kiss isn’t life-altering unless it is with the right person, is it? So, what would you lose? You kiss me and find that I am everything you desire, or you don’t, and I stop hounding you about joining my pack. That doesn’t sound like blackmail to me. Does it really sound like that to you?”

  I try not to grimace. “You had that speech planned from the very beginning, didn’t you?” Wolf does not respond, but I know I speak truth. Always two steps ahead, I remind myself. He chose his mask alias well, for he is just as cunning as a real wolf. Closing my eyes with a frown, I wait, surrendering my lips in payment.

  No such kiss comes. When I peek through a slit in my eyelids, I see that Wolf frowns at me, his nose almost brushing my own. “Try not to look like a martyr.” He turns his head sideways, studying my mask. “I wasn’t finished with my conditions, Mynah. I will not seek payment just yet. Instead, I think I will claim that kiss another day when you remove your mask for me.”

  A gasp escapes my lips, and I find myself wishing he’d just collected his earnings right there. “I cannot do that, Wolf! You know it is illegal, punishable by—”

  Wolf breathes softly against my face as he interrupts me with a whisper. “You will do it one day for me, Mynah. When your opinion of me has changed. I am not an enemy; I hope you will see that soon.” Then he disappears into the forest, the food he had carried for me waiting at my feet.

  It is a struggle to get it all back to the House alone. My legs groan so loudly that I could swear I hear my knee caps rattle as I trudge up to the front steps. The House of Vultures is a rickety two-story home with peeling flecks of white paint exposing the grey boards underneath it. Most of the windows are cracked or broken completely. The steps up to the second floor have loose boards that will trip anyone who does not know exactly where to place their feet. It is a hovel, a decaying, rotten, condemned building, but it is home.

  “She’s back!” Warbler meets me at the door, eyes wide under her bright yellow mask as she looks over my parcels. I always wonder what she used to dye her mask that garish color, but never have I asked. I’m afraid it would hurt her feelings if she thought I didn’t like it, and she’s the one creature in this house that I actually attempt to keep happy. “You went to Omphalos?” She looks fit to faint. Although whether her reaction is because I had been to the city or the vast amount of food I am dragging inside, I am not sure.

  “We’ll salt and smoke some of the meats for hard times,” I instruct, handing her the rabbits. “See if you can keep their skins intact. I will make some winter boots for us if you can.” She holds the strings as far from her as possible in her left hand, her right one holding her nose. I hoist up the turkey and pheasants for her to see. “Keep the feathers for arrow fletching, okay?”

  “I have never cooked pheasant,” Warbler whispers, and I try not to groan in frustration. Warbler is the youngest among us, the least experienced of the House of Vultures. Somehow, she’s managed to maintain her pure heart despite all the evils surrounding us. I have caught her singing while she cooks, smiling to herself as she stirs the stew. She is charming and sweet and good. Yet she is also untrained when it comes to cooking many game meats. That means experimental, sometimes inedible meals for us. And food is a luxury that we cannot afford to waste.

  “Leave them for last; maybe Grouse or Bittern can help,” I suggest as I stand on the doorstep, uncertainty pausing my entrance. Wolf will keep his word, I am sure of this. Will the boy survive his injuries? Did I make the right choice? A small part of me even wonders if I should allow myself to care at all.

  “Mynah? Aren’t you coming inside?” Warbler reaches a hand toward me, her feet never leaving the doorstep. When is the last time you actually stepped outside, Warbler? I wonder as I examine her pale hands. When is the last time the sunlight caressed your skin? Oh, how I wish I could change this life for you!

  “We h
ave been taking bets on whether or not you would show up,” Condor calls as he rounds the corner. He takes inventory of my haul with a scowl. “And you went into Omphalos without permission.” He sidles up to the door, leaning heavily against the rotten wood. I can smell the home brewed liquor on his breath. “Stealing from the houses without first consulting me? Bad girl! I am afraid it’s going to cost you.”

  He reaches for me clumsily, and I press a gold coin into his hand. “That should cover part of my punishment, and I will take the morning shifts in the woods for the next eight weeks.” I pray that will be enough time to get the stranger out of danger.

  Condor watches me coldly, obviously not having forgotten my first refusal of his advances this morning. “Falcon!” He shouts as the battle hardened young woman appears behind him, her mask peppered with gray dye and dried blood. Her eyes are hungry as she watches her master. She loves Condor dearly, in as much of a brutal, cruel, jealous way as she can. I think the only way she knows to love is to cause pain. Condor, on the other hand, always acts ignorant of her devotion. “Looks like it is just you and me tonight.” He sways as he paws at her waist, pushing her up the stairs. She clings to his side, greedy for his touch.

  What does she see in that bastard? I wonder, my sharp eyes noticing how he drops his hands from her side as soon as he thinks no one is watching. However, my mind is already racing on to more important matters. Did Condor agree to my terms of punishment? Could I be that lucky? I am not sure if I am safe or if I will wake up to a house-public beating in the morning. It has happened before. All I know is that I need some food to calm my haywire nerves.

  Warbler and I drag the meats into the kitchen. “Please, Bittern, help me clean the rabbits? Grouse, take the turkey?” Warbler pleads as she passes the living room where the other two girls lounge on the broken-down couch.

  “Why should we?” Bittern scowls at the furry bodies Warbler holds out toward her. The hateful woman’s mouth is set in a terminally pinched expression, her eyes crinkled in a squint. If I ever catch her in a good mood, I will probably die of shock.

  “You’ll help her because it is your food too, stupid!” Grouse stands up and shoves Bittern off the couch with a sneer. Prodding her protesting companion toward the kitchen, they drape themselves across the chairs in wait.

  Bittern whines as soon as Warbler sets the knives on the table. “Why doesn’t Mynah do it since she brought it in? Or Warbler, huh? Why can’t she dirty her hands for once?”

  “I did the deer, and I am covering morning shifts for two months. So, you can damn well get to work, Bittern.” I grip the edge of the table as I fall into the last chair. “And you leave Warbler alone. She takes care of this gods forsaken place so that you and I don’t have to.” I have a soft spot for Warbler, I know, a primal mothering instinct that she has always inspired in me.

  Bittern must be aware of it too because she backs off when she hears my words. Grimly faced, she and Grouse set to their tasks while Warbler dishes me some supper. It is a mystery to me what animal the meat began as before she put her hands to it, and there are no spices or salt. Still, it is warm and filling, and that’s all that really matters at the moment.

  Once the familiar meats are smoking over the fireplace and the hides are curing outside, we all turn to face the pheasants. “Have you ever cooked it before?” Warbler questions Grouse and Bittern hopefully.

  There is a pregnant pause from Bittern, a shift in her body that suggests she is holding back. I’m not the only one who notices it either, for Grouse and Warbler stare at her suddenly, waiting for her to break. “Fine,” Bittern mutters as she sets to work on the birds. The oldest woman of the House, she has never spoken outright about her life before the House of Vultures, but I suspect that she comes from a wealthier background. She knows about preparing exotic game—she has complained about Warbler’s cooking for years—and I’ve caught her greedily eyeing the tattered magazines from Déchets that sometimes make it over to Cassé. She loves to stare at the fine dresses in the latest fashions and jewels the size of my fist that sparkle to life on their pages.

  All I ever see in those tawdry rags is the next day’s toilet paper.

  I gather the feathers, as Bittern furiously rips them from the birds, and begin fletching arrow shafts that are waiting by the door. A shuffle of a foot in the shadows snaps my attention to awareness. I raise the arrow I am finishing, prepared to use it as a stake if I need. Hidden in the hallway, I see Creeper’s beady eyes shining in the darkness. His black clothes and hair blend seamlessly into the shadows, his mask a mottled brown that covers all but his mouth. Despite knowing that he is caught, Creeper stays in place, his hands continuing to roam low on his own body, a smile on his face as he ogles Warbler at the stove.

  “Get out of here!” I shout, launching the arrow at Creeper. The last thing I hear is his heavy breathing as he retreats to his room. Turning to Warbler, I feel a wave of nausea and fear overpowering my senses. “Have you checked your walls lately? I would bet money that Creeper’s drilled a peephole in there again.”

  Warbler shakes her head with a laugh. “He’s harmless, Mynah, but I will check again tonight if you wish.”

  “The way he watches you….” Nothing can convince me to believe that Creeper doesn’t have ill intentions toward her, but Warbler will not hear my warnings. “Be careful with that one, please.”

  “You worry too much,” Warbler trills in her melodic way as I slip into the night air in the backyard.

  Hurrying to the wash basin for a quick rinse, I draw some water from the pump. There is a big tub in the bathroom, but without electricity, the water must be heated on the kitchen’s fires or not at all. Tonight, I am too impatient to wait. Cursing the cold waves that raise gooseflesh on my skin, I scrub at the grime and filth of the day. No one had noticed the blood on my clothes, or if they had, no one had questioned me about it. I can sleep in peace tonight, knowing my secrets are still guarded.

  I climb up the stairs to my rickety bed, leaving a trail of water droplets behind me. Then I lock the padlock and bolt on my door. Falling onto the mattress, I am too exhausted to care if my clothes are still dirty.

  Chapter 3

  I am up well before the morning shift begins, nervous for the boy I’d left in the cave. My sleep was fitful the night before, leaving me jumpy and irritable as I quickly find a less holey, dirty shirt for the day. My choices are slim, with only a handful of ratty tees, all of them coated with a layer of grime that cannot be completely removed without bleach. Commercial cleaners are a commodity that Cassé no longer can afford for its inhabitants. Condor doesn’t even allow us to draw water for cleaning clothes. “Water from the House is solely for drinking or bathing,” is one of his many mandates about how we live our daily lives. My only option is to soak my dirty clothes in the River Sangre, but I have been remiss in visiting its shores. I pile my clothes into the corner of the room, promising myself that I will attempt to clean them up in the next few days.

  What foolishness have you gotten yourself into, Mynah? My mind echoes the question like the old church bells that used to ring when I was a little girl. How does saving this boy’s life do you any favors? You have another mouth to feed, injuries to cure, and an unmasked unchosen that is as helpless as a bird with a broken wing. How could you be so stupid to let your feelings overpower your reasoning?

  As Condor paces down the hallway to wake me, I hurl myself outside before he knocks. The last thing that I want is a repeat of yesterday morning. I walk right past him, not even speaking or making eye contact, letting the bruises of his handprint around my throat do the talking for me. I scurry into the forest long before anyone else wakes, cursing as I reach the first snare. I had never reset them yesterday.

  “Damn fool, you are!” I chide myself as I hurry to the next trap. I’ll prepare them for tomorrow, but I will be empty handed today. Condor will relish the punishment for this faux pas. Even though I brought in a major score for the House yesterday, coming hom
e empty handed will still warrant a beating, I am sure.

  I weave my way to the cave, purposefully slowing my steps so that I don’t break branches along the ground to leave a trail. I am careful not to step into deep mud, or bend fronds of grass over on themselves. They would point like a beacon toward my hidden cave. The last thing that I need is someone else from the House finding my captive.

  My eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness as I slide into the cavern’s mouth. Surprisingly, I find Wolf sitting beside the boy, holding a damp rag to his head. “He’s got a fever, Mynah.”

  “Have you been here all night?” I stare incredulously as Wolf dips his forehead. His jaw is purple from his fight with Shark, and most of the bandages are covered in cave filth. Wolf’s shoulders are hunched from exhaustion and possibly a fever of his own. After yesterday’s fight, I would not be surprised if some of his injuries are infected. How on earth has he stayed awake to care for this boy? He needs to take care of himself!

  “His fever spiked during the night, and I figured that if you were serious about saving him, he would need a nurse during the night. So, I stayed.” Wolf answers my unspoken thoughts as if he’d heard them.

  “What about your pack, Wolf? What will they do in your absence?” I ask feebly, unable to say what I truly feel—that I am worried about his wellbeing too. He’s got to be dead on his feet right now, and a pit of guilt forms in my stomach. I should have been the one to check on the boy last night. I would have found some excuse that Condor wouldn’t have questioned. That exhausted angel overseeing this boy should have been me.