House of Vultures by Maggie Claire (read my book TXT) 📕

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

“I did the deer, and I amcovering morning shifts for two months. So, you can damn well getto work, Bittern.” I grip the edge of the table as I fall into thelast chair. “And you leave Warbler alone. She takes care of thisgods forsaken place so that you and I don’t have to.” I have a softspot for Warbler, I know, a primal mothering instinct that she hasalways inspired in me.

Bittern must be aware of it toobecause she backs off when she hears my words. Grimly faced, sheand 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 puther hands to it, and there are no spices or salt. Still, it is warmand filling, and that’s all that really matters at themoment.

Once the familiar meats are smokingover the fireplace and the hides are curing outside, we all turn toface the pheasants. “Have you ever cooked it before?” Warblerquestions Grouse and Bittern hopefully.

There is a pregnant pause fromBittern, a shift in her body that suggests she is holding back. I’mnot the only one who notices it either, for Grouse and Warblerstare at her suddenly, waiting for her to break. “Fine,” Bitternmutters as she sets to work on the birds. The oldest woman of theHouse, she has never spoken outright about her life before theHouse of Vultures, but I suspect that she comes from a wealthierbackground. She knows about preparing exotic game—she hascomplained about Warbler’s cooking for years—and I’ve caught hergreedily eyeing the tattered magazines from Déchets that sometimesmake it over to Cassé. She loves to stare at the fine dresses inthe latest fashions and jewels the size of my fist that sparkle tolife on their pages.

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

I gather the feathers, as Bitternfuriously rips them from the birds, and begin fletching arrowshafts that are waiting by the door. A shuffle of a foot in theshadows snaps my attention to awareness. I raise the arrow I amfinishing, prepared to use it as a stake if I need. Hidden in thehallway, I see Creeper’s beady eyes shining in the darkness. Hisblack clothes and hair blend seamlessly into the shadows, his maska mottled brown that covers all but his mouth. Despite knowing thathe is caught, Creeper stays in place, his hands continuing to roamlow on his own body, a smile on his face as he ogles Warbler at thestove.

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

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

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

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

Hurrying to the wash basinfor a quick rinse, I draw some water from the pump. There is a bigtub in the bathroom, but without electricity, the water must beheated on the kitchen’s fires or not at all. Tonight, I am tooimpatient to wait. Cursing the cold waves that raise gooseflesh onmy skin, I scrub at the grime and filth of the day. No one hadnoticed the blood on my clothes, or if they had, no one hadquestioned me about it. I can sleep inpeace tonight, knowing my secrets are still guarded.

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

Chapter 3

I am up well before the morning shiftbegins, nervous for the boy I’d left in the cave. My sleep wasfitful the night before, leaving me jumpy and irritable as Iquickly find a less holey, dirty shirt for the day. My choices areslim, with only a handful of ratty tees, all of them coated with alayer of grime that cannot be completely removed without bleach.Commercial cleaners are a commodity that Cassé no longer can affordfor its inhabitants. Condor doesn’t even allow us to draw water forcleaning clothes. “Water from the House is solely for drinking orbathing,” is one of his many mandates about how we live our dailylives. My only option is to soak my dirty clothes in the RiverSangre, but I have been remiss in visiting its shores. I pile myclothes into the corner of the room, promising myself that I willattempt to clean them up in the next few days.

What foolishness have yougotten yourself into, Mynah? My mindechoes the question like the old church bells that used to ringwhen I was a little girl. How does savingthis 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 abroken wing. How could you be so stupid to let your feelingsoverpower your reasoning?

As Condor paces down the hallway towake me, I hurl myself outside before he knocks. The last thingthat I want is a repeat of yesterday morning. I walk right pasthim, not even speaking or making eye contact, letting the bruisesof his handprint around my throat do the talking for me. I scurryinto the forest long before anyone else wakes, cursing as I reachthe first snare. I had never reset them yesterday.

“Damn fool, you are!” Ichide myself as I hurry to the next trap. I’ll prepare them fortomorrow, but I will be empty handed today. Condor will relish thepunishment for