shrieked as she lost her balance.
“You idiot!”
“Hold still.” Damek reached out with both hands, but instead of steadying her, he wrapped his hands around her throat and squeezed.
Eyes widened in fear, she stared at him as she clawed at his arms.
Once she crumpled, Damek looked toward Chastity. “You must hold her up.”
With one hand, Chastity pushed Justine backward until her shoulder was flush against the exposed beam behind her. Damek took Chastity’s other hand and put it on Justine’s throat. “Squeeze if she wakes.”
Damek knelt at Chastity’s feet and continued building the wall. He hummed softly as he worked, and he paused only to look admiringly at Chastity—who pretended not to notice.
Justine was walled in up to her hips when Chastity finally allowed her to stir. “What are you doing?” She pushed against Chastity’s grip. “Stop.”
“Support matters,” Damek told her with a frown. “My buildings . . . they never fall. You say you want to understand. You are learning a secret now.”
“No.” Justine slapped at them with hands caked in the clay mixture and scratched Chastity’s arms. Her fingernails gouged Chastity’s forearms, leaving behind tiny red cuts atop the thin scars already there.
“I share this secret.” Damek frowned. “Many years ago people understood. Now? Things have changed.”
Chastity nodded and shoved Justine more firmly against the wall. The ARB chair struck Damek and clawed at him, scraping her now-broken fingernails on his face. She grabbed Chastity’s wrists, bruising them. Damek and Chastity ignored her.
“They have. It’s not that I can’t appreciate the benefits, but I worry. The littles are so young, and this world . . . It was different before. I worry—” Chastity stopped herself.
Damek paused. “I understand.”
As they stared at one another, Justine shrieked and struggled against the stone, brick, and spell-laden mortar that now encased her legs. “You people are sick. You can’t
“People never notice. Sacrifice helps buildings,” Damek said.
“I won’t tell. I will sign your fence form and—”
“No,” Alison interrupted. “We needed someone with strong emotions. You are the right person for this job, Justine.”
There was a flash of sorrow in Chastity, but not so much that she would fail to do what must be done to keep her nest safe.
While Damek worked, he said, “People see that my buildings are good. They write the articles. Now, I build for people with money, and when it is important, I build some special things in the old ways.”
“No!” Justine tried futilely to dislodge the stones and bricks. “This isn’t happening.”
As Damek worked, the only sounds other than the grate of brick against brick or tool against stone were those of Justine’s mix of screams, objections, and pleas. Then, even those faded, and only the rhythmic scrape of tools remained.
Chastity watched the bricks as Damek built them up around the exhausted, yet still weeping ARB chairperson. Quietly, she spoke to Justine. “It is for the good of the community. You understand that, don’t you?”
Justine lifted her head and stared at Chastity. “You’re a monster.”
“Yes.” Chastity nodded. “Not so different from you. You wanted to
“You’re insane,” Justine said wearily.
Only her head was still exposed.
“No.” Damek lifted a trowel of mortar and carefully spread it on her face. “My buildings are safer. You make this building strong. Your rage. Your sorrow. Your death. It is good. Strong feeling from you and for you.”
He lifted several more trowels of mortar, and Chastity scooped it from the trowel with her fingers and packed it around Justine’s face and smoothed it into her hair.
The littles had come into the room at some point and now sat nestled against Alison’s body in the middle of the floor. Raven was tucked under one arm, and Remus was curled on the other side.
“You wanted to make a difference, to be noticed, to be important. You have been. You will always be important to us now, Justine.” Gently, Chastity covered Justine’s eyes.
The last couple of tears had left tracks in the mortar on the ARB chairperson’s cheeks. Chastity left them there.
She stepped back, looked at her sister and at the littles. Then she nodded to Damek.
Silently, he finished strengthening the building. Each brick and every stone he placed solidified its security and strength.
When he was done, the sisters and their young siblings went up the stairs, and Damek began humming again.
SEVERAL DAYS PASSED as Damek continued his work in the house. On the third day, Chastity found another letter in the mail. Nervously, she clutched it in her hand as she read the first paragraph: The River Glades Community prides itself on high community standards. As such any and all exterior architectural alterations must receive approval of the Architectural Review Board. Please file the attached approval FOR FENCE CONSTRUCTION for your records.
She smiled.
“What does it say?” Alison came to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with her sister.
Chastity held up the paper so they could both read it. “They’ve approved our fence!”
Alison let out a whoop of triumph, and the littles came careening into the room.
“I told you it would all be okay.” Alison bumped her shoulder against Chastity’s. “The littles will have their safe home and safe play yard.”
“We owe thanks to Justine.” Chastity nudged her sister back. “And to you.”
Remus bumped his head gently against her hand. “Go catch yellow birds now?”
At that, Raven and Alison exchanged a worried look, but Chastity smiled at him and then said, “If you keep eating them, we won’t have any left.”
“Is a feeder though,” Remus complained. “Feeder is for food.”
Chastity laughed. “True. We need to mark the fence line anyhow. Come on.”
And the sisters led their younger nestmates into their soon-to-be-fenced yard.
Woolsley’s Kitchen Nightmare
E. E. KNIGHT
There’s a joke over in Europe that if you find yourself in America’s Upper Midwest, it’s time to switch your GPS. Any reputable routing service provider should program its devices to keep you well clear of these bleak woods and cornfields, connected by old two-lane highways linking bits of crossroad nothing.
They can’t imagine why anyone would want to be here. Bland as processed cheese, either too hot or too cold and dreary in the spring and fall. Whatever the charts say, the region’s not on anyone’s cultural map—devoid of interesting incident since the last Sioux uprising was put down during the American Civil War and populated by flannel-wearing bumpkins; they might say antipathy is the best policy . . .
Feck the snobs, I say. I’ve been there a couple of times. Few of the snobs will say that. What’s more, I look forward to returning, which none of the snobs would say, even if it were true. You may laugh, but it’s a land of
