Giselle, now alert, nods as Ron speaks, eyes focused on her face.
Iris comes over with a tray. She hands Ron a glass of water. The ice clinks as Ron takes a modest sip, her throat begging for more but she instead rests the glass on her lap, delighted by the chill. Unlike the store down below, there’s no A.C. up here. The windows are open but they’re just bringing in more hot, stuffy air.
Iris places the tray on the tree stump table in front of the sofa. Giselle takes her iced coffee and drinks deeply, downing half of it in one breath. Iris didn’t bring anything for herself.
“So,” Giselle says, a little breathless from her ravenous drinking, “we go back there, we can maybe find the camp.”
“Exactly,” Ron says, locking gazes with Giselle.
Of course, Ron has no clue where that group of people Chrys found actually were, or where they went after that. But that doesn’t matter. All Ron has to do is take them anywhere, lead them on, and if she’s wrong then oh well, can’t be helped, right? Then she’ll just come up with another theory, and another, biding her time with these people until she gets that call from Chrys.
“What happened when you came across them?” Iris asks.
Ron shifts her gaze to Iris.
“Well,” Ron says, relishing in the spinning of this narrative, “I stumbled upon them—took us both by surprise. One of them created some kind of small earthquake to stop me from coming any further and then another put me to sleep somehow. Happened in an instant. When I woke up, hours later, they were all gone and that’s when I realized what they were.” She paused a bit, thinking of the newspaper Iris was reading earlier and added, “They stole most of my food, water and money. It’s a good thing I had a little bit of money hidden that they didn’t find or else I’d be screwed. I had intended to stay in the forest for a week or so but had to come into town early because of those thieves.”
Iris is staring at her with her mouth dropped open. She has a fascinated, child-like look to her. But Giselle’s jaw is clenched and her face looks hard and determined. Her eyes never leave Ron.
Ron glances at Giselle’s legs. It was a quick, involuntary glance, but judging by the way Giselle has been watching Ron, Ron is pretty sure Giselle noticed.
“Tell me,” Giselle says, “why are you looking for the camp?”
Iris looks like the kind of person who just goes along with whatever, aimless and no ambition. But Giselle… she looks like a leader, like she has a goal. A goal fueled by hatred. And the person worth cozying up to is always the leader.
Ron glances at Giselle’s legs again, a slower, deliberate glance. That’s the key, isn’t it? But she’ll have to do some more pulling first before she can fabricate her own backstory.
“Probably similar to you,” Ron says. “I’ve been around someone gifted before. Traumatized me.”
Giselle leans forward, intrigued. “How so?”
Ron tightens her throat to make her voice sound strained. “I don’t really like talking about it.” She glances at Giselle’s legs again.
Giselle sits back. “It’s okay to talk about it. If we’re going to work together, we should trust each other, right?” She crosses her legs. “How about this? I tell you mine, you tell me yours.”
Yes. Ron is throwing a party inside of her mind, but outside, she maintains a hesitant, wary composure.
“I suppose you’re right,” Ron says. “That sounds fair.”
“Okay. Mine is simple. For a long time, I was the only child, but then my parents had another kid. A boy. Gifted. With fire. He makes little fires here and there. It terrifies us but my parents don’t tell anyone, just my aunt—my mom’s sister. One day, he burns the house down. Parents don’t make it because they were trying to save us, but of course the little bastard is completely unharmed. The flames never bothered him. Ever. Anyway, after my recovery, my aunt took me in, but not him. She knew what he could do—everyone did now—so no one wanted to go near him. Eventually he was adopted by some woman, another bastard like him. No clue what happened to him after that.”
Iris puts her hand on Giselle’s thigh, smiling. “We met when she came to town, looking for the camp like ya.”
“So you’re a local?” Ron says, trying to buy a little time as she thinks of her own story. She doesn’t want something quite so serious. Plus, she has no scars or visible injuries so it’d have to be something mental.
“Yep, born and raised,” Iris says.
“Well?” Giselle says. “What’s yours?”
“My mom,” Ron says. “She was gifted. She had some sort of hypnotic ability, like she could persuade anyone to do anything. She was also a drug addict, and she’d do anything for drugs. I grew up feeling like I had no will of my own. She’d force me to do things no kid should ever do. She’d force my dad to do all sorts of messed up things too. Eventually they both died from an overdose when I was twelve, so I was put into foster care. I recently aged out of the system.”
Sprinkle of truth.
Giselle nods solemnly. Ron can see the gears turning in Giselle’s head. She’s thinking, planning. Meanwhile, Iris pouts like a sad puppy. She’s absorbing, reacting.
“You think we can head out tomorrow?” Giselle asks.
“The sooner the better,” Ron says.
“You’ll probably need a place to stay, right? We have an extra room. Plus, Iris is one hell of a cook.”
Iris smiles and claps her hands together. “Ooh, a guest! What should I make for dinner?”
Giselle smiles at Iris and tucks one of Iris’s flyaways behind
