I dig around in my pocket for the waxcandle I always keep on me, lighting it as soon as it falls into myfingers. I let the wax drip into the hole, filling it full, thenblowing on it until it hardens to my touch.
“He watches you?” Panthercries, a look of embarrassed horror in his eyes.
“He mostly listens to mefor information. He knows that if I ever caught him leering at me,I’d come right out to find him and make sure he never saw anythingever again. That kinda puts a damper on his fantasies as far as I’mconcerned.”
“How do you live likethis?” Panther sneers, his chin raising as though he’s suddenlybetter than such a mundane life as this.
“You telling me you’venever looked at a woman before?” Despite how horrible I thinkCreeper is, I will not hear my life insulted, especially by a childof Déchets. “Your country tried to obliterate mine, so I think youare hardly in a place to pass judgment, Panther.” I can tell by theway that haughty chin falls that I’ve made my point.Somehow, being right does nothing to make me feelbetter.
“What happens now,Mynah?”
I lower myself to my bed, wonderingthe exact same thing.
Chapter 7
Two weeks after my return to the Houseof Vultures, I am going stir crazy. Condor won’t even let me sit onthe porch. There is really nothing to do inside the House exceptsleep. If I don’t get a change of scenery soon, I will go mad. “Youwant to use me as bait, so just dangle me outside the House alittle. I don’t even have to go beyond the fence,” I plead, hatingthe whining sound of my own voice.
“You already are bait. Iam certain that everyday Wolf does not see you, he is planning somefoolish escape attempt. His desperation will make him careless, andI will come out the victor.” Condor slowly looks over my slenderframe, his lips shifting into a tiny smile. “So unless you can makeit worth my while in some other way, you are camping yourself inthis House.”
I may be desperate for sunlight, butnot that desperate. Instead I huff and trounce to the living room,draping my limbs over the scruffy couch with cushions that are heldtogether by duct tape and a book under one leg to stabilize it. Ibarely make it fifteen minutes before I am up, pacing around theroom once more.
I will not go to thekitchen, I remind myself, even as my feetpoint in its direction. Warbler and I havenot spoken since our fight. I will give her the space she wanted,and I will not apologize for my words. I care about her enough totell her the truth, even if she doesn’t want to hear it.Warbler and I have never had a fight last thislong before. The few times that I can remember quarrelling withher, we had made amends by the next day. I have missed talking tomy friend. These long days cooped up inside would have been lessdaunting if I could have spent my time with her in thekitchens.
Ten minutes later, I am enteringWarbler’s domain despite my resolution to stay away, seeking mybright little sunshine. However, when I enter the room, I find thatWarbler is not at her post around the fire pit, nor is she washingdishes at the basin in the pantry.
Circling around the table, I stare atthe full chairs. Grouse and Bittern watch me with tentative faces.“What is it?” I demand as they look at each other slowly. “What’sgoing on?”
“Warbler is gone,” Bitternmutters, her eyes on the door suddenly, as though she cannot bearto see my face.
The thought is laughable to me. “Whatare you talking about? She never leaves the House.” Even after Idemanded she take shifts in the forests, she has not been able toleave the porch without screaming. The sound of her terror hauntsme even now.
“She did this time,”Grouse adds, watching the bundled pheasant feathers over the doorsway in the breeze of the open window. Just like Warbler, a decoration that brings light into thisdismal place. She probably made it herself just to make us allsmile at the sight of something pretty. “What if she did not leave of her own accord,Mynah?”
“You think Creeper tookher?” I demand, my hands clenching into fists. “How long has shebeen missing?”
“I don’t remember seeingher yesterday,” Bittern confesses, her eyes bloodshot as if she hasbeen sitting at this table all night, waiting for Warbler toappear. “Grouse just told me that she hasn’t noticed Creeperskulking around the House for a couple days either.”
“And you’re tell me thisnow when she’s been missing for at least twenty-four hours? Why thehell would you wait so long?” I scream, hurrying out of the kitchenbefore either of them has the chance to say another word tome.
The very thought of Warbler alone withCreeper turns my blood to ice as I hunt through the house for itsinhabitants. I am not surprised when I find that they are the onlytwo missing. I feel a sickening punch to my stomach as I hurry upthe stairs to investigate Creeper’s quarters. On the dresser I seea collection of trinkets, most of them useless to my way ofthinking. A glass marble the color of the grass, an old glassbottle with the label long since faded, and other menial objects.In the center of his collection, I see a clean white handkerchief,folded neatly in half.
My breath catches as Iopen the dainty white tissue. A lock of golden hair tied togetherwith a yellow twine drapes gracefully on the soft fabric. Warbler’shair. These aretrophies! Irealize, feeling bile rise in my throat. There must be at least twenty women represented by theseobjects. Now
