The littles exchanged a look that conveyed how truly they believed that Justine did not see.
“Would you like to have a seat?” Chastity belatedly remembered that keeping a guest standing in the foyer was not friendly.
No matter how much I study humans, I still slip up.
She gestured for Justine to precede her into the small living room to the left of the foyer. It was more conservatory than living room, but such a thing wasn’t terribly peculiar; a lot of people had greenery-filled homes, maybe not to the degree that they did, but humans brought nature into their homes, too.
Chastity tensed as Justine took a seat on the settee, but aside from pursed lips, the ARB chairperson made no note of the thick plastic that covered the furniture. It crinkled noisily as she shifted on it.
“I was getting ready to water the plants,” Chastity lied. And the littles have released several squirrels in the house again, she added silently.
“Oh.”
“I didn’t want the furniture to get damaged,” Chastity continued. By the children disemboweling squirrels. There was something oddly disconcerting about trying to make small talk, but the habit of adding silent truths typically made it more palatable. Today, it wasn’t helping.
After as friendly a smile as she could muster, Chastity broached the subject of the fence. “I have the materials to bring to the meeting. I’m hopeful that we can resolve this and—”
“I doubt it, Miss Faolchu. I simply don’t see that a privacy fence is conducive to fostering a healthy community.” Justine folded her hands in her lap. “I don’t think we need to start walling ourselves into little territories.”
“Really?” Chastity’s temper slipped a bit. She felt the pressure in her eyes, but she held on to the human shape of them. It wasn’t that she had a short fuse, but the nitwittery of the ARB had frayed her nerves.
Justine waved a hand. “We don’t control who buys the houses here, but I do have a measure of control over this community. It is my privilege to protect it from threats.”
The rustle of leaves behind Justine revealed the hiding place where the littles waited. Their presence went far to remind Chastity why she was doing this—both controlling her temper and mainstreaming.
They deserve a home.
“There you are, Chas.” Alison walked into the room. “I wanted to tell you that Damek arrived while you were out and discuss the schedule for the next step, but here you are . . . and with a guest.”
Alison smiled in such a disturbingly friendly way that Chastity realized that they were not going to resolve this politely.
At all.
Before Alison turned her attention to Justine, she walked over to stand beside Chastity, put one hand on her hip and the other on Chastity’s shoulder, and said, “Rave? Remy? I see you.”
The littles came out from behind a cluster of leafy potted plants; their movements were in perfect synchronicity. Raven tilted her head, and Remus stared fixedly at Alison. They didn’t move away, though.
“Why don’t you go find us something interesting to eat?” Alison said softly.
The littles zipped toward the door too quickly to be mistaken for anything remotely human. Chastity pursed her lips, but said nothing.
Justine’s eyes widened. “They’re . . . quick.”
WITH HER TEMPER barely hidden, Alison turned to face the human who had caused such turmoil in the nest. “Oh, you have no idea.”
She was a perfectly serviceable human. Her hair was a soft brown, and her eyes were a glimmery blue. Like the rocks I can’t ever find. Alison tilted her head and assessed the woman further. She trembled some; fear was such a primal thing.
“I probably should go.” Justine’s voice quivered so slightly that it was almost unnoticeable, but Alison had spent centuries reading the nearly imperceptible cues of humans. Justine continued, “I simply wanted to stop in and let you know that there is no need for you to attend the meeting.”
She stood and then paused.
“Stay. I’d like to discuss the fence.” Alison stepped toward Justine. “My sister is surprisingly . . . normal. She dates males, works in some sort of . . . What is it you do, Chas?”
“Technical writing.” Chastity obviously heard the dangerous edge in Alison’s voice; she came to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Alison.
“Right. Tedious normal things. I, however, am not quite as civilized.”
“Alison.” Chastity reached out for Alison’s hand and pulled her away from Justine. She smiled reassuringly at the now visibly nervous human and said, “Please forgive my sister. She’s a bit overprotective.”
Justine looked from one to the other. “I don’t think I like your attitude, Miss Faolchu.” She visibly composed herself. Her shoulders straightened, and she smoothed her sleeves down. “I will be going now.”
“No. I don’t think you should, Justine.” Alison glanced at Chastity and said quietly, “Leash me or step back.”
Chastity shot her another quelling look, but she did not order her to stop.
Alison looped an arm around Justine’s waist. The ARB chairperson stiffened and attempted to pull away, but Alison kept her arm where it was. “Did Chastity tell you about the work Mr. Vaduva is doing? Today is his first day here, but we’re very excited about the project.”
At that, Justine paused. “Damek Vaduva? Here?”
“The same.”
“I’ve seen his work in Architectural Digest and Metropolitan Home and . . . He’s a genius.”
“Would you like to meet him?” With her free arm, Alison gestured toward the stairway leading to the lower level.
“Justine has a meeting to attend,” Chastity said.
Alison glanced at her sister. “Of course . . . the meeting. Chastity is going to that meeting, too. Maybe you could ride over together. She’s hoping to petition the board for approval for the fence, so maybe you could discuss it on the way.”
Justine looked toward the stairwell. “I suppose I could miss one meeting.”
“I don’t think that’s fair,” Chastity said. “If you aren’t even there to hear my petition—”
“You can talk to me while I’m here,” Justine amended. “I was the only one objecting, but I can see now that you have good taste . . . perhaps, I could reconsider my stance. I mean, if Vaduva is here. He is really here?”
“Come meet him. Then call your committee. Maybe afterward you can talk to Damek. He’s been nattering on about some architectural trip that he’s leading . . .”
“Damek. You call him Damek?” Justine whispered.
“We come from the same place.” Alison shrugged. “Not family, mind you, but we have an old connection.”
Alison saw Chastity stiffen at the mention of Damek coming from the same place, but she did not ask the question she so obviously wanted to. She wouldn’t in front of outsiders.
“Come downstairs, Chas.” Alison held out her free hand. “You should meet Damek.”
Silently, Chastity accepted Alison’s hand. She squeezed it briefly, and then she opened the door to the basement. “I’m glad we’re able to work this out, Justine.”
“Of course.” The ARB chair sounded positively friendly now. She smiled as she started down the stairs.
AT THE FOOT of the stairs, Chastity stood silent as Alison introduced Justine to Damek Vaduva. She wasn’t prepared for the way he looked at her; the familiarity of his assessment made her blush like a far younger Bori. He didn’t speak to her, not yet. Instead he listened as Justine gushed at him, senseless words about his artistry, about how she had tried to get an appointment but was callously rebuffed.
“It’s almost unfortunate,” Chastity said quietly. She caught her sister’s gaze. “You didn’t tell me he was from home. I didn’t know there were any traditional builders here.”
“You can tell me to cease,” Alison reminded her. “You make the final decisions.”
Chastity folded her arms and looked from the builder to her sister. “Mr. Vaduva?”
; “Damek,” he corrected. “To you, I am only Damek.” He caught and held Chastity’s gaze then as he added, “It is an honor to work in your nest.”
“Their nest?” Justine echoed. “Oh, the house. In English, it is house. A nest is what animals have.”
Damek motioned for Justine to come closer to him, but his gaze remained fixed on Chastity. “Do you wish me to do this work?”
“Yes.”
There was a moment when neither Bori nor builder moved, and then Damek turned to Justine. “Come here.” He pointed into the section of the wall that had been torn open. The drywall was gone, and a peculiar stone-and-wood structure was now alongside the original studs. The stone wall was already built almost knee-high.
“You see the beams. They are good beams. A structure must have the right support.”
Justine leaned forward and looked into the partially built wall. “I see.”
“No. You must come closer.” Damek stepped over the stone and stood in the opening. He laid one hand on the beam. “Inside is the support. This is where the strength comes from. In here.”
Then he stepped out and motioned for Justine to step into the opening. Obediently, she did.
“Look there . . . to the side.” Damek stepped closer, invading Justine’s space, and bodily blocking her exit from the partially built wall. He pointed. “Do you see the weakness of the beams? They need more support.”
Once Justine was looking away, Damek made a gesture at his side with one hand. Alison tugged on a rope, pulling a board from above Justine and releasing the sludgy mix Damek required. It poured over Justine, who 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 do this. People will notice. It’s—”
“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 protect your community from fences and divisiveness . . .” Her words drifted away for a moment as she realized that she felt strangely sad. “I understand now. We both are trying to protect what we believe in. I have to protect my nestmates. The littles need safety, stability, a home . . . and you are helping provide that for them. Our home will be safe from any damage now. It cannot be broken into. Even our windows will not break.”
“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 quiet surprises and secret treasures. One moment you’re on a winding country road counting cows, the next you’re in a Swiss village or Cornish mining country, with Norwegian troll statues grinning at you from the roadside.
That’s just Wisconsin, perhaps my favorite of the Midwest states. It’s a rich land in its own way, sharing the stolid wisdom displayed by the locals in my own home county in Ireland, and with life in the country moving to the rhythm of the livestock and harvest. The grass is the same emerald green as well, at least until the July sun hammers the countryside into straw and clay. Maybe that’s why it always seems half-familiar to me.
Ah, Ireland. You can leave it, but it never leaves you, even if you escape. I grew up wild and woolly with nothing but ravens and barn rats for friends, sneaking from one paddock to the next and scrounging from bins and feed sheds. I left the Auld Sod with a caravan of translife first chance I got. Quite an eye-opener, that, learning there were others not unlike me, full of anxiety and appetite. Because I was the new guy they dumped the worst duty on me: food prep and disposal. Of course the weres and the troupe’s leader, a one-eyed vamp named Jack who taught me the Discreet Art of Wandering Translife, had all the fun of procuring the food. Once the blood was drained and the excitement of sticky red died down, I took over and turned the meats and vitals into road cuisine that would see everyone through to the next carefully chosen kill.
Home Improvement: Undead Edition Page 19
