Part Three

What it came down to was that they had no plan. Standing outside of the Echo, which had been parked when the rough driveway crumpled into boulders and baby trees, Maple listened while the three guys argued over how to go in.

Osprey – she had a fair idea he might be Death incarnate – wanted to simply burst through the front door and start knocking heads together. Scotch – who was mostly concerned that his parents might try to have a heart-to-heart during the fray – wanted a promise that Osprey wasn’t going to kill anyone.

"I’m not going to promise that," Osprey said flatly.

"They’re pack," Scotch told him. "The pack isn’t our enemy."

"I suppose it was outsiders who dismembered Thursy and killed your friend."

Yared – who had circles beneath his eyes deep enough to act as tea saucers – said, "Maple helped."

She looked away from him at the same moment Osprey and Scotch looked at her. On the drive over, a few articles of information had come clear.

First, Yared had heard Coalise’s mind nearby as soon as Maple injected him, meaning that she had probably been nearby during Kiria’s murder. Scotch estimated that she had been walking up Mount Aurora to a cave when she heard the party enter the clearing.

Second, Yared had been in love with Kiria.

Maple had heard the way he spoke to her in the bathroom. She had heard him screaming in the clearing.

She could tell he hated her by the way he completely ignored her until it was time to assign blame. She could feel the rage radiating off his body.

She didn’t really know what she was doing, coming along like this. Amber was dead, Galdwyn’s hold over her was shattered and he probably wouldn’t be too happy to see her once he realized Yared was still alive. She could have run – she had run – but here she was, coming back.

She had a sickening suspicion it was so that she could be near Yared a little longer.

And because she had absolutely nowhere to go.

And because she wanted to know what it would be like to look at Galdwyn when her heart was in his hands by her own choice and not his.

The road was quiet for a moment. The sun was high in the sky and had taken some of the sting out of the December breeze.

"Maple has also helped us a lot," Scotch said. "She got me and Coalise out of here and she showed up this morning with the antidote for whatever you’d been poisoned with in the first place."

"So what," Yared asked, "we’re going to trust her moods?"

Maple brushed the hair off her shoulders and didn’t say a word.

"Forget Maple," Osprey announced. "I’m going in there and killing Galdwyn, and Tish, and whoever else gets in my way."

Then Maple spoke. "Wait," she said. "Not Tish."

They all looked at her, and she forced herself to meet their stares. "Tish is sick, she’s fucked in the head, but it’s not her fault. Galdwyn makes it worse at every opportunity."

"How do you know?" Yared demanded.

"Because I’ve been living with them for more than a month. That’s right, me, in your village, since the beginning of November, listening to Galdwyn screw around with Tish’s mind."

Tish was the closest thing Maple had to a friend. She was often horrified by the girl, repulsed by her crudeness, the lack of meaning the concept of privacy held for her, her servitude to her father. Tish was a disaster of a person. Being in the room with her had made Maple physically ill for the first week they lived together.

Then she found the teddy bear.

Tish hid it each morning behind the radiator in the basement and took it out each night. She slept with it crammed into her nightgown, pressed tight against her chest. Maple had caught her retrieving it from the basement one night, holding it tenderly like a baby and stroking the matted fur of its face.

When she realized Maple was standing on the stairs, she began gasping for air. The only true expression Maple had seen in her filled her face: fear.

"It’s okay," Maple heard herself say, in that soft voice she had only ever used with Amber. "I understand." She had managed a half smile and then gone away.

A few days later, Tish seemed to realize that Maple wasn’t going to tell. She began appearing in the kitchen while Maple ground herbs or boiled potions. She would sit silently until Maple asked for her help, and then she would work silently. They had never spoken – Maple didn’t think Tish spoke to anyone besides Galdwyn – but sometimes when Maple said goodnight Tish would lower her head and lift her eyes in an expression that was almost shy.

That was also around the time Maple had gotten a whiff of the "soup" Tish ate at every meal and realized how many steroids Galdwyn had her taking.

"I don’t care," Osprey said, with such conviction that she knew he really didn’t. Without further ado, he turned and began walking.

Scotch scrambled after him, Yared caught him in a few long strides, and Maple began walking behind them after a moment’s hesitation.

"Fine," Yared said. "Kill Galdwyn and Tish. In fact, you can even kill Lauky and Narsa while you’re at it. Just leave everybody else alone."

Osprey didn’t reply.

They really didn’t have a plan. They walked right into the village courtyard, unarmed, in broad daylight, and then Osprey took a long drag off the air and said, "That way." He pointed to a house across the courtyard from Galdwyn’s.

"That’s Jinchae’s house," Scotch said. "Try not to kill him, okay, Osprey? He’s a really nice guy."

Again, Osprey didn’t reply. He walked up to the front of the house, kicked the door in without pausing to even consider that this might be such a tight community that nobody had locks on their doors, and strode in. Scotch and Yared followed.

Maple stopped at the threshold and peered inside. In an over-decorated living room a skinny guy with hair like tangerines was lifting his hands over his head. Another man was napping on the couch beneath a knitted afghan. His bull-snores hadn’t woken him up; Maple didn’t know why a raid would.

Osprey had plowed into the room beyond and she could see things flying through the doorway. Scotch was speaking to the man in the living room while Yared came out of the kitchen with a roll of masking tape.

For an instant his eyes met Maple’s. She quickly stepped outside and turned back to the courtyard.

Her fingers fiddled with the diamond hanging at her neck while her eyes roamed the courtyard. The sun beat down on her like needles. From inside, the scent of blood and bowels wafted out. She heard Scotch throwing up.

She wondered if she had thrown up when she found Amber’s body. If she had found Amber’s body. Maybe she had never seen it. Maybe Galdwyn had just told her. She couldn’t remember.

Listening to Scotch puking onto the kitchen floor, she was grateful that she didn’t remember.

Across the courtyard was Galdwyn’s house. Looking at if from the outside, it seemed impossible that she had spent more than a month inside. None of her memories were connected to the tidy front.

Yared and Osprey began arguing. Maple couldn’t make out all the words, but they seemed to be bickering over whether or not they "had everything." Osprey said they didn’t, Yared said it was impossible to tell.

"I can feel it," Osprey said.

A moment later there was the sound of the refrigerator door opening and something hitting the floor wetly.

Then Scotch threw up again.

Next door, a woman walked onto the front porch. She moved hesitantly, as if she knew there was trouble afoot. Maple met her gaze squarely and narrowed her eyes.

She shook her head slowly.

The woman looked at her for half a minute. Then she put her hand over her mouth and walked back inside.

Osprey came through the front door with a lumpy black garbage bag in his arms. His already blood-stained shirt now looked like a rag used to wipe down the butcher’s block at the end of the day. Yared followed with another garbage bag, this one not quite as full, and then came Scotch, a hand towel pressed over his clammy face.

He blushed when he saw Maple, and she felt the way she had when she found Tish with the teddy bear. "It’s okay," she said. She fell into step beside him.

They tramped across the courtyard without incident. A quarter of a mile into the woods, they reached the station wagon.

Osprey put the bags in the back. Maple drove and Scotch rode shotgun. In the rearview mirror, she could see Osprey twisting around every few seconds to touch the bags.

"That wasn’t so bad," Scotch said as they reached the highway.

Yared closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the window.

"At least nobody got killed," Scotch added.

"Not today," Yared agreed.

After that, no one spoke.