Sisters Red (3 page)

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"That's not his fault, though," I say as we meander back through the alley. "Your brothers and sisters still riled up about your father giving Jacob all the inheritance money?"

"Yep. Even angrier about him giving me the house here," Silas mutters. Silas finished high school instead of taking a woodsman apprenticeship, something his brothers found fairly dishonorable and his triplet sisters found emasculating. Combine that with the fact that Pa Reynolds gave him and Jacob his worldly possessions before going senile... they can really hold a grudge, it seems.

"I'm sorry," I offer. I try to imagine my life without my sister, but it's impossible; if she were gone, my life would stop. I give Silas what I hope is a sympathetic smile. He nods in response.

At the end of the alley there's a car without hubcaps or a front bumper, the driver's-side door flung open. The back is piled high with duffel bags and fast-food cups.

"That thing made it to California?" I say, frowning.

"Not only that, but I managed to make it run off vegetable oil while I was there," he answers.

"All the way to California and not a single Fenris..." I sigh.

Silas grins and wraps an arm around my shoulders. "Lett, really, you've got to get a hobby. Come on, I'll give you a ride home."

I climb into the passenger seat, knocking a few empty soda bottles to the floorboard. I have the window rolled down before Silas can even get to the driver's side--maybe

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it's because I don't ride in them often, but cars make me claustrophobic. Silas slides in beside me and fiddles around with a few wires that stick out by the ignition, and the car grumbles to a start.

"What about here, though? I didn't realize packs were starting to prowl around Ellison again," Silas says.

I shrug. "It's been kind of recent. That one had been here awhile, I think. He was Coin. No sign from Arrow or Bell," I answer.
What are packs like on the West Coast? As large as the ones in the South, as fierce? Is there anyone there to destroy them like I do here? How much more could I accomplish if I were in California instead of small-town Georgia?
I can't believe he didn't hunt even once...

"Also, thanks for saying happy birthday," Silas interrupts my thoughts.

"Oh, wow, Silas, I forgot. I'm sorry. So you're old enough to drink finally?" I ask.

"It's not as exciting as you'd think." He grins. We sail past the edge of town and into the night. A few scattered farmhouses glow like stars on hills, but other than that, there's nothing but the dim glow of Silas's single working headlight. I double-check that there's no blood on my hatchet or hunting knife, then wrap both up in my cloak. I flip down the sun visor and grimace. I lick my fingers and try to smooth my hair, which is shooting out as if I've been electrocuted.

"Well, looks like Ellison hasn't changed much--hey, since when do you care about your hair?" Silas asks.

"Since now," I answer quickly. I adjust my shirt and tuck

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the cloak and weapons under my seat as we turn down an unpaved road. Tall grasses line either side, and the shrieks of crickets and locusts become deafening through the open window. I wipe away the moisture on my forehead.

"Wait, are you... you're trying to hide the fact that you were hunting!"

I sigh. "Look, I told Rosie that she could go hunting on her own for the first time, but that Fenris--"

"You
stole
a solo hunt from your sister?"

"No! I mean,
yeah,
but it's a good thing I did. That wolf was harder than I predicted. I don't know. She's not ready and I had to go hunting or lose my mind..."

"Scarlett..." Silas begins in a serious tone. He started using "the tone" when we were kids to remind me that he's older than I am. It annoys me just as much now as it did then, only now it's less acceptable for me to push him into the mud for it. "She's supposed to be your partner."

"No, she's supposed to be my sister.
You
were my partner, before you up and abandoned us--"

"Hey, I still am, I've just been away--actually,
no,
I'm not getting into this argument again. Why can't Rosie be in on this partnership too?"

"Look, I'm not going to wait for my sister to finish grocery shopping while the Fenris slaughter people left and right," I snap as we take the right fork in the road, toward Oma March's house. It doesn't matter how long she's been dead; I'll always consider it
her
cottage. The left fork goes to Silas's house. The only other thing close to us is the back

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side of a massive cow pasture. "It's our responsibility," I add. "We know how to kill them. We know how to save people's lives. We don't take nights off or vacations to California for a year."

"Ouch," Silas says, but I can tell my words roll off him. It's hard to get Silas riled up, unfortunately. "All I'm saying," he continues, "is that you can't keep Rosie locked up forever."

I sigh in annoyance as the cottage appears in the distance like a lit oasis in the dark. "She's just not ready," I mutter. "And I don't want her to end up like me." Silas nods knowingly and traces his thumb over the scars on my arm as the smell of jasmine flowers wafts in through the air. We ride along in silence for a few moments.

Finally, Silas's car growls up to the edge of the gravel drive. The cottage's front door swings open, sending a long stripe of light through the yard.

"Wow," Silas says softly as he kills the ignition. I follow his stare out the windshield--Rosie is standing in the kitchen doorway, arms folded and eyes sparkling in anger. "Rosie looks... different."

"Yeah. 'Different' as in
mad.
" I sigh, throwing the car door open. "Stay here for a second."

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CHAPTER TWO

Rosie March

She's back. I pace in front of the door, trying to build
up strength.
You have every right to be upset,
I convince myself.
Don't let her out of this one.
I blink furiously, trying to keep myself from choking up. I can put up with a lot. But it's hard to just shrug when your sister thinks you're incapable.

I inhale deeply, throw the old wooden door open, and step outside.

It slams shut behind me, destroying the tiny ray of kitchen light that had spilled into the darkness. My face is hot and probably bright pink, and my hands are balled into fists. If Scarlett wants to think I'm a child, I'll act like a child. I storm forward, pretending the crunchy gravel isn't slicing into my bare feet. Silas Reynolds's car looms in the driveway--he

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was probably hunting
with
her. I'll deal with him next. Scarlett sighs, holding out her hands as if she's calming a wild animal.

"You
promised!
" I snarl. I throw a bundle of red-violet fabric to the ground at her feet--my cloak, almost the exact same color as Scarlett's.

"Rosie, look--" Scarlett begins. I grab at my waist and yank two daggers off the belt. Their bone handles clunk together as they tumble onto the rocky drive. I cringe and try to hide it; Scarlett's always nagging me about dirtying the blades, and it's a measure of how angry I am that she doesn't call me on it now. It's silent for a moment, other than the occasional hoot from a nearby owl. I fold my arms and glare.

Scarlett groans. "Oh, stop pouting." She bends over and grabs the daggers and my cloak. The moon reflects off the shiny scars on her shoulders, evenly spaced lines that disappear under her tank top. She shoves my things toward me, but I don't budge.

"I'm not pouting!" I snap back, realizing how pouty that sounds. "I can hunt too, Scarlett.
You
don't have to go running out into the dark every time."

"It was just one Fenris, and he was on the prowl. Someone might have died tonight if I'd waited for you. You want that on your head?"

"All you had to do was tell me you were going! How am I ever supposed to hunt on my own if you keep going after every wolf that sets foot in Ellison?"

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"Look, Rosie, I'm sorry. Really."

"Just because you're older doesn't mean you get to treat me like I'm some kind of lame sidekick!" I shout, emotion betraying me on the last word. I mean for it to be furious, but instead the hurt creeps in, tiny squeaks of impending tears slipping through my lips. I hate that--it's as though I have an anger threshold, when suddenly the rage turns into hurt. It never happens to my sister--her body is always hard, firm, perfectly trained and controlled. Her body could never allow tears--it isn't trained for it.

"Um, if I may add," a male voice calls out. The driver's side of the Chevy squeals open and Silas leans out, face still shrouded in darkness. "I helped her. I'm just saying. If it makes you feel any better... she needed help. So, you know... that'll teach her." There's a hint of humor in his voice, and somehow, it makes my anger dissipate the smallest bit.

"Thanks, Silas," Scarlett mutters. "Get my things out from under the seat, will you?"

Scarlett sidesteps me and throws open the front door, dashing the yard in light that illuminates Silas's face for a fraction of a second before the door shuts. I squint to get another look--Silas looks different from what I remember. But what, exactly, has changed? The line of his jaw, or the length of his hair, something in his eyes--were they always that shade of ocean gray? I can't pinpoint what exactly is different about his face, his body,
him
.

Upstairs, Scarlett's bedroom door slams, interrupting my thoughts. I roll my eyes and turn to hobble back inside. The

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jagged edges of the gravel hurt a lot more now that I'm not on an adrenaline rush.

"So, Scarlett hasn't changed much," Silas says from behind me. I nod and then wince as a particularly sharp rock lodges itself in my heel. "You need some help, Rosie?"

His footsteps quicken behind me, and before I can respond, I feel his calloused hands on my waist. I accidentally slide back against his chest and inhale the scent that has always clung to his whole family--something like forests, damp leaves, and sunshine. I suppose when your father is a woodsman you're bound to carry the scent of oak in your veins. One breath is all I get the chance for, though; he kicks the door open and sets me down on the front stoop, then takes a step back. I turn to face him, hoping to thank him for the help and in the same sentence admonish him for carrying me like a little girl.

Instead, I smile. He's still Silas--Silas who left a year ago, the boy just a little older than my sister. His eyes are still sparkling and expressive, hair still the brown-black color of pine bark, body broad-shouldered and a little too willowy for his features. He's still there, but it's as if someone new has been layered on top of him. Someone older and stronger, who isn't looking at me as if I'm Scarlett's kid sister... someone who makes me feel dizzy and quivery. How did this happen?

Calm down. It's just Silas. Sort of.

"You're staring," he says cautiously, looking worried.

"Oh. Um, sorry," I say, shaking my head. Silas shoves his

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hands into his pockets with a familiar sway. "It's just been a while, that's all."

"Yeah, no kidding," he replies. "You're heavier than I remember."

I frown, mortified.

"Oh, no, wait. I didn't mean like that, just that you've gotten older. Wait, that doesn't sound much better..." Silas runs a hand through his hair and curses under his breath.

"No, I get it." I let him off the hook, grinning. Something about seeing him nervous thaws some of my shyness. "Do you want something to eat?"

"You're sure you and Lett don't need... sister time?" He glances up the stairs warily.

"No," I answer, stepping backward into the kitchen. "In fact, I really don't want sister time right now."

"Hey, now. Appreciate the sibling time."

I cringe. "Sorry, I forgot. Your brothers and the triplets still aren't talking to you?"

"Lucas is coming around, slowly. I'll manage. But hey--when did you start to cook?" He changes the subject as he follows me inside and plops down into one of our mismatched dining room chairs.

"I don't, really. I just picked up a few of Oma March's old recipes because I got tired of eating Chinese delivery."

"Ah yes. I'd forgotten Lett's love affair with Chinese food," Silas says, grinning affectionately. "She's been stressed lately?" It's a measure of how tense Scarlett is--when it gets really bad, cheap Chinese is her only comfort food.

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"She didn't exactly handle you leaving that well," I say, frowning. I missed Silas too, but not the way Scarlett did. Did he miss her, his partner, that way? Do I want to know if he did? Guilt flashes over Silas's face, so I hurry to continue. "Cooking is nice, though. You know, something to do that isn't quite as hunting-centric..." I blush, afraid I've said too much.

But Silas surprises me by waving his hand dismissively. "No, I get it. I just spent a year doing non-hunting-centric things. Sometimes you need a break."

"Yeah, well, don't tell my sister," I mutter, glaring at the ceiling. "She wants me to be a hunter but won't let me solo. I just can't make her happy."

"I didn't know you'd grown to love hunting so much," Silas notes, sounding genuinely surprised.

I backpedal. "I... I mean, it's not about liking hunting. It's about the fact that I spend hours training every day for solo hunts she won't let me do. If I have to live the life of a hunter, I'd like to actually, you know, hunt."

"Ah," Silas says, though I'm pretty sure I didn't make any sense. "Well, not that I'm in favor of her stealing hunts from you, but I'll confess it's hard to think about little Rosie March on her own, killing wolves, and not get overprotective." He pauses, and he seems to be choosing his words carefully. "Even if you aren't exactly 'little Rosie March' anymore."

My eyes find his, trying to analyze the meaning of his words, of the change in his tone. But just as I finally take a breath and will myself to speak, the pipes from the upstairs