House of Vultures, Maggie Claire [fun to read .txt] 📗

House of Vultures

By

Maggie Claire

This is a work of fiction. Names,characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’simagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed asreal. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations,or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

World Castle Publishing,LLC

Pensacola, Florida

Copyright © Maggie Claire2018

Smashwords Edition

Hardback ISBN: 9781629899329

Paperback ISBN:9781629899336

eBook ISBN: 9781629899343

First Edition World Castle Publishing,LLC, June 11, 2018

http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com

Smashwords LicensingNotes

All rights reserved. No part of thisbook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever withoutwritten permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodiedin articles and reviews.

Cover: Karen Fuller

Photo: Maggie Claire

Editor: Maxine Bringenberg

Table ofContents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Dedication

To my family –

Thank you for supporting me through thestruggles that ultimately led to the writing of this book. You meanthe world to me.

Chapter 1

Starlight is just winking intoexistence as the sun falls over the Devil’s Spine. Laughter ticklesthe air as children tumble in the cool grass. They run around thenearest sycamore trees, racing to see who can reach their appointedend first. Parents smile and coo at the sight of their happyfamilies.

I am not among them.

“Get away from thewindow!” My mom snaps, throwing the curtain closed. “I’m sorry, butyou just can’t be seen right now.”

“But why not, Momma? Whycan’t I play with the other kids?” I whine, desperately trying topry open the curtains in her clenched fist.

“Please trust me, dear.Now is not a good time.” Her voice is tired, no doubt because we’vebeen having this conversation every night for years.

“It’s never a good time,Momma! Something is always wrong!” I persist, knowing it will notchange her answer. I sigh and turn away. She and Dad have alwaysbeen so overprotective, but this time I think it is different. Thistime bags are packed, sitting like servants by the door. I look atmy mother’s face with a question in my eyes. “But tomorrow you saidwe could go—”

“We are. Then we areleaving this place entirely.” Dad opens his arms to me as he stepsinto the living room. He speaks to Mom as I tuck my head under hischin. “It’s her birthday wish. We can give her that,surely.”

Their faces change in my memory, andsuddenly I am forced to watch as they melt away with the wickedwind. My mouth falls open as my hands reach for them, a screamfrozen on my lips. The last thing that is torn apart is theirfingers. I see their skin splitting into bloody cracks as fleshwithers away. Fingernails separate into long splinters, then bonesslowly disintegrate as a mighty howl is loosed inside the windstorm spiraling around me. It is alive, and as it draws near me, itseems to sense my fear. The winds hover over me, then pass by on myright, leaving me to pick up the pieces of my life at only sevenyears old. And a voice calls to me, screaming, “Run, daughter!Don’t look back!”

***

About three-fourths of the populationof Cassé disappeared that day, torn apart while the helplesssurvivors watched. Everything good, everything decent in our worldwas shattered. The green verdant land that I knew was gone, and adry, dusty, empty place remained. Our once proud forests held treesthat bent like elderly men, many of them too broken to survive.Grasses browned and crops of thorny bracken took over their spaces.It would take many years before Cassé recovered, and even then, itwould be a shadow of its former self.

Yet all I clearly recallabout that day is the hands of my family, pointing their accusing,broken fingers at me as they dissolved. They blamed me foreverything that happened. We would neverhave died if you hadn’t sent us here. We might have survived if wehad not been in the city!It is all your fault, little—

“Mynah!” A hand rattles mydoorknob, testing the lock. “You’re up for the first shift! Get outof that bed!”

I shoot up from my pillow, handclutching my face until I graze the rough edges of my mask. I letmy fingers drift along its length just to assure myself that ithasn’t slipped during the night. Even with my door latched therecould still be eyes watching. The thought of unseen voyeurs peekingat me sends a cold shiver over my body.

“Are you moving?” Condor’sgruff voice hurries my feet to my shoes, my hands grabbing my holeyjacket off the lop-sided stool in the corner of my room. I throwopen the door before Condor protests a third time. “Almost toolate, love,” he grins as he lowers his hand, set to knock on mydoor in one final attempt. I stare at his ebony mask and the silkyblack feathers that trim the edges. A blood red scar, dyed into itsdark surface by wild raspberries, runs diagonally along the lefteye hole and over the nose. It ends at the edge of his mouth, wherea real scar continues down his neck. “Almost thought that I wasgoing to have to punish you, Mynah.”

“I know the house rules,”I grumble sleepily as I try not to react to his words. The lastgirl he had punished hadn’t been able to move for a week. “I don’tscrew up on purpose, Condor.”

“And yet, you are alwaysin trouble,” Condor replies with a growl. So fast that I did notsee it coming, Condor’s hand grips my neck, slamming my bodyagainst the door frame. His breath rustles through the eye holes ofmy mask. “Most of the females in this house would love to get myattention, even in punishment. So why don’t you?” His free handslinks along my waist.

I will my eyes to look vacant andbored, my mouth dropping into a frown. “What about theshift?”

“It can wait,” he growls,moving in closer to me, his hands drifting higher.

My fingers inch toward the knife in mybelt. “Nothing is more important than the shift.”

Condor smirks but stops his assault.“I thought that you never listened to my rules.”

“I always hear them. Ijust don’t follow them,” I admit with a sigh, knowing that I’vewon. “Except the ones that I like.” Onlythe ones that help me get away from you.

“Well, damn! Using my ownwords of wisdom