“It’s worth fighting for,” Alison reminded her. “I could persuade the woman if you say the word.”
Chastity pushed away the mental image of the conversation her sister would have—or she herself would like to have—with the ARB chair; the process was made easier by the fact that she’d not yet met Justine. She shook her head. “I can do this.” She paused for a moment, scanned the form again, and looked at her sister. “How many signatures are ‘sufficient’? How do I know that?”
“You could always go to the committee meeting and ask.” Alison widened her eyes in faux innocence. “Take a covered dish, perhaps?”
Chastity flipped her little sister off. “We’re trying to get along here, Ali, not encourage the neighbors to show up with pitchforks and torches.”
Alison shrugged and stepped away from the still-open door. Given her way, she wouldn’t ever close the doors. “So, go fill out your paperwork. I’m going to read.”
“Don’t let the littles con you into treats because of fake hunger pains while I’m out,” Chastity reminded Alison. “They need to learn to schedule their meals.”
After a derisive snort, Alison wandered farther into the house. Somewhere in the plant-filled rooms, their siblings hid in dark shadows, but she pretended—for their amusement and hers—that she was unaware that they stalked her. In human years, and to the casual observer, the children appeared to be young teens, but as Bori they were the equivalent of toddlers—precocious toddlers, lethal toddlers, but toddlers all the same.
Like some mammals, a Bori’s physical growth meant they had strength far beyond their emotional growth. If the littles were left in the wild, they’d be mistaken for feral children—such nestless young were the source of the human stories about children raised by wild animals—but Chastity and Alison weren’t going to let such a fate befall their siblings. A very long time ago, the sisters had struggled as parentless Bori; they’d lived in the old ways.
Which is exactly why we won’t fail the littles now.
Despite their considerable longevity, few Bori were left in the world. Too often over the centuries humans declared them demons and murdered them, caged them as freaks in carnival sideshows, or destroyed their habitats. Protecting young Bori from such horrible fates was daunting. Chastity whispered a silent Thank you to whichever deity had granted her Alison as a sister. She could’ve handled the littles without extra help, but having Alison there made it far more manageable. Alison was maternal in a way that made her playmate as much as authority. Chastity, on the other hand, wasn’t fun. It simply wasn’t part of her skill set. There were plenty of things that Chastity considered as skills she possessed: she was a hard worker, kept her promises, killed easily, and generally could get along with just about anyone. She might not genuinely like seven out of ten of the people she smiled at, but now that blending was important for survival, faking friendly was essential.
Faux smile in place, Chastity took the papers in hand and went out to start knocking on doors.
“CAN I HELP you?” The older woman stood in the open doorway, not inviting Chastity in but not refusing to answer the door like the people at the first house.
“I’m Chastity. My sister and I bought the house at the end of Eden Street.” Alison held up the paper. “I’m trying to get approval for a fence for my younger siblings.”
“And Miss High and Mighty said no, did she?” The old woman lifted the glasses from her chest, where they dangled like a necklace. “You know, she tried to tell me I couldn’t have azaleas up front. Azaleas! Who ever heard of azaleas being an issue?”
“I think they’re lovely.”
“Well, of course they are.” The woman took the pen and paper from Chastity’s outstretched hand. “I had to hire a gardener in order to get approval. That woman needs a job, or a hobby, or something.”
Chastity smothered a laugh while the woman signed Mrs. Corrine A. Kostler on the form and held it out.
“You might as well skip the Hinkeys.” Mrs. Kostler pointed toward a red brick colonial that sat kitty-corner from her house. “They do whatever Justine says. Edward files complaints on me right regularly. You just wait until he wants me to sign a form. Ha!”
Wisely, Chastity made a mental note to never anger Mrs. Kostler—and to invite her to tea. Maybe even a human meal. The food humans ate was peculiar, but there were things that Chastity could stomach. The littles would have to eat early, but we could work it out.
“Did you want something else?” Mrs. Kostler prompted.
“No, ma’am.”
The old woman took her glasses off, smiled, and announced, “You’re not half as weird as Justine said you were, girl. I should’ve known. Go talk to the others. Not the Hinkeys, mind, but the Valdezes and the Johanssons are decent enough.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Chastity nodded. She paused. “Thank you.”
“Don’t step in the grass this time. I have a sidewalk for a reason.” Mrs. Kostler scowled. “Bring those children for cookies some afternoon.”
Then she closed the door before Chastity could reply.
Like Mrs. Kostler, the rest of the neighbors seemed friendly. They looked at the signatures on the form, made a few comments—mostly polite small talk, but more than a couple bitter remarks about Justine—and signed. After the fourth house, Chastity figured she might as well keep knocking. More signatures couldn’t hurt her case.
WHEN ALISON ARRIVED at the builder’s office the next day, she was reassured. She had been discreet in her inquiries. Chastity isn’t the only one with a plan. Once she’d narrowed in on the builders in the area with the sort of specialization skills they required, the choice was immediately clear. Damek Vaduva had achieved an odd, almost cultish following for his designs, but he also provided the more traditional building skill she needed. Unfortunately, his reputation for design made it near impossible to get a meeting, so Alison had to persuade the receptionist that she had, in fact, made an appointment but the poor dear had forgotten to enter it into the book.
What Chastity doesn’t know won’t hurt me.
Alison shook her head. “I can reschedule.”
“No, no. It’s my mistake, and Mr. Vaduva had a cancellation earlier, so he’s in. Maybe I told him, but didn’t add it in my book. I’ll go in and tell him,” the young woman murmured. Then she nodded to herself, apparently pleased that she’d resolved the dilemma satisfactorily.
“It’s not a problem if he’s busy, I can reschedule—”
“No, of course not!” The woman stood. “We were having such a lovely chat when you called that I must have forgotten.”
Alison didn’t know how much she could reorder the woman’s mind and Damek’s, so she glanced at the nameplate: DARLENE. Names helped.
“Since you’ve already told Mr. Vaduva I’m here, I will just wait out here for our appointment.” Alison motioned to the overstuffed burgundy leather chair in the corner. “You go on to your lunch, Darlene.”
The receptionist frowned briefly as her mind tried to assimilate the revision of reality that Alison was forcing on her. Then, she nodded, picked up her purse, and came around the front of the desk. “That does make sense, doesn’t it?”
“It’s always lovely to talk to you, Darlene . . . Goodness, it feels funny to call you that whole name after the things we’ve discussed.” Alison leaned close enough that Darlene’s little human heart pitter-pattered like a bunny on speed. “You will tell me if you decide to be more than, well, curious. Won’t you, Dar?”