She Who Rises by Rachael Arsenault

Author:Rachael Arsenault [Arsenault, Rachael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-05-10T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

There was a pretty big argument about whether we should stay in the house any longer.

Masika was dead set against it. Knowing Tara could scry meant we had to move as soon as possible, taking all precautions against being followed again. But Farida pointed out that Tara had been running scared and suffering from the affects of my poison — she was going to be in rough shape for a while. The fight was bound to have drained her and she would need to recover. She couldn’t scry on us if she had no energy left.

I was on the fence. Not for the first time, I felt like any opinions I had on the matter probably weren’t worth voicing. I didn’t want Masika to hate me more, plus it wasn’t like I had any kind of expertise in dealing with these sorts of situations.

Eventually, we all came to an agreement (or at least agreed to stop arguing about it). We would stay in that house for as long as it was viable, keeping watch for any unwanted visitors the entire time. At the first sign of trouble, we would bail to the squat Farida was pre-selecting.

Which was what I found Farida doing later that morning, sitting on the hideous sofa. She had a notebook on her lap that she was using to write out a list of possible squats.

“Isn’t that a bad idea?” I said, standing awkwardly near the couch. Even though we had been through a lot in the short time we had known each other, I still felt weird inviting myself to sit beside her, especially when she was clearly working on something. “I mean, Tara could scry on you at any minute and just read what you’re writing, couldn’t she?”

“Already got it covered,” she said with a smile. Then she patted the seat next to her.

Once I sat down and she actually showed me her notebook, I saw what she meant. Instead of writing something like “827 Seaside Avenue, bungalow”, she had down, “seesaw house across from the farm”. I counted down the list — she had seven options picked out. I watched as she chewed her lip before crossing off the fourth possibility.

“What’s wrong with…” I leaned closer to read the name. “… Scallops and Broken Windows?”

“It’s a three-hour drive. I don’t think we want to be driving that long without stopping. The longer we’re on the open road, the more chances they have to pick up on something by scrying. Plus, it’s more opportunities for the police to spot us.”

“Fair enough. How many squats do you guys have lined up, anyway?”

“It fluctuates. Sometimes a house will get collapsed or torn down, or someone else will claim it — either by squatting there themselves or outright buying the property.”

“How do you pick them out? How do you have so many at a time?” I felt a little like I was interrogating her or being insensitive or something by asking so many questions, but I couldn’t stop myself.

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