The town is crawling with rooks. I see a dozen people wearing Rookery shades of purple leaving grocery stores with their hands full of overstuffed bags. Fifteen people jogging. Twenty people walking and running with their dogs - Sanctuary scent hounds no doubt. One woman has a Royal Purple smartwatch on her left wrist. Another wears it on a little brooch pinned to her blazer's lapel, but I don’t fail to notice a single one.

I’m starting to feel that chill again.

It’s like walking through the Twilight Zone. I do a double take a dozen and one times.

You’d almost confuse them for humans. Not whatever soulless breed of homo erectus the Sanctuary finds and hires.

Still there’s no mistaking it.

It’s a wonder nobody else has noticed. 

But they’re all too good at their jobs for that - far too discrete. People would laugh if I told them every agent in this murder of crows is licensed to abduct, kidnap, and kill, kidnappers and killers.

It’s tricky to find the hidden compartments in their clothes when they’re outside of uniform, but I’m sure I can guess where they’re hiding their ‘dogs.’ There’s an unusual pocket added to a certain elderly man's sweater. The older couple on the date have itchy fingers that keep straying to their sides.

My voice becomes thick and strangled, so I bite my tongue.

By the time we get back to the Georges’ I feel like I’ve been transported into a nightmare.

It’s too familiar.

Too much like the last time.

And I’m sick to my stomach with worry and guilt.

Oblivious to the rooks milling down the sidewalks, blocking off every escape route as we walk through the Georges’ front door, Christopher leaves me on the threshold and runs straight into the kitchen to greet his mother with a kiss on the cheek. 

I can’t follow, too exhausted and dazed to take another step. Regret and the scent of Fangsbane are making my eyes sting.

I can...barely breathe…

“How is Maman’s petit monstre?” Therese laughs and the sound strikes me like a barrage of needles as she pinches her son's cheek. He murmurs something I can barely hear even if I could understand it. 

French? I didn’t pay a lot of attention at the Rayford’s and most of them were more comfortable speaking English or Hahl.

“I made gougères for you and Miss Mora,” Therese is smiling, glancing through the kitchen doorway in my direction and the guilt gives me goosebumps.

“I need to shower first,” I say quickly. “I burned myself out winning the relay race at the track meet today.”

Make them believe that was a stroke of luck...

“Oh, go on then,” Therese laughs. “I’ll try my best to keep a few treats safe from this ravenous beast of mine.”

Christopher laughs and his mom rumples his hair, but he can’t argue since his mouth is already full.

I want to laugh too, but it will probably be a long time before I can laugh again.

I feel heavy-footed on the stairs and as I grab my clothes from my room, but at least I don’t forget anything essential today and the water flows smoothly from both bathroom faucets.

I’m rehydrated in about 5 minutes.

I should go back downstairs.

My cracks have receded again. I can go have my gougeres. Probably the last of Therese’s cooking I’ll ever taste. But I just want to sit here for a minute, not having to wear makeup, wallowing in my misery on the ice-cold bathroom floor, breathing in the scent of orange zest and baking soda and rust.

I wanna go home.

I almost miss my old room back at the Rookery. At least there I could sleep without questions. Everything would be the repetitious, soulless, mind-numbing safe that I knew I could almost always rely on. 

I thought hollow misery was the worst kind if misery. Now I’m not so sure.

I WANT to trust Mr. and Mrs. George, and Christopher, but I can’t and I’m tired of being on guard 24-7, hardly sleeping- worried about Actaeons-

And Marilee.

I don’t want to go back to Rookery before I can find out if she’s a siren like me-

But I’m never going to find out.

I’m not going to ask. I won’t-

I hear a car door slam outside.

That doesn’t make sense. Mr. George shouldn’t be home from work yet.

Curiosity and worry mingle in my throat as I push myself up off the bathroom floor quickly and make my way to the window.

Careful to stay out of sight, I peek between the curtains to see Judith’s truck parked at the foot of the Georges’ driveway, and it’s all I can do to let the curtain fall casually back into place so as not to draw her attention.

Ohhh god.

I drop into a crouch on the bathroom floor with my head in my hands, and take two deep breaths before I can even get myself to stand upright again.

I don’t want it to be her but there’s no mistaking it. No d-

Even as I dress quickly and cover my spots, I can hear her rapid clicking steps on the asphalt, followed by the torrent of heavy thuds coming from her exterminators' steel-toed boots.

I hurry down the stairs with my hair still wet to find Therese and Christopher George standing in the kitchen wide-eyed as they stare over toward the living room's bay windows to see Judith and her men making their way up the steep driveway just outside.

Therese’s mouth moves but she seems to have lost her voice.

“What is Mora’s social worker doing here?” she finally whispers when she’s recovered from the initial shock. She directs her question toward Christopher as if he could possibly answer that, and he shakes his head slowly, equally dumbfounded, as his mother dries her hands anxiously on her apron and begins pulling jars of preserves and fermented pickles from the cabinets at lighting speed.

She lays eyes on me as she turns back from the cabinet, hands still full of jars, and she throws me a weary, fretful smile, but doesn’t stop moving or talking for a minute.

“Christopher, lay out a fresh tablecloth and slice a loaf of bread and some cheese. Put the preserves on the side just like I showed you for our luncheons. That’s my good baby. Mora, sweetheart, dry your hair please. We don’t want you catching a cold now, do we?”

I head to the linen closet for a towel as Therese hurries out of the kitchen pinning her hair up and hangs her faded apron on a hook by the kitchen doorway.

I can practically feel the tremor make its way from her feet to her finger tips - or the fingertips of her unbandaged hand anyway - as she bounces slightly and tries to shake off her nerves before taking a deep breath and opening the front door in response to Judith’s knock.

“Miss Antos, good afternoon, what a surprise,” Therese smiles vibrantly, pushing back a lock of hair that managed to escape her hasty bun despite her heartfelt efforts.

Judith smiles her business smile, a slight upturn of the lips showing a calculated amount of teeth, and laughs warmly, “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mrs. George. And believe me, this took us by surprise too. Could I come in?”

Therese looks embarrassed that Judith even had to ask and motions politely for her to come into the living room and take a seat on the settee.

“Can I get you and your…” Therese looks at the three exterminators, not sure what to call them, “...Assistants, anything? Water maybe? pastries?”

“No thank you,” Judith answers for all of them. “I’m feeling a little woozy at the moment actually, so I’d rather not.”

Therese furrows her eyebrows slightly but doesn’t say anything. Judith’s exterminators stand stiffly beside the couch where Judith sits like they’re a small platoon of soldiers at attention.

“You and your husband have already dealt with the snake issue, correct?” Judith smiles as she adjusts her glasses. Her eyes stray down to the file in her hand and I watch her pretend to read it, as if she doesn’t already have it memorized to a 'T.'

She’s giving Therese a chance to regain her composure, I think.

The minute Judith’s eyes are no longer pinned to her, Therese’s posture seems to relax ever so slightly, but her motions are somehow more agitated and nervous, if that’s possible. She smiles anxiously, “We spread Fangsbane around the premises last night, and then I did it again this afternoon…”

Her tone suggests that she has something more to say, but trails off without any addendums. I know Judith can see Therese’s manifest discomfort, but she doesn’t comment on it, nodding slowly and graciously.

“That’s definitely a good start, but my superiors said they’d like our own exterminators to check the property as well, just in case, if that’s okay with you.”

She says it as if Therese really has a choice.

I’m sure they both know good and well that if Therese says anything other than ‘yes’ I’ll immediately be removed from the George's care, permanently.

I don’t like the kind of feeble, wilted look I see on Therese’s face as she smiles meekly, “Oh, of course. Go right ahead," with a weak wave of her hand.

I wonder if that means she’s not willing to risk losing me, even if that means suffering some Sanctuary snooping.

A part of me wonders if there’s a teeny tiny chance that might, possibly, be a good sign.