He waited for a response. He didn’t get one.
“You’re not going to lie with her,” Ben said, though it sounded more like a childish taunt than the warning he intended. “She’s not your fucking sparrow. Whatever fun you’ve been having, it ends tonight. She’s going in the book.”
“Father already threatened me. If he didn’t frighten me, why do you think you will?”
“Cal, don’t,” Odessa said.
Ben glared at him. “I don’t think you understand what the stakes are.”
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
“Either you kill the deer or you die.” Ben poked him in the chest, hard. “You’re a Cullraven, but not blooded. Not fully. In fact, right now, I’m not seeing much to put you above the rest of the lowly herd and frankly, neither does Father. We’ve both decided: it’s time for your initiation. You’re either with us—or against us.”
“Remove your hand from me.”
“I will kill her if you don’t,” his brother whispered, his dark promise further escalating the internecine conflict that had been blazing between them since his marriage to Noelle. “Cullraven blood rots the veins of the wilting, Baby Cal. And if you can’t kill, what good are you?”
“Ben.” Odessa looked up at him worriedly. “What if he really does think she’s his sparrow? I mean, she hasn’t even tried to get away.”Not like Noellehovered, unspoken.
“Can’t you see he’s been cossetting her like a little pet? There’s nochallengein that.” Ben gave her a blistering look. “He’s as soft as our mother, unfit to bear the family name.”
“Are we ready?” Shelly’s voice echoed through the courtyard as she approached, trailed by his parents, his father walking ahead of his mother, who was wearing a thin linen dress that looked starched and steamed. “I thought we could take some pictures in front of the house of the proud founding family! What do you think?”
Odessa gave him a look that he would have called concern, had it come from anyone but her. It vanished instantly as she put on her game face, prancing to arrange herself in front of the camera in a way that had his mother frowning. “Where do you want me?” she asked teasingly, to the young cameraman, making him blush. “I want you to get my good side.”
Cal posed on the outer edge beside her, one thumb hooked through his belt-loops.The founder of the town, he thought, as the camera flashed.Rising from the dead . . .
That was the precise purpose of this festival, though, was it not? His great-grandfather’s dark and bloody legacy, paraded from the grave to haunt the town that had spurned his violent practices and was now forced to endure this continued spectacle.
“My family has owned these woods for over a hundred years,” his father said, speaking into the camera with the same confidence he used to fool his colleagues and investors. It dripped like poison honey, each word burnished to a lethal, shining point. “Once a year, we open them up to share our legacy with the world.”In a death lottery, Cal added silently.
“Hunting,” the reporter prompted, looking up from her notes. “Hunting . . . deer?”
“More than that.” His father wet his lips. “Oh, it’s more than that. It’s about man versus nature. Man and his God-given dominionovernature. Out here in the woods, you might very well see god, or something like it. My grandfather—he was a visionary. He could see the toll of the industrial world: men were never meant to be buttoned up into finery and shut up within four walls.”
(That sounds like a cult)
Shelly looked at his father’s expensive hunting clothes and said nothing. Cal noticed and felt himself warm to the reporter unexpectedly.
“What was man created for?” she asked in an even tone.
“Freedom.” It came out as a growl that startled both Shelly and his mother.
Shelly and the cameraman exchanged a glance, apparently deciding that they had done a sufficient amount of questioning with Nathaniel Cullraven.
His father hadn’t reached the same conclusion, however, and continued talking about Ravensgate’s construction while they posed him, glossing over the rapes and killings as he recounted the sanitized version of the tale of Caledon Cullraven and his two doomed wives.
“. . . Evangeline was responsible for much of the décor in this house,” he was saying. “Though my own wife is now responsible for the upkeep, as well as the furthering of her work. Isn’t that right, dearest?”
“Yes,” his mother said automatically. “All of the wallpaper that you see on the walls is the original wallpaper, imported from China during the Victorian period. The glittery sheen you may have noticed is bronze powder, mixed in with the paint, to give an impression of dimensionality. There is a similar effect with some of the paintings, which contain crushed pieces of glass that have been added to the paint, giving a lifelike glitter to the eyes—”
“Sir.” A man in overalls stomped over, drowning out Cal’s mother’s babbling to the increasingly stressed-looking reporter. “We’re a bit short-staffed. Got anyone who can help with the deer?”
“Cal, go over there and help,” his father commanded. “You’ve got plenty of experience handling them.”
“Oh, deer justlovehim,” Odessa chirped.
“Just tell me what needs to be done,” Cal said sharply.
