CHAPTER 18

VAMPIRES IN THE WOODS

Rose

BY THE TIME THEY’D FINISHED THEIR GLASSES OF bitter mash and listened to a few of the women trill a thin backup to his version of a welcome song, Rose knew that the Chief ran his house with an iron fist hidden in a sleazy silk glove. The women—his Wives, he called them—were useless in all respects. They lay around most of the time, vacant-eyed and soft-limbed, getting up only to follow him when he left the room. Rose was pretty sure they wiped his ass for him.

The Chief didn’t have any more questions for her, which was odd. Out here, the first thing you did was try to make connections—to your old home, your lands, your family. Instead, he held forth on the topic of gifts and rewards. He remarked on his unique ability to shine so bright he could be seen from the spirit world. He declared this house holy and offered up the idea of opening it as a church for lost souls. None of this seemed new to anyone other than Rose. Everyone else cooed and clapped on cue like trained monkeys.

“I had a dream,” the Chief began, like he was a different man, a great man. “I want to tell you about it, because it goes beyond a dream and enters the realm of prophecy…”

He went on to talk about a round house in a field, circled by horses and strung with bear skulls hanging from the gutters. When he got up to “peruse the pantry,” the assembly moved with him. Only Nam, who resembled the Chief around the eyes, stayed behind. Rose used the opportunity to ask them some questions, frantic for answers, desperate for the aid promised to Derrick that still hadn’t appeared.

“Hey, thanks for the help with my friend.”

Nam looked at Rose quick and sharp, as if she’d pulled a gun on them. They answered in a low voice. “No worries.”

“How long have you and your dad been out here?”

“Chief’s not my dad,” Nam scoffed. Rose collected the resentment they threw down and put it in her back pocket in case she needed it later.

“So, what, are you one of his spouses?”

“No!” They scrunched up their nose. “God, no. He’s my uncle.” They paced a short trail by the fireplace. “We’ve been here for years now. I don’t know. I don’t keep track.”

Rose, sensing that Nam was a bit of an outsider here, decided to get closer. “I’m from Treaty 3. Last name is Morriseau.” She paused checking if her words were landing—she needed to get through, then added, “My pronouns are she and her.”

Nam stopped moving and studied her face, connecting for the first time. “Williams. Nam Williams. They/them.”

They nodded at each other slow, seeing one another more clearly now.

Through a dozen inquiries, Rose was able to ascertain that back on the rez, the Chief had cooperated with the new government until his own safety was compromised, and by then he’d betrayed so many people, sending them out as “volunteers,” that there was no one left who would shield him. Only Nam remained unwillingly on his side, and they were too young to offer any protection. For some reason they were never quite clear on, he kept them away from the Recruiters. The Wives were all the women he’d collected since they’d been on the lam, the ones who were too “liberal” to take part in the marrow consumption but too ingrained in the system to find a different way to survive.