“Enough to give them dreams?”

“I’m not sure there’s enough blood in one skin for that.” They rubbed their chin in a thoughtful gesture. “It’s enough just so they’ll wait around for the dreams to start.”

“Why doesn’t he give them his own blood, his own dreams?”

“He doesn’t have enough to go around,” Nam admitted. “Of either.”

“What? But he’s always going on about his visions—all colorful and sacred and Indian-y.”

Nam laughed. “You’ve obviously never read much. Those are stories. Stories I remember from Maria Campbell and Waub Rice…and some are just my dreams.”

Rose held her breath. “He’s telling your dreams?”

They nodded.

“Why doesn’t he have more?”

“Before he was the Chief, he was just plain old corrupt Chief Henry Williams, a stereotype. He had the biggest house on the rez and two brand-new boats. He was in tight with the oil dudes, living a good life with the consultation money meant for the Band.”

Rose’s head started to spin, and she had to close her eyes. She felt the cup at her lips and tried to drink. A thought occurred to her.

“Nam, did they already take some?” She kept her eyes closed. “My blood? Did they take it?”

There was no answer. There didn’t need to be. Rose twisted in her starfish position to see her arm. There was a bandage on the inside of her elbow. If she’d had anything other than a mouthful of water in her stomach, she’d have thrown it up.

✦✦✦ ✦✦✦ ✦✦✦

“I don’t know how much longer we’ll last.” Rose felt her heart in her throat, too small a place to comfortably hold such a muscular organ, even weakened as it was. It had been four days since Nam had first appeared with water, since she’d been captured and tied up with her arms out like some kind of Christ, and already she was losing hope of ever getting back to the woods, let alone to the school to find French. That mission felt like a dream from another life. Nam had been coming in every day to take blood. At first, the Wives showed up to drain her: Wren, who stabbed at Rose’s arm with wild abandon, and Cardinal, who cried from the second she walked in until the second she was chased out by a string of profanities. Neither approach was particularly successful. The Chief came once, but Rose made sure he knew exactly what she thought of him.

“You’re a cult leader, that’s all. You are no real Chief,” she spat at him. If she’d had more saliva, it would have landed on his face. Instead, he wiped his arm on the front of her T-shirt and left, unharmed.

“I hope your ancestors are watching. I hope your grandma has a front row seat to this bullshit,” Rose laughed. “If I were you, I wouldn’t step outside. You might find wolves sent by your own relations waiting for you.”

“I don’t have time for all this negative energy you’re spewing,” he replied from the safety of the doorway. “Good thing we have sacred medicines to clean all the foulness from your blood.”