Tidy the last of the mess.

Joseph’s grip on her arm tightened as he fumbled one-handed for another match in his pocket.

Something swift and sour knocked the knot from Mallow’s hair and she felt it tumble down around her shoulders, tangle round her neck and slip under her collar. She crouched, and the thing came again, this time knocking into Joseph.

He shouted, released her arm, and she heard his breath bellow out against the stone table.

Mallow lowered herself to the stony trail and slid toward the scrub-covered slope that fell away to the valley below.

“Mallory!” Joseph called. His arms blackened the stars like the silhouettes circling above.

She slunk further into the sage, gripping the fine branches to keep herself from sliding all the way down to the gorge.

Another fire blazed and Joseph spun around it, searching for her, searching for whatever had knocked her free of him. He searched low, across the rocks, while above, the light glanced off the spreading points of talons, off the shine of oiled pinions slick with old blood.

Mallow’s drab grey dress hid her in the sage.

Joseph’s warm beacon drew them, and they began to pluck. They grasped at his coat, and he slipped free of it. He dropped the long match, and the length of it burned in a trench of dust at his feet. They went for his hair, for the twisting coil of rope he’d had at his hip, concealed under the coat. His shirt fell away in red ribbons, then so did the flesh of his chest, that warm back, the soft middle of him Mallow had cushioned herself against. He fell away, beak by beak, into the mountain air. His cries carried up to the heavens on wings slicked in a fresh shine that steamed in the cold air.

Till he was gone. The last of the mess tidied up.

Save for his torn coat that had fallen away against the rocks. Mallow pulled herself back onto the trail and lifted the dark fabric, inspecting the damage. It would be mendable, with the whip of her needle. It was warm, still, and felt heavy over her shoulders. Pockets full of bright treasures she could inspect in the light of his hearth, add to her own little nest.

The coattails flapped behind her like birds’ wings, carrying her prayers up to the heavens as she moved down the mountain, against a backdrop of stars, toward her domain. She pulled the wool from around her keys and let them chime, sealed the rite with her bell.

The Eye Liars

THE EYE LIARS