Chapter 6: The Keys

I picked the pillowcase up off the floor and opened my bedroom door.

Mom was standing in the hall.

She had come out of Felicity's room so quietly that I hadn't heard the latch.

"You look pale, honey," she said. "Come downstairs."

I looked at her face.

It was patient and kind and completely empty.

"Okay," I said.

I walked past her and down the stairs without a word about what I had heard.

If I said it, I would never get out of that house.

Headlights swept across the front windows.

Then another set, and another, and the sound of car doors outside.

Dad had been on the phone.

By the time I reached the bottom step, seven people from the pack had come in through the front door.

There were three elders in their good coats, two women who had helped with the hall, and the man who ran the feed store.

The Moon-reader came last, leaning on her cane.

"Thank you all for coming so late," Dad said, with his hand out in welcome.

"Our daughter is overwrought. We want to handle this quietly, as a family."

"I'm not overwrought," I said. "I'm leaving. I'm taking my car."

The room went quiet.

My brother stepped out from the kitchen and put himself in the doorway.

"The Honda isn't yours."

"I paid for it with four months of weekends. You took my keys when I was nineteen."

"Sigrid," Mom said.

"Give me the keys."

"No." He folded his arms. "Dad said."

I walked toward him.

He was six foot two, and he had been telling me I was soft since we were kids.

He grabbed my arm when I reached for his pocket.

I twisted out of his grip, caught his wrist, and shoved.

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