Flock (The Ravenhood)

His unexpected hesitation has me second-guessing myself. But I don’t see the harm. It’s a gesture, a kind one at that. How much could Dominic possibly resent it? Within a few knocks she answers, but I can tell it was a struggle for her to get to the door. Her hair is a braided mess over her shoulder, black half-moons of sickness lay prominently beneath her eyes. She stands in a pale blue robe and matching pajamas, her gaze filled with clear accusation when she darts them to me.

“I had my treatment last night,” she snaps, her tone laced with embarrassment, as she pulls her robe more tightly around her. “I don’t need a ride.”

“Hey, Delphine,” Tyler greets as she drinks him in slowly before eyeing the dozen or so plastic bags in his hands.

“What are you doing here?”

Tyler remains mute, looking her over carefully before lowering his gaze. He seems at a loss for words, so I speak up on our behalf.

“Here to see you, we were just at the store and—”

She slices her hand in the air, effectively cutting me off, her unforgiving gaze on Tyler before rolling back to me. “I need nothing.”

“You need this,” I say softly. “And if you don’t, I do. So, please let us in.”

After a painful silence, she takes a reluctant step back just enough to let us through. Tyler carries the bulk of the load through the living room, setting the bags on the counter. He’s no stranger to this house. When I think about it, it’s no surprise, Dominic grew up here. Tyler told me during our hood errands that he grew up with Dominic and Sean in the same neighborhood, that they played together as kids. His childhood home is a few streets over from hers, which is why I asked him to help me today. I knew he would know the way.

Sean would’ve probably tried to talk me out of it, so I went with the safest option. And I’m happy about my choice as a bold roach crawls over the lip of the bag I just unpacked. I jerk back before smashing it with a can of bug spray. Delphine joins us in the kitchen as I shudder and shove the empty bag into the trash. Tyler remains mute, unpacking the rest of the bags, tension rolling off his shoulders. Delphine views me with speculation as I strategically stack dinners in her freezer.

“This will not earn you any points with my nephew.” She speaks from behind me, her French tongue laced with disdain.

“Then let’s not mention it to him,” I reply. I’m not insulted by her assumption. I can only imagine how many women she’s chased off over the years. But it’s not Dominic I’m the most concerned about at the moment. Tyler either, although he seems pretty ill at ease. I might have asked too much from him.

Delphine hovers in her kitchen, her focus drifting between the two of us, but I can tell her defiant stance is taking some effort as a thin veil of sweat starts to coat her translucent skin.

“Or maybe it’s not my nephew you’re fucking?”

Tyler snaps his head her way, and I lift my hand.

“No, it most definitely is your nephew I’m fucking.”

Her eyes drift over my shoulder to Tyler, who seems surprised by her reaction to us. She shakes her head and walks out of the kitchen as we share a weary glance before we resume our work.

Once we’ve fully unpacked, we divide to conquer. I start in her bedroom, filling a trash bag full of junk under her eagle-eyed scrutiny before I gather my arsenal of cleaners. I’m halfway into scrubbing out a carpet stain that looks like a lost cause when she sounds up behind me.

“Why are you here?”

I decide to give her a dose of Alfred Sean Roberts honesty. Something tells me she’ll appreciate it a lot more. I glance over my shoulder and meet her assessing eyes. “Because I don’t like the state you’re living in. You’re not well. You’re fighting a sickness while allowing yourself to live in an infested house.”

“Who are you to criticize me?”

“No one of authority.” I stand and face her fully. She’s so thin I can see the deep purple vein in her neck. Chemo has taken a scary toll since the last time I saw her. “You can tell me to leave, Delphine. And I will.”

She crosses her arms, her thin robe accentuating her gaunt figure. “I’m doing what I’m supposed to. I’ve taken my meds.”

“I’m not here to police you.” Simple, honest, to the point. The woman can smell bullshit from a mile away.

“Fine,” she flips her hand. “Do what you will.”

“Thank you.” She frowns at my reply and turns on shaky legs, walking back toward the living room.

I resume my scrubbing as the house remains quiet and the tension builds. She finally speaks up, calling out to Tyler who’s working his way through her kitchen. I hear the distinct clink of a bottle to glass where she speaks from her chair.

“Never thought I’d see you again. Are you still a traitor?”

“If you mean a Marine, then yes,” he replies, clear mirth in his voice. “You haven’t forgiven me yet?”

“No.”