THEIR BLOOD BE LAID

PART V

I come home still bleeding.

You ruined Dad's plan.

They wait around the house, mother and aunts and uncles and cousins, Cillian coming forward to greet me as soon as I slip in the door. The words on his lisp fade when no one else follows behind me. Something in his shoulders relaxes when he sees the blood still rolling down my arm.

"I'm not hurt," I tell him, even though that isn't what he would ask.

"Áine..."

"Come here."

I've never told my brother what to do before.

I've never expected him to listen.

You're starting a war.

Cousin Rian trails behind us with a face still weighed down with grief. He hangs back when my mother and Aunt Eva surround me to smooth down my hair, try to look into my eyes.

"What happened?"

"Are you all right, doll?"

"Where's your father?"

I looked my mother in the eyes even though I don't feel like I can, and I tell her all of it. I tell all of them, as they cram into the kitchen one by one. When I've finished Uncle Quinn lets the curses roll off his tongue like water.

"I knew it. I knew it, the little bastard, I knew he'd do something like this. Rian, let's go—"

"No," I say.

I should be the quivering little girl still. Only a handful of years ago I actually pieced together what we do in this family — I don't yet have the deep ties and the experience and the gunfire and the blood. But I do have red-stained hands, and something dark and cold in the pit of my stomach, so I stand tall, pretend I'm Dad, and try to copy what he might do.

"We can't do anything stupid. We need to weigh our options. We need to be smart, and careful."

"The hell we will."

I look at the uncle who used to carry me on his shoulders laughing through the hall. "We're not going anywhere yet. We need a plan."

His jaw clenches. I wonder what Dad told everyone else, about me taking over once he's gone. I wonder if everyone knows but me.

Quinn leaves without another word. His boots stomp down the hall with more force than usual. Rian trails after him, stopping in the doorway to watch me the way you might watch a stray cat in an alley. It's close, and small, but you're in its territory, and you don't know how rabid it might be.

"There's something for you in Uncle James' office," he says. "He said you would know what to do with it."

I do.

I nod. "I'll be out soon."

Nobody says a word as I leave, but I feel all their eyes on me as I open the door to Dad's office and slip in, locking it behind me. I used to spend whole afternoons in here while the rain drizzled down the windows — I'd sit or sprawl on the floor to draw or read while Dad sent messages and managed papers at the desk. Sometimes I would listen in on meetings, and the other men would give me skeptical looks, but Dad waved them off each time and their secret words floated right over my head. I wish I'd paid more attention. Maybe they said things that would help me now, when I have no idea where to start.

Right now, though, I can't think about any of that. Out of all the things I'll find in the secret corners of Dad's office, the one that seems most urgent is tied to a chair in the middle of the room, and I've made the mistake of locking eyes with him.