Axis

By Sarah V. Hines

Father against daughter, sister against sister.

It's only been a month since Telese's life was torn apart. Once Lead Diplomat among her sister Sirens, Telese now spearheads a rebellion against her father-the ruthless Eternal Being, Alexandros. Though her efforts have resulted in little more than deep sacrifice and grief, s

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balance of Seven
• Release date: Jan 26, 2024
• ISBN: 9781947012493

Sarah V. Hines

Born in Dayton, Ohio, Sarah V. Hines lived in St. Augustine, Florida, for a few years before settling in Washington, DC. She attends Northern Virginia Community College, where she studies international relations and anthropology. She loves crochet, her Bengal-demon cat, Balthazar, and visits with her family in the Pacific Northwest. Her favorite drink is hot chocolate, which is appropriate since her favorite season is winter. If you've enjoyed the Siren Tragedies so far, check in with Sarah at SarahVHines.com for updates as the story continues.

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Copyright

Axis

The Siren Tragedies, Book 2

Copyright ©2024 Sarah V. Hines

All rights reserved. Printed in the United States.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

For information, contact:

Balance of Seven

www.balanceofseven.com

[e-mail]

Cover Illustration by Emily Zelasko

www.emilyzelaskoart.com

Custom Font and Cover Design by Peyton Freeman

www.artstation.com/peytonfreeman

Developmental Editing by Kenneth Hines

Line Editing by D. Ynes Freeman and TNT Editing

Formatting and Proofreading by TNT Editing

www.theodorentinker.com/TNTEditing

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Hines, Sarah V.

Title: Axis / Sarah V. Hines.

Description: Newport, VT : Balance of Seven, 2024. | Series: The siren tragedies ; book 2.

Identifiers: LCCN 2023947891 | ISBN 9781947012486 (pbk.) | ISBN 9781947012493 (ebook) | ISBN 9781947012615 (itchio ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: Revolutions – Fiction. | Magic – Fiction. | Mental health – Fiction. | Self-reliance – Fiction. | Sirens (Mythology) – Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Fantasy / Dragons & Mythical Creatures. | FICTION / Fantasy / Paranormal. | FICTION / Fantasy / Urban.

Classification: LCC PS3608.I54 A9 2024 (print) | PS3608.I54 (ebook) | DDC 813 H56 -- dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023947891

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Dedication

To all those fighting

for change through hardship.

You are seen.

Contents

Copyright

Dedication

One: The Discovery

Two: Struggles and Plans

Three: His Bad Side

Four: The Job

Five: You Weren’t There

Six: Icarus

Seven: Change of Heart

Eight: Missing

Nine: The Dark One

Ten: Scars

Eleven: Allies

Twelve: Desperation

Thirteen: Off

Fourteen: The New Apprentice

Fifteen: Nothing More than Spirits

Sixteen: Nocterium

Seventeen: Visions

Eighteen: Reunion

Nineteen: Healing

Twenty: Which Would You Prefer?

Twenty-One: Blind Obedience

Twenty-Two: Abandoned

Twenty-Three: Flames

Twenty-Four: Next Steps

Twenty-Five: Two Brothers

Twenty-Six: Old Companion

Twenty-Seven: Fire and Water

Twenty-Eight: What Makes Them Different?

Twenty-Nine: Intimidation

Thirty: Translation

Thirty-One: Choice

Thirty-Two: Need to Talk

Thirty-Three: Talents

Thirty-Four: Happily Ever After

Thirty-Five: Meeting

Thirty-Six: Styx

Thirty-Seven: Defenses

Thirty-Eight: The Devil You Know and the Devil You Don’t

Thirty-Nine: Mnemosyne

Forty: Weapons

Forty-One: Haunted

Forty-Two: Between Siren and Human

Forty-Three: He’s Lost Everything

Forty-Four: The Power of Words

Forty-Five: Training

Forty-Six: You’re a Monster

Forty-Seven: Belarus

Forty-Eight: Looking for Hope

Forty-Nine: Bad News

Fifty: The Whole Story

Fifty-One: The Girls of Stalingrad

Fifty-Two: The Message

Fifty-Three: Plotting

Fifty-Four: There’s Still a Chance

Fifty-Five: Axis

About the Author

One

The Discovery

The town of Brandon, Ireland, had not changed.

It was still serene, away from the rest of the world. Its jade mountains surrounded modest houses on gravel roads. The residents were on edge over the growing unrest to the north, but for the moment, the town nestled them in its calmness.

For Telese, however, Brandon was empty.

She tried to brush the dirt from her black shirt, but it was like trying to soak up a river with a sponge. It had been nearly two weeks since her last shower. Telese often had to settle for washing her important parts with soap and bottles of water that Meg stole from her dorm room, now far away. Most of Telese’s clothes were wearing thin, though the legs of her black cargo pants looked like they had skipped the threadbare stage and gone straight to unraveling.

Telese’s frustration was only increased by the matted curls falling out of her hairband and the film of sweat coating her skin from her training sessions with her sister Rivkah. As a Warrior Siren bonded to Israel, Rivkah was used to long days of training or fighting with little chance to shower. Telese, as a former Diplomat, was more accustomed to impeccable grooming and the need to make good impressions on leaders and dignitaries. The greasiness and stickiness of her unwashed clothing made her itch.

For once, though, her discomfort over her lack of cleanliness was forgotten. Her stomach twisted into knots as she crept over the gravel toward a familiar house. It looked the same as always, as if she could still knock on the door and have it open to reveal the black-haired, dark-eyed sister who had once been her inseparable companion.

A flash of memory played in her mind—blood everywhere, the smell of death, the heavy silence after piercing screams.

She stopped at the edge of the street, staring down the door but not truly seeing it. The air became heavy. Around her, crimson stones brightened and dulled over and over. Those in front of her bore Sireeni words—words only a Siren could read—written in blood.

I warned you.

Telese?

The image dissolved, replaced by the familiar door. Telese’s sister Layla stepped just into view, pulling her sea-green hijab more tightly around her as she fidgeted nervously with a hole in the sleeve of her dirty tunic. As a Healer Siren bonded to Palestine, Layla could sense the emotional and physical needs of the people around her with unquestionable accuracy.

I’m fine, Telese said over her shoulder. She walked up the sidewalk to the door of Morgan’s bungalow. I’m fine, she repeated softly to herself.

Stopping at the steps, she continued staring at the door. She didn’t know what to do. Was she really going to break into her sister’s home?

Gently, she placed her hand on the wood. It was still there—the home, the door—and inside, there would be weapons, rugs, and tea . . .

But there would be no Morgan.

There would never be again.

The strength flowed out of Telese’s legs as she fell to her knees. The tears began, and Layla and Rivkah ran over, throwing their arms around her. She never really stopped crying. There were just pauses—little breaks before she remembered Morgan was gone. The memory would flash through her mind—what remained of Morgan’s body lying on the dark, dirty grounds of the very room Telese had been tortured in for a hundred years.

Do you want to wait out here? Layla asked.

Telese shook her head. She wanted to surround herself with the energy Morgan had left behind.

Steadying herself, she rose, Rivkah’s hand at her elbow and Layla’s on her shoulder. She twisted the door handle; it was unlocked.

She willed herself to push the door open but stopped. It still seemed wrong. Lifting her hand, she knocked three times, twice, and then thrice more. Only then did she enter.

Sunlight streaming through the windows illuminated a pile of weapons that Telese had helped Morgan clean only a month before. Looking at Rivkah, she nodded.

Go through them. See if you can use them. Layla, see if there’s any food we can take back. Roxy’s getting too thin, she added, mentioning their sister who had been tortured by Alexandros, leaving her blind in one eye and despondent. We need something—yesterday.

Bringing the food back is only half the battle, Layla said. "We can’t force her to eat."

Sure, we can, Rivkah said, inspecting a dagger.

Telese frowned at Rivkah, though she secretly noted that the suggestion was not out of the question at this point. Leave Roxy to me. You gather food. I’m going to look around.

Telesi. At the use of her nickname, Telese paused and glanced at Rivkah, who motioned to Telese’s empty hands. Remember what we talked about last night.

Sighing, Telese grabbed her Siren blade from the sheath at her waist and held it in a defensive position at chest level, pointed outward. The position was still awkward for a woman who had never wanted to learn armed combat, and she wondered why Rivkah was teaching her at all. She was certain anybody could disarm her while she employed this flimsy hold.

You’re sure about what Morgan said?

Rivkah laughed mirthlessly. It was the last thing she ever said to me. I promise, I will not forget it.

Telese nodded, a wave of sadness flashing through her. She ambled down the dark hallway as memories of playing hide-and-seek with Morgan and Roxy flooded her mind. She was terrible at that game. She had always been clumsy on her feet, while Morgan and Roxy had moved like cats in the night.

How would Morgan handle this? Would she laugh? Sternly correct my stance? Would she take over the task, knowing I’m not a Warrior?

When Telese reached the bedroom, the door was ajar. She stopped and considered her position. If she pushed the door open, it would alert anybody who might be hiding. If she tried to peek through, she could alert them with her shuffling. Either way, a lingering intruder would have the upper hand.

At first, she thought about calling for Rivkah. If the intruder were a Siren, though, they’d be able to tap into her call through the Old Energy.

Telese pursed her lips and steadied herself. She crept toward the door, pressing herself against the wall to peer through the crack.

She listened.

No movement. No sounds.

She gently pushed the door open, ready to strike with her blade. She tried to remember what Rivkah had told her.

Dark places, closets, bed.

She glanced at the closet. The door was open, Morgan’s clothes scattered across the floor. Throughout the room, nothing moved, other than a violet curtain fluttering in the breeze that pried its way through the opening of a window. Telese winced.

Anybody could use that window to climb in and out of the room.

She looked at the bed. Kneeling seemed risky, as her reaction time wasn’t that of the Warriors yet, and she didn’t want to make herself vulnerable to an attack.

Looking around the room again, she saw nothing but clothes, books, and boxes. After assessing the scene, she crouched, staying flat on her feet despite the protest of her aching muscles. Rivkah had insisted she work on her leg strength this week, and she winced, regretting it. Holding her blade by her feet, she twisted it to catch the sunlight.

Nothing in the reflection.

The room was empty.

Telese leaned back to sit against the door frame, crossing her feet in front of her. Reaching to her side, she pulled the closest thing to her. It was a small cardboard box, worn and taped up. Telese cut the tape with her blade and opened it.

Books on warfare and fighting greeted her. Picking one up, she flipped through it as she rummaged through the box.

These could be useful for the Diplomats and Healers, if we’re successful in rounding them up.

Telese set the box aside, stood, and continued to look around. She replaced her blade at her hip and walked toward a small nightstand by the bed. Opening the drawer, she sifted through the contents, finding only hairbands, brushes, and pictures.

Telese pulled out a yellowing photograph. Her heart beat strong. There were three women in the photograph: one with pale skin that still looked bright despite the picture’s age, one with an olive skin tone that blended into the photograph’s sepia hue, and one with dark skin that contrasted beautifully against its faded colors.

Morgan, Telese, and Roxy.

The three of them stood in front of a plane: Morgan squinted in the sunlight, her hair pulled into a tight braid and pinned back. She was only visible from the shoulders up, but Telese smiled, remembering how she and Roxy used to tease their sister about how her square military-issued jacket made her look like a pretty box. Roxy looked down at Morgan from above, dressed in a pilot’s jumpsuit and leather jacket. Telese, in a dark blazer over a lace shirt, gazed up at Roxy, perturbed.

She sighed a little, and the breath hurt every part of her. World War II had been a hard time for every Siren involved. She had found herself caught between Roxy and Morgan’s constant bickering, and this snapshot seemed to capture one of those moments.

Who took this picture? One of my other sisters or nieces? What was going on then? It seemed so important that Telese remember every moment of that day—that she not forget a single moment between the three of them, good or bad. But as she searched for a memory of that exact day, she came up with nothing.

A blind anger built inside. He had insisted that they work without stopping. He had sacrificed their memories of each other for his own purpose.

Her father.

No—Alexandros. She would never think of him as her father again. He had never been one. He was a tormentor, a dictator, and a hangman. He had taken everything from her, long before she was even aware he was doing it.

Her anger reached a boiling point as she tore the photograph in half and threw it. She collapsed onto the bed, moving away from the door to a spot—her spot—where she had lain for a year after she had come back from her hundred-year torture by her father in the Correction Rooms. She tried to feel Morgan next to her, rubbing her back, singing her lullabies, promising her that nothing would hurt her while she was there.

But you aren’t here, she thought. And now, everything hurts me.

Curling up, she pulled her knees to her chest despite the sore muscles and wrapped her arms around herself. This doesn’t help. I’m still alone. She flung her arms underneath Morgan’s pillow in a restless attempt to expunge the misery that had taken up residence in every part of her.

She felt the tears trying to break through again. She took long, deep breaths, stifling them back. She was here for a reason and couldn’t be distracted.

Climbing out of the bed, she walked to the window and ran her hands along the frame. She opened drawers and boxes, occasionally tossing a book or picture on the bed, making a mental note to grab something she could use to carry it all back. Kneeling, she looked around the bed, moving clothes aside while trying to avoid the realization that she would never see them on her sister again.

She was merely buying moments before taking on the hardest task, allowing her to gather the strength she would need to fulfill Morgan’s last request of her.

More boxes. More books. More pieces of her sister’s life scattered around her, still helping her through her newest challenge, even after her death.

Finally, it was time to fulfill the purpose of this visit.

Walking to the nightstand, she pulled the drawer out completely. She then moved the nightstand and ran her fingers over the wall it had stood against.

A small dent in the wood caught her fingertips.

Telese ran her fingers under the impression and summoned the Old Energy. There was a faint click, and the wall moved at the baseboard. Reaching inside, she pulled out a small black box, a little ivory-and-metal object with a rudimentary windup key, and an envelope bearing her name.

The second item brought a fresh round of tears to Telese’s eyes. Her fingers fumbled over the key, trying to get it to turn. The box made no movements or sounds. It was nearly a millennium old, and she was amazed it was even intact. It was a music box from Icarus, who had most likely placed a spell on it to preserve it as long as possible.

Gently setting the music box down, she picked up the envelope. The ink was smudged and seemed fresh. The writing was Morgan’s, and Telese opened it quickly. In the moment, she didn’t care what it was—an important message or a grocery list. She needed to hear Morgan’s voice, even if it was just in her head.

Telese,

If you’ve found this, it means I’ve not made it back. There’s no simple way for me to say these things, as I know you’ll be out of your wits at this point. That’s fine. But don’t go too far out that you don’t know how to get back. They need you right now.

Telese stopped reading, her breath catching in her chest as she suppressed a rising sob. She placed the back of her hand against her lips and looked away from the letter.

Morgan had known she might not make it back to her. She had known, and she had taken measures to reassure Telese.

Somehow, through the pain and new tears, this brought Telese a small amount of comfort.

Steadying herself, she continued reading.

I’ve kept this safe. I think you’re ready for it. It was never meant for anybody but you, as I’m sure Mother would agree. If you’re reading this, I won’t be able to see it on you, but I don’t care. I know what it looked like on her. I’ve never forgotten anything about her. How could I when everything about you mirrors her? I thank every power in the world that she saved you from him. I miss her, but her sacrifice to keep you with me was something I can never express enough gratitude for.

I’m sorry about not telling you about Icarus’s music box. It’s been something I wanted to keep to myself—my own piece of history when I need to remember a time far away from this one. I promise this is the only secret I’ve kept from you. I hope the surprise is pleasant instead of bitter.

Whatever happens, know this was worth it. Whatever happens, know that the last thing on my mind could be nothing but you. I’m sorry I won’t be there to comfort you and sing you to sleep like before. Just know that, whatever happens, I spent every moment of your life loving you.

Please remember something: it’s fine to be weak for a moment. Even the best of us Warriors are. But you’ll need to work to be strong again. He won’t expect you to, but I know you can be, even without me there to help. No matter what, life resumes.

Wherever I am now, I will never be prouder of anything I have done than I am of you.

I love you more than all creation, Little Fire.

Your Sister,

Morgan

Every waking moment of the past month—and nearly every moment of her nightmare-plagued sleep—had been spent fighting tears or succumbing to them. As Telese read the letter, she couldn’t even bring herself to cry again. There was a quietness in her, her sister’s last words to her enveloping her in a cloak of steady calmness. Telese closed her eyes for a moment, and for the first time since she entered the house, she felt Morgan’s presence next to her.

Opening her eyes again, she picked up the small box. Holding it made her hands shake. From Morgan’s letter, she knew exactly what it would be. She took a deep breath and gently opened it.

Inside sat a long chain holding a Libra symbol carved from a strange indigo stone. When it caught the afternoon light, it appeared to glow from within. Telese had never seen anything else like it.

Like Icarus’s music box, the long silver chain and the stone were in surprisingly good condition. In fact, the whole pendant looked immaculate.

Which was particularly odd, as the last person to ever wear it had been her mother, Mnemosyne.

Telese remembered asking her mother where she had found the stone. Her mother had always told her it was a gift.

At the time, nothing had been more puzzling to Telese. She had always assumed the only person in a position to give her mother any gifts without Telese’s knowledge would have been Alexandros, and Telese doubted he had searched for weird stones shaped like astrological symbols as gifts for Mnemosyne at any point during their lives together.

Telese hesitated for a moment, then picked up the pendant.

The stone felt heavier than she had expected. More surprising was the growing warmth it radiated as it rested in her hand, as though awakened by her touch.

Is it my imagination, or is it glowing even without the help of the sunlight?

Telese felt like her insides and mind were swirling with the glow of the stone. She heard a breath of wind around her—no discernable words, just a steady rush of air, as if somebody were taking a continuous breath. A soothing lull spread over Telese for the first time since she had found Morgan’s body.

Maybe for the first time in her life.

As quietly as it had started, the sensation weakened and was gone. Telese looked around the room. Everything was the same, but she no longer felt so lost.

Placing the pendant around her neck, she tucked it under her shirt. Then she grabbed a black duffel bag and threw in everything she had gathered so far. Gently picking up the bag, she walked back to the living room, where Layla and Rivkah were packing and arguing about how many weapons Rivkah needed to take back with them.

You’re acting like we have a whole army back there, Layla protested. Really, Rivkah, can you find anything more inconvenient to take back?

We found a good amount of food, Rivkah said as Telese rejoined them. I don’t know about vegetables and fruit, but there’s a lot of canned food. There’s also an impressive amount of meat in the freezer.

A lot of pork, though, Layla said. Rivkah and I don’t eat pork, so plenty for the others.

Did you find anything? Rivkah asked.

Some books on fighting and military strategy, Telese said. Some pictures. A couple of other things I want.

What about that wall-drawer thing?

I’ll show you guys later. We need to go.

Layla grabbed a bag from the counter and nodded toward another. Grab that, Telese.

Picking up the green canvas bag, Telese was surprised by its weight. I never realized Morgan had so much food.

Even now, she’s a lifesaver, Rivkah agreed.

The women left through the front door, aiming for the Vanishing Point that allowed Sirens to travel wherever they needed to throughout Earth, the Light World, and the Dark World. Pausing as she closed the door, Telese stared at it. She wished she could go back inside and curl up on Morgan’s bed one more time. She hurt so badly that she found herself wishing for the time after the Correction Rooms, because Morgan would never have let Telese out of her sight and she wouldn’t be alone.

The stone warmed against her skin again, filling Telese with a radiating reassurance. It was time to start moving. What other choice was there?

Telese placed her hand on Morgan’s door. Goodbye, Morgie, she whispered. The words tore at her throat like shards of broken glass.

Turning away, she walked with her sisters to the Vanishing Point.

Two

Struggles and Plans

Air-conditioning.

Hot water.

Food.

Meg, Van, and Eric lounged in a derelict house in Chile. It was remote enough that none of the current uprisings nearby could pose a threat. Eric lay on the floor, sweat dripping down his body, his skin paler than usual from hiding from the harsh sun. His red curls were soaked in sweat, making him even more uncomfortable. Van lay near him, dressed only in shorts, his brown skin covered in sweat and his hazel eyes staring miserably at the ceiling. Dressed in a camisole and pajama shorts, Meg lay on the couch, her hair spread out around her head like a greasy yellow fan.

Looking up at her, Van tilted his head. Why don’t you cut your hair, Meg?

Why don’t you shut the hell up, Van? Meg’s green eyes brightened for a moment, as all Sirens’ did when they felt a rush of emotion.

Eric laughed. The heat and lack of running water were taking a toll on everybody, but Meg seemed to be suffering the most. Nobody was safe from her wrath.

Can we go home now? Eric asked. Just for a day?

No, both Meg and Van answered at once.

How are my parents, Van?

Van—one of the Light lords intent on protecting humanity—had made good on his promise to Eric. He had hidden Eric’s parents just before the first attacks on the east coast of America. Was that only a month ago? Eric wondered. It seemed like forever since he, Telese, Mortimer, Van, and Meg had watched the drones roll in over San Francisco. The east coast attacks days later had been even worse.

According to Meg, they still had no culprit.

Van nodded. Just checked in with them today. They’re really scared, not going to lie. But they’re fine.

Eric sighed. No way I can see them? Just for five minutes?

You know you can’t. If either of you are captured by Alexandros, it’s best not to have had any contact with the other.

Eric was silent for a moment. What about the rest of my family?

We’re still looking for them. Meg pulled her hair into a ponytail and then released it. "Nothing new. That isn’t really surprising, as, like, a million things could have happened between then and now—"

Meg, Van warned as Eric’s shoulders drooped.

I mean, you know, they could be in hiding, Meg said quickly. Or on the run. Maybe some Siren found some of them, and they had to flee.

Eric sat up and pulled his knees to his chest.

Meg frowned. Let’s try this again. I’m sure the entirety of your family is perfectly okay.

Thanks, Eric muttered. He couldn’t be angry at her. In just one month, her aunt Roxy had been blinded and thrown into a deep depression, her aunt Morgan had been killed, and her aunts Telese, Rivkah, and Layla were on the run from her grandfather. As for the rest of her family, Eric knew as much about them as Meg did.

You have a mother, right? Eric asked, realizing he had never learned about Meg’s immediate family.

She scowled. No, I was hatched from a dinosaur egg experiment that went terribly wrong. What kind of question is that? Of course I do.

She’s a Siren?

Of course.

Where is she?

She’s bonded to Cameroon.

Eric raised an eyebrow. Cameroon? And you decided not to bond to somewhere closer to her?

Meg lifted her head a little to look at Eric fully. We don’t decide where we’re bonded. We just bond.

Sirens just start taking on the characteristics of a place, Eric, Van explained. Then they’re naturally drawn to that place.

But . . . Eric shook his head, turning his attention back to Meg. You’re billions of years old.

Yeah? Your point?

So how did you bond to America before America was even a thing?

Meg shrugged. "You get restless until you find your place. You’re constantly moving, trying to figure out where you’re supposed to be. I mean, some of my aunts remember a time when there were no humans. Countries are all relatively new to us. You just . . . wander until you find the group of people you bond with."

"So you don’t bond with a country, Eric said. You bond with people."

"Exactly. I came to America in 1786 and never wanted to leave. It’s been . . . well, compelling is a kind word for it. My aunt on the west coast, Litonya, has been here the longest. She tells me all these amazing stories about what life was like with the humans before the colonizers came."

How long has Telese been here? Eric asked.

Meg laughed a little. Since the nineteenth century. The farthest she ever wanted to venture from Sicily was mainland Italy. And then . . . then some stuff happened, and she stayed pretty close to Morgan before coming here.

Eric knew what stuff Meg was referring to. Van had already told him about the torture her father had put her through when both men still lived in the dorms of Greenridge University.

Meg sat up sharply, startling Eric and Van.

She’s calling, Meg said. Hold on.

Looking up at the ceiling, Meg fell silent for a few seconds, before jumping up from the couch and rushing across the dirty stone floor to the entrance room. Eric heard the front door open as Meg exclaimed, "Sweet merciful Creator, yes!"

Eric looked at Van, and both men pulled themselves up off the floor.

As Eric stood, a voice sounded in his ear. There were no discernible words, as if the speaker were talking underwater. He paused and looked around, his heart skipping a beat.

Van turned, a bemused look on his face. You okay?

Yeah, Eric said slowly, looking around the empty room. Yeah, fine. Come on, let’s see what Meg’s so excited about.

They walked into the entryway to find Meg pulling food out of a bag at Telese’s feet. Telese cradled more items in her arms.

Wow, Van said. Where did that come from?

Morgan’s, Telese answered, her voice quiet. Meg slowed her movements to look up at Telese, who raised her eyebrows and shrugged.

There’s a lot of meat there, Eric said, changing the subject.

Is that a problem, Fenny?

It’s still Eric, he said, hating her nickname for him more than usual. And it’s just that . . . He looked toward the kitchen. It’s just that we don’t have a great means of storing meat right now.

Ah, I thought you guys would have that problem. So, I brought you this. Telese pulled out a large, round aluminum pot with a temperature dial on top and a large, clawlike apparatus.

What is that? Meg asked.

It’s a pressure canner, Telese explained. "Rivkah went back to