November Mourns

Prologue

YOUR BLOOD WAS ALWAYS WHISPERING, EVEN if you didn’t want to listen.

Shad awoke on his feet, standing on his bunk, staring at the cement wall. He turned, peering into the darkness of the C-Block tier. In a pale flash, his sister’s hands pressed toward him through the bars of his cell.

“Mags,” he said. He opened his mouth to say more but was afraid he might whimper. Sometimes the depth of night hid you from your fears, and sometimes it brought them right to your bed.

He gritted his teeth, grunted her name again from the center of his chest. It was too easy to give in to the sorrow of your life. All it took was one instant of letting the pain in, and the flood would never end.

His father had phoned him this afternoon to tell him Mags was dead, and now here she was, visiting him. But why out there on the walk and not beside him? He waited for her to move closer, so she could talk to him, tell him who had done this to her.

If your kin had something to tell you, they’d come after you, no matter how far they had to travel. Even if your sister had no mouth anymore.

He stepped off his bunk and her hands receded into shadow as if she might be frightened. Like he might’ve shoved her away. “Mags?” he called, then much louder, “Megan!”

On the tier, their eyes glittered. He must’ve been at it for a while, yelling and walking around in his sleep. Other cons stood at their cell doors, staring out at him, silent except for a few of the Mexicans saying prayers.

The heat that always crouched at the back of his skull now burned more intensely, his rage alive and eager within him. Protective and loving. He reached up and touched his lips. He was smiling like an idiot, but there were tears on his face.