"How could you 3

"I have money left over. I've checked a couple of times to make sure I was never declared officially dead, so. . ."

"But... how?"

"I used to be a pretty high-priced model. The cocaine and heroine usually came free at the types of parties I went to. When I ran I still had a pretty good stash of cash. One smart thing I did was I handled my own money. Mostly it was because I'd gotten so paranoid that I transferred it into a new account without telling my managers.

Hell, I could probably take a few more jobs . . . the novelty of it will probably get the price high enough to cover the rest of the bill."

“We can't ask you to . . . you have four-hundred thousand dollars?"

Nathaniel repeated.

"Yeah. I think I've got some stuff in storage at . . . wait, I own a house!" Anya scrunched up her forehead, deep in thought. Then she noticed everyone was staring at her.

"I should have told you. I know how much the Strays could have used the money but . . . I didn't like who I had been back then. I didn't want to remember the person who had bought all those things, because I would have had to remember how I bought them."

Tarloh grabbed her hand gently.

"When you join the Strays, you bring only what you can carry. If you didn't want to haul that baggage around, you didn't have to. I hate to ask you to go back, but. . ."

"I'll do it," Anya said, more easily than she had suspected possible.

"I feel kinda dumb about it. I mean, Jane had the guts to go home and try to face the guy that raped her. How can I not be able to face a couple of agents and managers? They're only human. Barely human, maybe, but human nonetheless."

Inside, her friends felt a flicker of hope. It seemed that they might have caught another break.

In Mexico...

Robbie was drunk. He hadn't been drunk in a long time, and he couldn't remember being that drunk ever. The Raptors had been surprisingly enthusiastic about helping, particularly when they heard there might be a fight involved. Robbie then remembered that, according Michael, war was the primary form of population control for harpies. They were a medieval race on a violent world, and fighting wasn't second nature to them. He'd heard a joke that the only thing a harpy liked more than a good fight is a good fuck and that is was sometimes difficult to tell the two of them apart. And this combative nature had worn off on their counterparts. The Raptor's had agreed to help, and the party had begun. Harpies liked to celebrate.

He started to sit down on a log away from the main encampment, trying to clear his head. Then he checked to see if the log was actually a giant snake. Then he decided he didn't care. The cool air was doing him some good. He stopped and looked up at the stars.

"How long has it been since I've stared up at them?" he pondered.

“Been living underground too long," he added. Even though he had acted as Red's voice in the meeting, he actually was looking forward to moving. He was a wild animal, and he needed a wild space.

"No one should live anywhere but under the sky," came a smooth and slightly slurred voice. Besla had glided ever so silently up and landed with barely a noise. No wonder the harpies were such efficient predators. And Besla was carrying a bottle of tequila in her hand ...

"I never understood how the Strays could live in a hole. No offense."

“It was home," Robbie replied, trying to straighten up.

“It was comfortable and . . . well, we thought it was safe."

Besla offered him the bottle, which he respectfully declined.