Bad Bloods: November Rain

by Shannon A. Thompson

  My hand was wet and hot, and the heat increased the harder I gripped my shoulder. It burned. Everything burned. My nostrils burned, and the gunshot echo burned my eardrums. It was so loud I thought I would never hear again until Cal spoke, Boy. Boy. Can you hear me?

  I could hear him, and I could hear her. Daniel. Serena’s fingers had touched my shoulder, and everything calmed.

  The rose curtain’s light color reminded me of dried blood, even though it signaled the arrival of afternoon. I squinted at it as if I could zap the annoying time away. It didn’t even occur to me where I was—or how I had gotten there—until I stretched and my limbs ached from a fever. Every part of my body was convincing me to return to my sleeping state, but someone kept me awake.

  “So, you’re up.”

  Dread pushed against my chest as I forced myself to roll over. My vision fogged from the movements, but Cal’s buzzed head slid into focus. His sharp gaze followed. If he had two arms, I imagined that he would’ve been leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands threaded in front of him. But he only had one arm. While his right arm was missing, my right arm burned with a fury only the past could create. My only injury would never go away. It always ached when I was sick, especially when I ignored the symptoms.

  “I’m sorry, Cal.” The apology was habitual and so was my constant need to keep moving. I tried to sit up, only to fall back down. My head spun. Air pushed out of my lungs.

  Cal cursed. “Stay down, Daniel.” We only used one another’s names when the situation was tense. “You’re gonna hurt yourself,” he continued as he dropped a wet towel on the armrest next to my head.

  I grabbed it and pushed the cloth against my heated skin. Cal never moved away. In fact, he sat down on the couch, right next to my feet. His back pushed against my legs as I managed to prop myself up. Cal stared at the small staircase that lead up to a single storage room no one used. As far as I knew, it still had a bed for Vi, but the bed had been there before her. He never did explain it to me.

  “Do you remember how you got here?” he finally asked.

  My brain raced, but like my body, it gave up quickly. “No.”

  Cal’s jaw popped, and for a second I saw Adam in his older face. I wondered how much Adam would resemble his uncle in the future, but the question faded when Cal cleared his throat. “Serena,” he croaked. “She brought you. Must’ve found you stumblin’ around like a drunkard—”

  “What?”

  “She knows, Daniel.”

  His words cut through my sickness like an innovative medicine had been invented just for my condition. Everything cleared. My mind, my aches, my fever. My breathing stabilized, but my insides were twisting like they’d never still again. Adrenaline.

  “I didn’t tell her you were in the Northern Flock,” he continued, laying his elbow on his knee. His fingers moved, but he looked at the space where his other hand was missing. “But she knows.”

  The longer his accusation lingered, the more it settled in like a fact instead of a question. Of course she knew. She had to have known. Her leader was following me, I was living with a man who wasn’t my biological father, and we had met on the streets. She would put two and two together the same way I had. But something had to have happened for Cal to say it.

  “I offered her a fake ID,” he answered my question. He didn’t follow it up with an apology. We both knew why he did it. He wanted to see her reaction. If she were alone on the streets—or even with a family that supported her—she would’ve jumped at the opportunity. Having a backup plan was vital for survival, and she had already lived far past the average bad blood. But she hadn’t accepted Cal’s help. She had obviously run. She had something more important protecting her: a flock, a powerful one, and it wasn’t ours. All of my suspicions were confirmed.

  I stared at the ceiling. “She’ll come back.”

  “Of course she will,” Cal snapped, “and when she does—”

  “I’m offering her a spot.”

  Silence strained the space between us, and my eyes slid back to Cal. In the bright light, his face looked older than I remembered it being. The shadows beneath his brow caused a sleep-deprived ring to form around his eyes, and his lips sulked, deep lines settling into his cheeks.

  “That was exactly what I was hopin’ for,” he finally said.

  I sat up straighter. “I expected you to argue.”

  His head moved back and forth in a slow sway. “The election is coming,” he sighed. “She can do something no one else has before.”

  Escape. He didn’t have to say it.

  “She’s a good asset—a risk, but an asset—and I’ve seen it myself,” he paused. “She has a purpose.”

  I was about to ask him what he meant when a sudden knocking broke through our conversation. While I leapt, Cal remained calm.

  “Must be the kiddos,” he said as he stood up.

  “What?”

  Cal ignored me until he reached the door. “You’re staying here for a few days, just until you get better.” Cal’s signature goofy grin appeared on his face as he opened the door. “I just thought you could use some company.”

  “I told you this was the right house,” Vi spoke up first as she glided into the house. Even in her human form, she somehow moved like a ghost.

  Ron followed her in silence, holding onto Blake’s hand, and Peyton sulked behind them. Michele flicked the girl’s shoulder and ordered her to leave her attitude at the door. Peyton was still in trouble, and she listened to every word Michele said. She started her entrance with an apology. Right after, Peyton plopped down on the couch next to me. I nearly missed Adam coming in. Including me, over half of us were present, and Cal’s small apartment suddenly seemed much smaller.

  “Sorry, we’re late,” Michele said as she laid a hefty bag on the countertop. “We had to pick up some supplies, and Peyton nearly lost Blake on the way over.”

  Before I could lose my mind, Blake let go of Ron’s hand and charged at the couch. The little boy leapt into the air and I grabbed him before gravity could take him back to the floor. He giggled and moved his arms like he were swimming. “I got to see a kite.”

  “I told you he ran off on his own,” Peyton muttered, folding her freckled arms.

  “Roll your sleeves down,” Michele responded with a stern tone. “It’s November.”

  Peyton turned her back to Michele before she obeyed, also taking a moment to roll her eyes. It didn’t matter if Peyton was a bad blood or not. She was still eleven, and her powers left her unaffected by the weather. Expecting her to wear a coat was foolish. It was something she and Kally had in common, despite how many times they fought. Today, Kally must have stayed at home. Keeping certain kids separated was Michele’s way of keeping things calm while I was away. Still, being the mother figure of a twelve-kid flock couldn’t have been any easier than my position, Adam’s position, or anyone’s position. We all had responsibilities and sometimes, things slipped under the radar.

  I lifted Blake onto the couch and laid a hand on top of his blond head. “Did you run off on your own?”

  His blue eyes squeezed shut, only for one of them to peek open. His cheeks were red. “I don’t wanna get in trouble.”

  Peyton let out a curse that an eleven-year-old shouldn’t know. I pointed at her. “Don’t talk like that,” I said before turning my attention toward Blake. “And don’t run off—not even for kites—and you owe Peyton an—”

  “I apology,” Blake spoke to Peyton, obviously repeating what he had heard in my mind.

  A second of silence broke through the room before everyone erupted into laughter.

  Blake’s expression, even though his features were so small, held a determined, serious quality that wrinkled his nose up. He blinked like he didn’t understand why we were laughing. “I said I’m sorry,” he stuttered after crossing his small arms.

  He knew how to say sorry at five years old, but he still fought to control his powers. When he heard people’s th
oughts, he blurted them out exactly how people thought them. It caused confusion, and it sometimes caused me to fear for him in public, but it mainly caused humorous moments in a city-state that barely held humor at all.

  “It’s fine,” I said as I ruffled his hair. “You did well.” I looked at Peyton. “You, too.”

  She beamed, and Ron slowly moved toward her side, silent but obviously relaxed now that he wasn’t in charge of Blake’s location.

  Adam chuckled at the sight but leaned his back against the wall like he was happy to stay out of the crowd of children. “I told you I should’ve run those errands,” he joked as he bobbed his head of black hair toward Cal. “Now you’re in trouble with the army man.”

  “Hey, now,” Cal interrupted with a chuckle that mirrored his nephew’s. “No one is in trouble.”

  “So Daniel’s coming home?” Blake squeaked, but before anyone could speak up, his face broke into a frown. He narrowed in on Cal. “That’s not fair.”

  Cal straightened up, and I knew he was reminding himself of Blake’s abilities. Even though he housed us, Cal stayed away as much as possible. Blake and he had only met a handful of times, but once Blake connected with someone’s thoughts, they seemed to be his too.

  “Daniel…” Cal’s eyes shifted between the boy and me. “Daniel isn’t feeling well yet, but he’ll be back soon.” His voice was softer than usual, and Blake didn’t seem to believe it. I knew it was because of Cal’s thoughts. No one knew when I would feel better, but Blake had never argued before. For once, I wished I had his powers so I could understand why this was any different from all the other times.

  I squeezed Blake’s shoulder. “I will be back before you know it.” I had to suppress a cough.

  He tilted his head back and caught my gaze. “Then, who’ll watch us until you’re back?”

  “Michele,” I answered, gesturing to her. “Or Adam. It’s going to be the same as usual.”

  Blake’s nose crinkled. “That’s not what Ron said.”

  Ron was deaf. He couldn’t say anything. Despite this, I looked directly at him, half-expecting the silent boy to speak up or learn sign language in minutes. Although, I didn’t know sign language and staring at the nine-year-old did nothing.

  “Floyd’s been making all sorts of gestures to Ron,” Peyton explained. “I think he figured out how to talk to him—”

  “All right, kids.” One by one, Adam pulled all of them away but Blake. “Go mess up Daniel’s room or something. The adults have to talk.”

  “Not my room,” I interrupted before anyone could move. I didn’t want to say it out loud, not in front of the kids, but my gun was in my room. Adam seemed to remember it though, because he glanced at his uncle. Cal shook his head. He had a gun in his office, too.

  “We’re like a militia in here,” Adam muttered.

  “The storage room is safe,” Vi offered, being old enough to understand exactly what was going on, but as far as the others knew, she had never been upstairs. Her extra bedroom was a secret. The others stared at her as if to question the extra perks she had, and her black eyes widened. “What? Even shadows get tired sometimes.”

  “Take them up there,” Michele dismissed.

  Vi grabbed Ron’s hand first and shouted, “Make a train, kids.” Blake scooted toward the edge of the couch until he fell, and then he ran over to Ron. He latched onto Ron’s hand, and then stared at Peyton. The girl rolled her eyes before grabbing on. Vi made a horn noise, and they all disappeared into a smoky shadow, swirling up the stairs like a train had burst through Cal’s apartment.

  When Michele heard their voices wafting quietly through the floorboards, she sighed. I glanced at the ceiling, satisfied by the distance. Blake’s powers, like anyone’s, had limits, and he was the one I was worried about. It only took two seconds for the white ceiling to turn black. Shadows dripped off the bumpy texture and pooled into the center of the living room. The black lake quickly formed Vi, and she shook her smoky hair until it solidified.

  “They’re occupied,” she reported back, monotone and focused. Despite her thirteen years of age, she was considered one of the adults, and she clearly knew what was going on.

  “Floyd,” I guessed, retracing the conversation back to Peyton.

  Michele nodded while Adam’s fist curled at his side. “He’s coming tomorrow,” he said, “and he’s going to challenge your leadership.”

  “I saw it,” Michele seconded.

  He was going to take advantage of my illness and the confined space of Calhoun’s living room. It would be impossible to hide the fight from the kids, and that was exactly what he wanted. He was able to spend all of his time with them, and he had obviously been trying to convince them to speak their mind about it.

  “We can’t change leadership right now,” I finally spoke, drawing out each word. It wasn’t even about me. With the election so close, Floyd was practically committing suicide by suggesting a reorganization of our troop. We couldn’t tear apart now.

  “It gets worse,” Michele squeaked.

  “Of course it does.” A half-laugh escaped me. “I can handle it. Floyd has never been a problem—”

  “We know that,” Adam agreed, “but that’s not the problem.”

  I went silent.

  Michele touched the ends of her long, white hair. For a moment, she appeared to turn into glass. “I had a premonition while you were gone.” When she spoke, she sounded too close, like the day we met. “Something is going to happen to Henderson’s campaign, and it’s going to happen soon.”