I looked at Violet, who nodded back.
This was what she meant by the unexpected.
Still, I shook my head. “He never came in, and—”
“You know what they’d do to a vet in that place?” Adam asked, but unlike the other questions, I knew the answer to this one. Those who ruined the outskirts were hardly welcome. “They’d kill him, and then, you’d have a dead father.”
Strangely, I thought of Violet’s dead father, about the closure she seemed to have, about knowing the truth and not being able to fight it.
“Better a dead father than one that chooses not to be there, right?”
“No,” Daniel said. “It’s not.”
Adam agreed. “There’s always time to make up.”
Between Daniel and Adam, I thought I knew everything. Calhoun had raised Daniel instead of me, and Adam had a new cousin in my place. But I never considered that Adam’s dad must have died—that Uncle Tom was gone—that something must have happened to him while I wasn’t there.
“How?” I asked Adam.
“Shot Mom, then himself,” Adam answered, almost nonchalantly.
I wondered how long it had been.
Last time we’d hung out—if I could even call it that—his mom had asked me to watch him. He was three, and he spent the next fifteen minutes spitting up on himself and playing with action figures. Now, he lived like one. But I’d watched him grow up between then and now. I’d seen his awkward preteen years and how he came into himself. I saw him play with Daniel, climb fences, and then use those skills to survive.
I saw Daniel where I was supposed to be. But Daniel probably saw Cal where his dad should’ve stood.
“How’d yours die?” I asked the leader of the Northern Flock.
His story was very different.
“My brother killed him,” Daniel deadpanned. “To save me.”
“The same brother who turned you in?”
“That’s a rumor.”
For a moment, my eyes couldn’t help but wander around the very house where Daniel’s story began. Where had he been when the police burst in? What had Robert done back then? Why couldn’t Daniel see how Robert had left him not once, but twice? Where was the traitor now? Was he even a traitor at all?
But I was done letting Vendona dictate the truth. This time, I would ask the citizen.
“How do you feel about it?” I asked, but Daniel refused to play with rumor’s game.
“Family’s family,” he dismissed, “and now, you and I are related.” At this, Daniel straightened up. “In a weird way, you’re my brother, too.”
I couldn’t help myself. I smirked. “I hear your brothers end up dead.”
“Good thing you’re immortal then.”
For the first time, all three of us laughed. Perhaps a guilty laugh, but also a genuine one. Tragedy didn’t always need to be expressed with tears.
“I’m glad you’re alive,” Adam spoke through his grin.
“Calhoun is too,” Daniel added, and that stopped it all.
I curled my hands up on my knees. “I can’t—”
“See him when you’re ready,” Adam dismissed.
Despite being immortal, I often wondered if some days would ever come. Speaking with my father face to face had always been at the top of my list. How could it not when two decades had passed without a single word? But I’d never considered someone else was keeping him silent. I never thought Jia-Li would do that to me.
“I didn’t know,” I said, though part of me did. Jia-Li had done far worse. “I thought…” I tried to focus on Calhoun. “I thought he replaced me with you.” I looked at Daniel. “But I didn’t know he still looked. I didn’t know you were unaware. I didn’t know anything. But I still judged.” My face heated up to the same temperature it did when Violet confessed to being a Northern Flock member. How had I been so naïve? “I’m not better than—”
“What are you, a poet?” Daniel interrupted.
At that, a ripping sound shot through the room, and Violet looked up from the mermaid book. “Sorry,” she said with a cringe.
I didn’t have time to ask her what happened. Daniel continued talking.
“Relax,” he said. “You don’t have to use so many words around here.”
“I’m better with music anyway,” I joked, “but I thought you should hear it.”
“And I’m sorry I said what I did about stilts,” Daniel said. “Thought you should hear that. And when the time comes, if you want to, your herd is still welcome at the adoption house.”
I half-nodded, trying to accept the news, but I would have to get permission first. From Jia-Li. I also had to ask her some questions. “Thanks, but we’re safe now.”
“Now?” Adam asked.
I played with the loose threads on the couch. “The island is sinking.”
At this, Violet placed the book back and faced me. “What? Why?”
“I don’t know,” I confessed. “But it happened after the explosion.” Kuthun had told me that much. He also told me where to find Adam, so I could save him once I heard what some were planning to do. Now, we were all in it together.
Whether I liked it or not, the sea said we’d all be underwater—and, at this rate, Levi’s prediction didn’t look like a flood. Instead, it looked much worse than that. In fact, there only seemed to be one possibility.
Vendona was sinking.
I let the news sink into the others.
Adam asked, “But you know who’s behind it?”
I nodded. “I can even take you to her.”
“Her?” Violet pressed, but Adam elbowed her to stop her line of questioning.
“We’ll go,” he agreed, so did Violet, and the two began chattering away about our plans for the next day. But Daniel left the room.
For as much as I knew about the guy, I didn’t know much at all. The others, however, did. They barely flinched at his sudden exit. In fact, they acted as if it were perfectly normal for a guy to get up after hearing serious news to disappear and be alone. But I refused to accept it. Instead, I followed him.
Though thirteen years had passed since the Western Flock Ambush, Daniel walked through the hallways with a confidence of a homeowner. He never faltered. His pace stayed steady. And then, he reached the back door.
As soon as he opened it, he looked out over the backyard. Beyond the exit laid a garden. Flowers—many more than the ones out front—stretched up toward the sky and decorated the ground with brilliant colors. Now, it reminded me of Violet’s stained glass in our castle getaway, but a few years ago, I had planted them for graves.
“They weren’t in the best shape,” I said as I stepped up to Daniel’s side. “But we buried all of them.” Or what was left of them.
Daniel stared at the cemetery, even lingering on the glass tombstones Plato created, but I imagined he saw what I couldn’t—their names, their faces, their lives, and their secrets.
“Plato could engrave them if you like,” I said.
Daniel breathed. “Thank you.”
Two words I never thought I’d hear from him.
When he closed his eyes, he tilted his head toward the sun. For that moment alone, I thought Daniel might have been beautiful, if only he could smile. But that wasn’t my job to do. My job differed greatly. Mine was to make him frown.
“I thought you should know.” I pointed to one pile of dirt toward the back. “That one is fresh.”
In fact, Plato had found it yesterday, which meant it could’ve happened any time in the past year.
“Not our doing,” I clarified. “We’re not even sure who put it here or who’s in it, but…” I imagined whoever had the power of illusion—the one who kept the place invisible—had enough knowledge to bury someone in the secret garden.
Daniel frowned, but he didn’t speak.
Supposedly, Robert and he were the only ones to survive the Western Flock Ambush, and according to President Henderson’s election-winning speech, no one in the Wester
n Flock held the power of illusion. It remained a mystery, even to me. But I refused to mess with a grave.
“If you wanted to check,” I said, “consider this home yours.” The herd just happened to live in it. “You can dig it up if you want.”
I expected Daniel to jump at the opportunity. Instead, he cleared his throat. “I hope you’ll understand when I say it’s time for me to step back.” Before I could ask what he meant, he continued, “I have Serena to take care of. An adoption house, too.” A life. “Besides, Adam is your cousin. Cal is your father. I’ve stepped into your role enough, huh?”
Wind whistled past us. This time, the house didn’t creak.
“I’ll keep you informed,” I said, knowing Daniel wouldn’t be joining us to stop the flood. He was done fighting. He was ready to live. “When we get back—”
“That’s not what I want,” he interrupted.
I raised my right eyebrow. “What do you want?”
“One thing.”
“Anything,” I said.
And so, he told me.
For the first time in my life, sneaking around as a shadow felt wrong.
In the Western Flock house, only spirits were meant to go unseen.
With that in mind, I slipped out of my smoky form in the dusty foyer and solidified on the wooden floorboards carefully. The room still squeaked.
They caught me.
From across the room, Caleb sat up in his cushioned rocker, his cheeks flushed with recent sleep. Next to him, Kuthun crocheted with thread—I assumed—he created. But most interesting of all was the books.
A library surrounded us.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathed, half-afraid that the room would fade away like the house did for thirteen years.
“It’s something,” Caleb agreed, but he lacked his regular vigor.
For once, I wanted to watch him more than the marvels around me.
“You look like an old man in that chair,” I teased, but really, he did.
Beneath the low glow of a reading lamp, Caleb sat wrapped in two blankets. One plaid, one checkered. And his sock-covered feet stuck out. Still, he shivered.
A fever.
He was a mess.
“What’re you doing up?” Caleb asked, lolling his head to one side, only to reveal his neck shone with sweat.
“Wandering.”
Caleb hummed. “That sounds nice.”
In a minute, he fell asleep again, and I recognized the symptoms from the first time.
“Where’s Britney?” I whispered to Kuthun.
“Bunny’s off to sleep,” he whispered back.
All the while, we kept our eyes on Caleb.
His treatment for stilts—or for immortality—took place every three days, and though everyone in the herd knew it, the others slept during the service.
Tonight, only hours after midnight, everyone dreamt somewhere else in the house. Everyone but Daniel. He went back to the adoption center, and he would stay there. Adam, on the other hand, remained.
Together, we had a big day tomorrow.
“Will you stay here tomorrow?”
As if Caleb could dream my thoughts, he whispered aloud, then opened his eyes. For a moment, I thought he’d simply fall back asleep again, but instead, he met my gaze.
“Will you?” he pressed.
“What? But why—”
“Daniel.” Caleb’s interruption answered everything. “He’s worried about you.”
“He wants me to stay safe,” I deadpanned. “To do what he wants.”
“What I want, too,” Caleb added.
“And what about what I want?”
Kuthun cleared his throat. “It’s best to rest now.”
Whether he spoke to Caleb or to me, I didn’t know, but I did care about Caleb’s health.
“I want to learn more about the mermaids.” I changed the subject, hoping Caleb would forget his requests in his delirium, but his mind stayed strong.
“‘And if I should carol aloud, from aloft / All things that are forked, and horned, and soft / Would lean out from the hollow sphere of the sea, / All looking down for the love of me.’”
Tennyson’s poem.
Caleb had memorized it. He also held it in his lap.
“Not much better, huh?” Caleb asked, drumming his fingers along the mermaid book. “They drown you in the end, too.”
From what I had seen earlier, the collection was filled with short stories, poems, and paintings. But Caleb latched onto the last few lines of one poem in the back—and I did, too.
“It’s not the best ending,” I relented, then sat down on the floor near Kuthun. “I think I preferred your shuǐ guǐ anyway.”
“Shuǐ guǐ?” Kuthun repeated, curious.
Apparently, even he hadn’t heard that story.
Caleb leaned back to tell it again. “I was thirteen, and then, I was drowning.”
He explained the dock he fell off and the way the sea churned. He said he lost Jia-Li. Then, he lost everything.
Caleb told the story the way Nuo played the violin—carefully and with complete devotion.
I could taste the salt water, see the darkness, and breathe the relief that came when he hit the surface again.
“She saved me,” he insisted. “A shuǐ guǐ—doing the opposite of what they’re supposed to do.”
Just like bad bloods could beat their bad names.
I had to know more about these monsters and creatures of the deep.
“She?” I pressed. “It spoke?”
A lazy smile spread across his lips. “She even said my name.”
Kuthun had a question of his own.
“You were thirteen?” he clarified. “Isn’t that the year you got…”
Caleb blanched, but pretended to wave it away. “Yeah, yeah. I think so.”
“Think so?” I asked. “Think what?”
But neither one of them answered, not right away. Instead, they stared at each other, years of information traveling between a single look while I was left in the dark. How long I would stay there was up to them, and apparently, that wasn’t very long at all.
“It’s the year I found out,” Caleb answered quickly. “That I have stilts.”
Thirteen years old.
I’d started July at that age.
Suddenly, the story didn’t seem like a story anymore.
It became reality.
“We should get some rest.” Kuthun stood to shake off the tension. “It’ll be a long day tomorrow.”
I flinched, half-expecting Caleb to remind me to stay home, but he didn’t. Instead, he pulled up his rumpled blankets and closed his eyes, ready to sleep.
“This was fun,” he managed. “Us three, together.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time I snuck up on you two,” I joked, only for Caleb to open one eye.
“It wouldn’t?”
I paused, taking a moment to look at Kuthun before facing Caleb again. “No?”
The morning I’d seen Kuthun kiss Caleb, I’d assumed he was awake or at least on the edge of being awake, but Caleb shrugged.
He was oblivious.
“I…”
“Was off to bed,” Kuthun insisted, then eyed the hallway.
I could take a hint.
“Good night, guys,” I said, trying my best to walk away rather than stomp, but I doubted I fooled anyone.
Even the spirits shuddered.
Standing in the empty hallway of the Western Flock house, I would’ve never guessed what had happened there. The herd cleaned it up well. But I hoped they could clean up their personal messes, too.
“You’re lucky I didn’t say something right then and there,” I told Kuthun as he tiptoed into the hallway to meet me.
His brown-black hair fell over his eyes, but his fingers twitched.
The strings of fate.
I wondered if he played with them now, if he held an excuse in the future, but he simply held a book out to me. “I thought you’d want it.”
The mermaid stories.
“Maybe you’ll find your answers in here,” he said.
I refused by folding my arms. “You shouldn’t kiss people when they don’t know you’re kissing them.”
His hand, along with the book, dropped to his side. “What would you know about kissing?”
“Nothing,” I agreed. “I do know a lot about decency, though.”
“And trickery,” Kuthun added.
I stared him down. “You need to talk to him.”
“Talk to him?” Kuthun echoed, incredulous.
“Yes, talk to him,” I spat back. “If anything, talking generally comes before kissing. In fact, I think most prefer it. I sure do.”
This time, Kuthun stared me down.
I’d never kissed Caleb. Never even considered kissing Caleb. But now, all of a sudden, my kiss felt stolen from him. Then again, Kuthun probably felt the same way I did.
“Please.” I gave up my lie. “He loves you.”
Caleb told me as much, but worse was how much pain I heard in his tone. When Caleb kissed Kuthun years ago, Kuthun denied him for unknown reasons. Now, Caleb assumed he wasn’t loved back when that wasn’t true at all.
“You wouldn’t understand,” Kuthun began.
“I don’t have to understand,” I said, “but Caleb deserves to.”
“Don’t you as well?”
Before I could comprehend what Kuthun meant, he leaned forward and his lips brushed my forehead. In that moment, a million golden threads broke the darkness and splintered out like glittering spider webs. I saw them all. Every last one. How I was tied to the sea, how Caleb was tied to the darkness, and how Kuthun held no fate. His heart was empty. Worst of all, I finally understood why Kuthun called the Western Flock house the house of the dead. A few dimly lit strings stretched right to the graves out back. Even in death, their lives weren’t quite over yet. Even the dead had fates. Kuthun understood my loneliness, after all. He knew darkness well.
Without complaint, he handed me the book. “Good night, little ghost.”
As he left, the strings did too, and the darkness had never felt so dark before.
My heart pounded, my mind moving harder than that.
Bad Bloods Page 2