Bad Bloods

by Shannon A. Thompson

  Marion frowned, her purple lipstick prominent against her pale skin. “Aside from being born on his side,” she began, “staying loyal to his side was the best way to protect Ameline.”

  Logan II set out to eradicate bad bloods completely, after all.

  “If I could know when, where, and how he was going to attack, I thought I could find ways to stop him,” she said, while shaking her head. “But that’s only how it started.” At that, her face flushed. “It’s a shame to admit it, but, over time, I lost myself in my lies. I forgot why I joined their side in the first place—to protect my daughter—and in some ways, I forgot the truth.” She sighed. “I forgot who I was.”

  Then, Serena reminded her.

  Adam hung his head at the information. Violet, instead, stood tall. Soon, she paced the room. Seeing her walk without a limp only made my heart lift. It was a reminder of how much could change in a short period of time. Just like Marion Lachance. Just like the wall separating us.

  “So when does Vespasien get here?” I asked.

  Adam would eventually decide whether he could trust Marion and her information, but, right now, we needed to concentrate on the problems of the future and not the past.

  “He should be here any moment,” Lachance said.

  At the same time, Kuthun said, “Now.”

  The door opened as soon as both stopped speaking.

  In the entrance stood a pudgy man with stark-white hair sticking out on both sides. His navy-blue suit looked two sizes too small for him to wear, but his buttons stayed closed against all odds. Even more interesting was his ability to shout without a word. His ruddy face looked like a scream sounded—loud, aggravated, and too incomprehensible to understand.

  With one look, he flailed his arms into the air and faced Marion. “After all of this, Mari, how could you expect anything from me?”

  Marion remained calm. “I seem to recall quite a few favors you owe me,” she said, “or shall I call John?”

  “My son has nothing to do with this.”

  “Neither do I,” she countered, “but I will soon.”

  Whatever unspoken words that hung between them were understood, because Donald Vespasien stepped inside and closed the door behind him. His brown eyes shifted over us, no more hesitant than before, and then, he sighed.

  “I have nothing against your kind,” he said to me before anyone else, “but I cannot—and will not—take down this wall. It’s…”

  “My kind?” I repeated, stopping him. “If you’re referring to bad bloods, you’d be wrong on two accounts.” I held up one finger. “I’m human.” Then, another finger. “And I’m sure you can find a better way to address my friends.”

  Vespasien cocked a bushy eyebrow. “That’s where you’re wrong, young man,” he said. “I meant you and your condition.”

  My stilts.

  He knew I was sick, and my shock must have been written all over my face, because he grinned.

  “Oh, yes,” he said. “I’m well aware of who you are, Calhoun Ebenezer Wilson Jr.” My name pounded along with my heart. “You didn’t think Connelly asked for you by accident, did you?”

  The blonde woman was someone I trusted with my life. In fact, she had been the first person to try to save it. When I turned thirteen, my stilts started to show, and she diagnosed me for free. She even provided the best medical care she could, and it was she who suggested the priest Hanna came with when I began to show signs of death. Like Madam Jia-Li, Connelly had stood by my bedside for years, and she never pressured me to help her with anything in return. Not until now. Not until the election passed and Violet shook up the world with her shadows.

  “She’s a doctor,” I defended. She’d helped me so many times I lost count.

  Marion frowned. “I don’t know a Dr. Connelly.”

  “It’s a first name,” Violet said, though her voice had dropped to a whisper. “She went by Connie.”

  “Connie?” Marion paled. Vespasien basked. “Like Connie Logan?”

  “One in the same,” Vespasien confirmed and sat down.

  Violet’s shadows began to shake. “As in Joshua Logan II?”

  Marion laid her head in her hands. “Connie’s his sister.”

  “And I imagine she’s with him now,” Vespasien spat, scratching his skin in the process. “She called me just to gloat about how she made it back.”

  We had helped the enemy.

  “That’s impossible,” I said, looking to Kuthun, to Violet, to Adam, to anyone who would argue with me. “She lives in the outskirts. She’s on our side. She might have gotten stuck, but—”

  “She didn’t get stuck,” Vespasien interrupted, a proud man, a vicious one. “She was cast out for espionage.”

  Marion glanced at Adam. “She’s been spying on the other party her entire life.” The complications of politics spanned decades, just like she’d said. “Pretending would’ve been nothing to her.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “She’s a doctor. A great one, too.”

  “Of course she is,” Vespasien dismissed. “Everyone’s a doctor in this part of town.”

  “It’s part of the problem,” Marion explained. “An economy can’t sustain high-earning jobs for every citizen, but every citizen expects one, and now…”

  Now, the outskirts needed them.

  “What’d she do?” Vespasien mocked. “Convince you that doctors could finally cure stilts if they were allowed out?” He said exactly what Connelly had done. “Doctors can’t work on one, not when the patients are passing too quickly for results to happen.” And I was immortal. “That crazy quack of a doctor would do anything to get a hold of our tools—the Highlander’s tools—and then, she’d break you open. And once she figures out what’s keeping you alive, she’ll use it on everyone, including Logan.”

  I befriended the exact fear I’d tried to protect Britney from.

  “Don,” Marion began quietly, “that’s enough.”

  “It’s never enough,” Vespasien countered. “Not until they understand politics aren’t for children.”

  “Politics are for everyone,” Violet snapped, standing as if she would fight the little man before her, but he didn’t flinch.

  “Oh?” he countered. “So you’re proud for bringing her in?” Marion must have told him who started it. “Connelly’s probably signing a contract to eradicate your kind right now, and all because you let her in.”

  “I—”

  “Let me remind you of something, Violet.” He cursed her name. “Politics isn’t the place for little girls.”

  Violet glowered. “Too bad little girls don’t always get to decide that.”

  “Someone will get hurt.”

  “I hope it isn’t you,” she threatened.

  Adam stood and pushed his way between the two. “All right, calm down.” But Violet refused to listen.

  “I’m going after Connelly,” she said, then disappeared before anyone could argue.

  Vespasien stared at the black smoke left behind, as if he just comprehended what type of power stood around him.

  “I hope she wins,” Vespasien said, more to himself than to the room, but my mind was spinning.

  “What do we do now?” Kuthun asked, the only sane one of the bunch.

  No matter what happened in the world, Kuthun always remained calm, mainly because Kuthun always knew life went on. He saw it in the strings. But what he couldn’t see was how, exactly, it would all happen, how terrible it could be.

  Still, Kuthun held onto faith more than me—or my cousin.

  “I don’t even understand,” Adam admitted. “If Connelly’s against bad bloods, then why take down the wall? Why would Henderson want to?”

  “The two parties wanted different things up until now,” Kuthun added.

  “But wanting different things can result in the same decision,” Marion said, then sighed. “It’s true that doctors want out. It’s true most people do.”

  The economy was collapsing on everyone.
r />   “Henderson wants to unite good people,” Marion insisted.

  Vespasien argued the other side. “And do you know how many of these so-called Samaritans will victimize those in the outskirts?” He began to pace. “Do you realize how many experiments will run wild the moment we open the gates? How many people will die? Was a decade of bloodshed not enough?”

  Marion followed his pacing wearily. “Do you only focus on the bad?”

  “There is only bad,” he spat, “and I look forward to its destruction.”

  “Connelly…”

  “Connelly has no idea what she’s started,” Vespasien argued, then pointed at himself. “However, I do. And I cannot wait until she learns how I feel.”

  How do you feel? was never asked nor spoken, but Vespasien ruffled his suit and stood as tall as he could muster.

  “No one hates Vendona more than I.”

  The very bloodline our city was named after hated the ground they lifted.

  “If Connelly tears down the wall, so be it,” he said, and to finish his point, he spat on the ground.

  Marion leapt to her feet. “This is about more than a wall. It’s about opportunity. It’s about separated families.”

  “I keep the wall up to separate them,” Vespasien argued. “In time, maybe we can unite, but not now. Not when too many terrible things would happen. Too many terrible things are already happening.”

  “And we will deal with consequences as they happen,” Lachance said, “but to keep the wall up to prevent change and damage will only halt our growth.”

  “No, it will save us,” he said. “Connelly wants the wall to come down, not for rights, but to take rights away.” Before Marion could ask what he meant, Vespasien waved his arms again. “We will sink.”

  We will drown.

  “It’s not the outermost wall that keeps Vendona standing,” Vespasien explained, calming after his rant. “When that one began to deteriorate over time, another wall was needed to keep the Highlands above sea level.”

  At this, Marion closed her eyes. “It wasn’t just for the economy, then?”

  To keep the rich, rich. To keep the poor out.

  Originally, Vendona claimed the inner wall was for bad bloods only. To keep the war out of the city. But it became about the economy, and now, it was about the sea.

  “The war funded it,” Vespasien confirmed.

  The Separation Movement—the one my father fought in decades ago—was about more than bad bloods. Of course, everything was about money.

  “It keeps us standing just as much as the outer wall does,” he continued, “which is why parts of Vendona have begun to sink.”

  The destruction of the wall dipped us further and further into the ocean.

  “I cannot—and will not—tear down this wall,” Vespasien said, “but you are more than welcome to try.”

  His feelings were clear: he wouldn’t mind seeing us sink.

  “Surely, you can invent something new,” Marion began, but even her voice lost its confidence.

  “I’m not the inventor,” he said. “My great-grandfather was.”

  Just like other Highlanders, Vespasien had inherited a mess, along with expectations. He may have been born to an inventor, but that didn’t make him one—just as Marion hadn’t felt like a politician from the moment she began to live.

  “We will sink, and Connelly knows it,” he said, “That’s why she advocated for it.”

  Kuthun straightened. “Why advocate sinking?”

  “Why else?” Vespasien repeated. “Between the outer wall and the inner mechanisms, she thinks only one section of Vendona will fall: the outskirts.” And most of the bad bloods would go out with it. “They’re probably planning on how to spin it as an accident already.”

  Logan and Connelly.

  How I trusted such a wicked person was lost on me. How no one saw it but Vespasien was even worse.

  “This is nonsense,” Marion said, fuming.

  “It’s the truth,” Vespasien promised. “We will fall into the ocean if that wall comes down.”

  “It’s coming down anyway,” Marion hissed.

  At this point, the political pressure was too much. The citizens were too united. The front was moving forward.

  Nothing would stop it now.

  “Explain it to Henderson, tell him what you know, and ask for more time to create something new,” Marion began. “He’ll grant you immunity. He’ll—”

  “He’s as good as a scapegoat,” Vespasien interrupted.

  Since Alec Henderson had already spoken in favor of the wall, the destruction of Vendona would fall on his shoulders. The pain would make him a target. His presidency wouldn’t last for long, and everything Vendona had done would crumble to the ground.

  “Besides,” Vespasien said, “I’ve already told him.” His nonchalance told us Henderson didn’t believe a word he said. “And if I admit to my lack of ability to create something new, I will lose everything—everything—and I will not let that happen either.”

  At that, footsteps sounded down the hallway. Everyone leapt to their feet.

  “What’s that?” Adam asked, but our hearts knew.

  “Don,” Marion cursed. “You didn’t.”

  For the first time all evening, Vespasien’s wrinkled face unstiffened. “I’m sorry, Mari, but I warned you to stay on the right side.”

  Then the door burst open, and cops filled the room.

  I searched for two days and never found her.

  Worse, I had lost track of time.

  Between Vespasien’s claim and Connelly’s disappearance, my friends had been detained. But I’d give them one thing.

  Even jail cells were luxurious in the Highlands.

  Considering the wide-open space, a skylight, small kitchen, and cushioned beds, it looked more like a hotel room with bars than an actual prison. Then again, it wasn’t an actual prison; it was a holding cell. Something the Trident building used for drunks during rallies to sober up. But today, everyone was sober for different reasons.

  Adam, Kuthun, and Caleb had been arrested for trespassing.

  At least the boys had been fed—not once, not twice, but three times a day—but there was one sure sign of our danger.

  A deep, dark purple bruise lined Adam’s left cheek.

  “What happened?” I asked as I pulled myself out of my shadows.

  In the face of fear, I had—once again—disappeared.

  Time slipped away along with my consequences, but finding my comrades was easy. Almost too easy.

  “Someone actually hit him,” Kuthun explained. “By luck, really.”

  Adam’s powers normally made him too fast to see, let alone fight, but results weren’t always based on skill. Chance came into play, too.

  “Thank goodness they only used beanbags this time,” Adam tried to joke. Strangely enough, it calmed me.

  His ability to always crack a line during even the worst of times was my favorite part about him. In many ways, his laughter had kept us together. Still, the familiarity of it all made me sniffle.

  “I couldn’t find Connelly,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  Adam shook his head. “It’s okay, Vi.”

  “No, it’s not,” I interrupted, then fell to my knees next to him. My now-healed knee only made it worse. After confessing to Ami, I thought I would feel better, but the confession stayed. It only became a deeper part of me—of all the things I needed to say, again and again. “I ran.”

  “So?”

  “I mean, I ran,” I emphasized. “Recently and that day.” During the massacre. “I could’ve saved someone, but I ran. Even Ami stayed behind and saved someone. Even—”

  “You’re upset that you ran?” Adam interrupted. When I looked up, he met my eyes. “Vi, I ran, too.”

  I lost all the words I wished to say.

  “I run faster than the wind, and you think I didn’t get out of there as soon as I could?” Adam asked, referring to his powers. “I didn’t get shot fo
r a reason.” He looked at my knee. “I ran before the bullet that broke the window had a chance to hit the wall.”

  “Or my knee,” I said before I knew it.

  “Or your knee,” Adam agreed, then we burst into awkward, tear-filled laughter.

  “By the time I came back, it was too late,” Adam said, flinching from how laughter strained the bruise on his cheek. “I couldn’t even help Daniel. Not really.”

  I let the information sink in. “I tried to come back, too, but I couldn’t.”

  The shadows kept me safe.

  “I’m glad,” Adam admitted.

  It wasn’t something I needed to see.

  “There’s no reason to worry now, either,” Adam added. “Cal is getting us out any minute.”

  My adoptive father, Adam’s biological uncle—and Caleb’s dad.

  I turned around to face Kuthun and Caleb, only for Kuthun to stand stock-still.

  “I know you’re having a moment,” he began, “but Caleb could really use your help.” At his confession, he sighed and his chest sank in. “I need your help, too.”

  My eyes moved past Kuthun to study Caleb on the bed. When I arrived, I’d assumed he was simply sleeping, but now, I saw the truth.

  Caleb’s skin had paled significantly, and sweat lined his brow. I barely heard his shallow breath. Caleb’s sickness was catching up to him.

  “It’s been two days,” Kuthun explained.

  Britney had to sing to him every seventy-two hours…or death would take him.

  “I’ll get her,” I said, but Kuthun shook his head, his long, black hair wild and frayed.

  “She won’t go with you,” he said. “She won’t go anywhere without Caleb.”

  It was part of their relationship. Caleb took her in, and she kept him alive. He hated it as much as he needed it, but because of his conflictions, he set her up to have her own life one day with one rule—she only had to listen to him.

  When he died, she’d be free completely.

  “She won’t even listen to Nuo,” Kuthun said.

  Adam looked up at the ceiling and through the skylight. “We’ll get out of here on time.” He seemed sure of it. “Calhoun won’t leave us behind.” Knowing him, he was already on the way. In fact, Kuthun explained that a deal had already been made to get everyone out by tomorrow. Just in time to see Britney. Just in time for Caleb to live.