Sanguine Mountain

by Jennifer Foxcroft

  Rocks and I are sitting on my bed, and I’m memorizing every detail of the man in the photo. It’s the only lead we have and in truth, it’s close to useless. My first task is to get hold of the 1982 yearbook, but my gut is telling me I won’t find answers there.

  “I need to try something.” Rocks’ eyes dart to mine and away, and his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. “I’m not sure it will work, but it’s worth a try.”

  I don’t like it when Rocks is nervous. “What?”

  “I’m going to flip.” I flinch. He notices and frowns.

  “You’re scared of my Camazotz side again, aren’t you?” His hair flops down over his eyes.

  “No.” I can’t lie to him. I just can’t. “Um, yes, a bit.” How does he know?

  “Connie, I would never hurt you. You know I didn’t attack you.” I touch my eyebrow. The stitches are starting to itch.

  Rocks explains that he’s going to flip and land on the bed. He wants to try communicating with me telepathically. The shaman that evoked the original spell allowed the bats the ability to communicate with him and each other. It’s presumed this ability was to help coordinate their surprise attack, but he doesn’t really know.

  “You can talk to me as a bat?” My mind flashes to standing, bleeding on someone’s lawn as the words help me reverberated between my ears.

  “Apparently.” He shrugs. “Never tried with an aeronaught before.”

  The Camazotz talk to each other mentally in bat form. Rocks said that since he spends so much time in human form his family often fly past and give him messages. Bat to human and bat to bat works.

  “Fudge me,” I whisper.

  “What?”

  “You can. I’ve heard you before. I just didn’t know it was you.”

  I explain as fast as I can about the attack, and what I heard that I had convinced myself was impossible. He sits wide-eyed in awe. “You should have told me. This is going to be fun.”

  I swallow, not convinced.

  Rocks flips, and I can’t stop myself from scooting back against my headboard. It’s the leathery wings and claws that I never really noticed until the attack. I realize Rocks hasn’t really been a Camazotz around me since we met.

  He flips back. “I’m sorry,” I whimper.

  “It’s okay.” He grabs a piece of paper and draws a wing. His biology lesson is an attempt to convince me that his wing is not a danger to me, but all I can remember is the feeling of a claw slicing open my eyebrow. About halfway down the top of a vampire bat’s wing is a large protruding claw. He points to the claw and calls it his thumb. I don’t feel any better.

  He flips again. I stay perfectly still, and his little bat body lands silently on the bed. Vampire bats are very agile on the ground. He tucks his wings up and squawks once. I try to clear my mind. Seeing his bat body is making my palms sweat. I close my eyes.

  Nothing.

  He flips.

  “Did you hear me?” His eyes are dancing.

  “Nope.”

  “Maybe empty your mind. It’ll take practice.” He flips.

  Nothing. Three times we try, but I can’t hear anything other than my internal arguing. I’m trying to convince myself not to be scared. The fear is completely irrational, but I just can’t put a lid on it. If only we knew who was behind that attack.

  Rocks flips back and watches me for a moment. “I want you to pick me up.”

  “What? No way.” As an animal lover, I’m ashamed of my sudden stupid behavior.

  “Connie, it’s the best way to get over your fear of me. Just hold your hands like this,” he says, holding his first two fingers out horizontally, “and I’ll hook my ‘thumbs’ over here. Pick me up and have a look. I swear I won’t hurt you.”

  I can’t speak. My mouth will not open. Touching him or his claws is out of the question.

  “I’m the same. It’s still me, and if anything, I’m the one who’s nervous here.” He says, looking away. “I know that bat hurt you, but it was superficial.” He holds out two placating hands, so I let him finish. “I’m not saying it didn’t hurt you and wasn’t terrifying, but it’s just a scratch. A bat could never do you serious harm. We simply aren’t built for it. My wings are my life, and you’re a giant, super-strong human in comparison, who could snap them without even trying.”

  “Rocks—” I would never hurt him. My stomach rolls at the mention of snapping anything. Animal cruelty has always left me totally flummoxed.

  “I know. But just so you know, you’re not the only one who is scared. I’ve never let an aeronaught touch me, and I never imagined that I ever would.”

  Rocks sits on the bed and takes my hands. His eyes are so dark and when I look into them, I see his fear. My fear might be superficial in comparison but that doesn’t mean it is any less real.

  “Remember, you know my weakness. If you’re really scared, just scream. You control this.”

  His logic helps me to find my courage. I take a long deep breath. Rocks is trusting me with his life. If I feel scared, I can end this experiment. He has given me the power.

  Rocks flips and lands on the bed. I wipe my palms before placing my hands as he instructed. In two little jumps, he’s next to my hands. He waits.

  “You can touch me,” I tell him.

  He hooks his wing claws over my fingers, and I use all my self-control not to rip my hands away. My skin crawls. Slowly, ever so slowly, I raise my hands and stretch out his wings to their full wingspan. His little body hangs between them. The sun is arcing its way across the sky, and I hold him up in the light coming through my window. My breath catches.

  When the sunlight hits his wings, it’s magical. The dark swirls and lines of the tattoo design pop out against the paler leather of his wing membrane. The only way I can describe it is stunning. He’s stunning in the sunlight.

  The patterns on his arms finally make sense. In the center of his wing is a baroque style bat with its wings spread wide. It’s magnificent. The filigree pattern swirls up, down and around making two gorgeous curlicue wing shapes. The remaining space along the curved edges of his wings is filled with twisting lines and swirls. The red I noticed on his arms highlights the flying bat image, making it pop.

  “Oh my God, you’re beautiful.” My eyes roam back and forth over every detail of his wing art. “I can’t believe it.”

  Rocks makes a little squawk, and the sound brings me back to reality. The art on his wings had totally distracted me from the fact that I am holding a real live vampire bat. I freeze.

  “Do you want me to put you down?”

  Two squeaks.

  “Is this okay still?”

  One squeak. I take another deep breath.

  I don’t want to hurt him, but I’m not finished studying his tattoos now that his wings reveal the design. The swirls are perfect, the detail so fine and intricate. The tattooed edges of the little bat’s wings are as fine as lace.

  Beans.

  Beans.

  Beans.

  “Holy crabapples!”

  That voice inside my head—again.

  Without thinking, I launch Rocks into the air and cover my ears with my hands.

  THUMP!

  “Are you okay?” Rocks rests a hand gently on my shoulder making me flinch. “Tell me what you heard.”

  I’m out of breath, bending over. “Beans.”

  Looking up, I watch the smile spread over his face, right up to his eyes. “We did it.” He hoots in celebration. I jump from the loudness echoing in my small room. “Sorry. This is massive.”

  Straightening up, I study Rocks’ face. The fear and worry from earlier are gone. His eyes sparkle in comparison. That is absolutely the weirdest thing that has ever happened to me. Witnessing Rocks flip had previously held the title, but this is way weirder—a male voice inside my head I cannot control.

  “Let’s do it again. You were focused on my tattoos so your mind wasn’t blocking me. Can you relax like that again?”

  “What?
Um, it’s weird. Like really freaking weird.”

  He stills. “What’s wrong?”

  “It might be normal for you hearing other voices in your head, but man, that’s freaky!” I wrap my arms around my body. I don’t know why this is freaking me out but it is—it most definitely is.

  Rocks pulls me into his arms with mine pinned between us. His body is warm, and I swear his arms can wrap around me twice.

  “You’re the first. I’ve never heard of us trying to communicate with aeronaughts. I mean, our colony—now. I didn’t really believe the story. This is huge. You’re helping me discover myself.” I can almost feel his excitement passing from his body to mine. I sink into him. He’s right. I’m not the only one to learn something about myself today, and that finally makes me grin.

  “You ready to try again?” he asks quietly. I have to try—for Rocks.

  A moment later, I’m standing by the window again looking at the ink work adorning his wings, but my heart is pounding. All I can hear is my own panic. I try closing my eyes, but that just makes the blood pounding in my veins sound even louder.

  “Can you flip back?”

  Rocks appears. I can’t look at him. I don’t understand what’s wrong with me. This should be amazing to have my friend be able to communicate with me telepathically.

  “You’re still scared of me.” There is no judgment in his voice.

  “I don’t know …” I shrug. The doctor that continues to jab me with rabies shots would have a coronary if he knew what I was doing.

  “I want you to lie on the bed. I’m going to flip but not yet.”

  Following his instructions, Rocks sits close and requests I close my eyes. Taking a deep breath, I focus on the scent of a forest at night. He starts talking about my pet chinchilla, Feathers. He reminds me of how cute Feathers is, and how fluffy her fur feels against my neck when she sits on my shoulder. He describes the trust Feathers has in me to care and love and protect her. He asks me to visualize Feathers sleeping cradled in my arms.

  I feel a small weight on my stomach. My brain knows that it isn’t Feathers, but I focus on the visual. I lift my hands from my ribs and feel a little jump. It’s definitely not Feathers, but I cling to the calming memory of holding her. My shirt ruffles slightly and then he’s still. Lowering my hands, they fold around a warm bundle. It could be Feathers. I gently stroke two fingers down his back—that’s Feathers’ favorite. The fur is rougher than what I’m used to and the body shape is wrong.

  Opening my eyes, I see the bat resting on my tummy in my hands. Rocks is really cute now that I’m calm. His leathery wings are folded in under his body mostly. I know that’s what freaks me out, but now that I can’t see or feel them, he’s kinda cute. His pointy ears are hysterically large, but somehow aren’t out of place on his little head. I lift one hand. His beady bat eyes dart to it immediately.

  “I won’t hurt you. I just want to touch your ears.”

  Slowly, my index finger closes in and I touch the tip. It flicks immediately. Next I study his nose. It reminds me of a little pug my great aunt used to have. There are two folds of skin like a nose on a nose. I touch it ever so lightly.

  Ffffttt!

  Rocks shoots backward half a foot. He sneezed. My giggle escapes, which turns into laughter that only increases every time I look at him because he is now on my stomach bumping up and down with the waves of my guffaws. His claws dig into my t-shirt so that he doesn’t fall off. The claws get my attention, but he’s not trying to hurt me. I place a hand around his body to secure him.

  “I don’t know why I was so scared of you,” I admit. He crawls back up to rest on my ribs again.

  I touch his nose and another sneeze shoots him backward. It’s so freaking cute it surpasses Mini wearing Rocks’ enormous sunglasses. I bite my lip to ease my laughter because my stomach rolls are causing him grief.

  Rocks.

  Tickles.

  Beans.

  That kills my laughter. Trying not to panic, I keep still.

  “Holy crabapples, Rocks. I heard you.” My heart is pounding. I heard him—a voice that’s not exactly his but close to it—inside my head. “Say something else.”

  I stroke two fingers down his fur and empty my brain.

  Cupcakes.

  Laughter fills the air. “How could I have been so scared of a cupcake, sugar-addicted bat?” A floating sensation eases through my system. I’m sure it’s just an overload of adrenaline, but it’s pleasant. Carefully picking him up, I place him in the middle of my chest. The calmness I’m experiencing allows my animal lover curiosity to take over. I hook a finger under each main claw and open his wings. They are slightly wider than my shoulders. With his wings outstretched, they cover my chest. Two dark beady eyes follow my every move.

  “I just want to touch them,” I explain. It’s now or never for me to get over my wing fear. “Your wings are what freak me out. All that flapping around my head the other night.”

  The membrane is incredibly delicate. It wouldn’t take much for me to rip it. Rocks is trusting me more than I can comprehend. I run my fingers, ever so lightly, down the length of his open wing. There is nothing sinister about it. The thin rubbery surface reminds me of popped balloon pieces; it’s stretchy almost. Rocks shifts and his claw brushes over my nipple.

  My eyes widen. He is lying on my boobs!

  “Get off, you little boob grabber,” I say, trying to sit up but not wanting to hurt him. I scoop him up faster than a hummingbird’s wings flap and put him on the bed. I cross my arms over my chest.

  In the blink of an eye, the boy appears, his cheeks the brightest red I’ve ever seen them.

  I scowl.

  “You put my hands there,” he protests. “I didn’t. It wasn’t me.” His hands go in his front pockets. When he removes them, his thumbs are wrapped inside his fists. He shoves them in his back pockets next.

  “Well, you could have moved them.” I huff. He’s right, I did put his hands, no, wings, fingers … Ugh! “You could have moved them.”

  “Hello, I am a guy. As if.” One side of his lip twitches, but his eyes stay fixed on the floor.

  “Oh” —I point to the window— “get out, you fiend. Out.”

  * * * * *

  The following afternoon, Tiff comes home with me. She’s been quieter than normal lately but is desperate to find out how my day with Rocks went. I knew I shouldn’t have told her we were hanging out while I ditched, but ever since she caught me lying, I feel compelled to tell her as much of the truth as I can.

  Picking Mini up from the changing table, I help push her little feet through the legs of her shorts. Once she’s fully dressed, we return to my room. Tiff has a pile of six different shades of pink nail polish that she’s trying to choose from.

  “So you just went for a drive in the country together and nothing much happened?”

  I nod, hoping my face doesn’t scream that I’m lying again. Tiff studies me for a moment.

  “So you absolutely aren’t dating?”

  “No!”

  “Well, why do you hang out with him so much? What about me? If he’s your secret boyfriend, then I get it, but if not, this sucks.”

  Holy crapabbles with sugarplums on top.

  “Tiff?”

  “Do not tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about, Connie. You’re keeping secrets from me. I know it. You know it. You thought your best friend wouldn’t notice? You’ve been all weird and mysterious for months now.”

  Fudge. Fudge. Fudge. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am.

  “With Rocks around there’s no room for me, and like I said, if he’s your boyfriend, then I get it, but …”

  My heart sinks. Never in a million years would I have guessed that Tiff felt replaced by Rocks, but when I think about it, I tell him everything. And that used to be Tiff’s job.

  “I’m really sorry. I know we haven’t hung out much, but it’s just nice to have a guy that understands me so well.” I will not lie t
o her again today. “Don’t you agree that it’s good for me to have a guy to talk to?”

  She looks at me from under her frown, but her lips are starting to lift at one corner. Eventually she smiles. “Shit, yeah.”

  “Want me to paint cupcakes on your nails?”

  Tiff nods her head slowly. She’s not happy happy, but she’s accepting my raised white flag as a sign that I still love her.

  An hour later, Tiff’s nails are gorgeous, and she wants to say goodbye to Kelly.

  “See ya, Mrs. Phillips.”

  “Wait. Show me your nails.” Kelly grabs her fingers and inspects my work. “Lucky you. I know my daughter’s artwork when I see it. My nails have been sadly neglected for months.”

  Good God, is it guilt trip day or something? But, Kelly’s right. I haven’t sat down long enough with her to paint her nails since that letter.

  Dad V2.0’s voice calls from his spot in the living room. “Hey, Hon, did you see the headlines? ‘Mob Daughter: Authentic Witness or Rival Shutdown?’ Are the police really going to take her testimony seriously?” He appears, shaking his head.

  “I saw an interview this morning. The Mayor wouldn’t comment on whether the Ascari girl really witnessed those murders or not. To be honest, I don’t think they care. They just want to cut the drug supply off at the source and by any means possible.”

  I pull Tiff toward the door and away from death by parental news hour.

  * * * * *

  “Hey—there,” I yell as I push through the front doors. The word ‘Mom’ still doesn’t feel right even though I’m painfully aware that Josie Hendersen isn’t my mom. She’s my birth mother, but that’s it.