Sanguine Mountain

by Jennifer Foxcroft

  The house smells amazing.

  “In the kitchen, darling, is Rocks with you?”

  My hands fist at my side. “School was great. I’m fine. Thanks for asking,” I say as I walk into what was previously known as my kitchen which is now something closer to a French patisserie.

  “What the …” I mutter in disbelief.

  “Is Rocks with you?”

  “Tell me this isn’t all for him?” I ask, pointing to the three different kinds of baked goods. “Mo-om, you know he isn’t like my boyfriend or anything, right? Like, do you actually get that? Him. Me. Just. Friends. And that’s not ‘special friends’ with single quotes like I know you think in your head.”

  The crazy lady in my kitchen looks at me like I’m insane. Kelly had mentioned wanting to say thank you to Rocks for “rescuing me from killer bats,” but this is ridiculous. How am I the insane one here? I’m not a crazy baking wacko.

  “I know. I know,” she says, sprinkling tiny colored sugar stars on cupcakes that would put those cupcake-baking sisters on cable to shame. “He saved you.”

  I raise one eyebrow.

  “Oh, and he walks you home at night, and he’s too skinny. He needs feeding up. He’s a growing boy. His poor mother has all those mouths to feed. And you’re the only one in this household that appreciates my baking.”

  When Rocks enters the house five minutes later, I feel like shoving my hand down the garbage compactor—not that my mother would notice.

  “Mrs. Philips,” he says, absolutely beaming at her, as he walks around the island to envelop her in an enormous bear hug. It’s positively obscene. Frilly aprons and all that leather should not be seen together.

  “You have outdone yourself today.” He kisses the top of her head. I’m having trouble looking at him because the last time he was here, he touched my boobs. Okay, so I made him touch my boobs, which is even worse. I want to cover my ears.

  My mother coos like she’s turned into a freaking pigeon, handing him a plate as she dons oven mitts and reveals yet more. No, the marshmallow brownies, cinnamon rolls, and otherworldly cupcakes were not enough. She adds a tray of piping hot mini quiches to the spread.

  Savory—how could the hostess in me forget?

  “What are these little numbers?” He points to the quiche, and I can tell that bat nose of his has already got him excited about what they are going to taste like.

  I shouldn’t be mad at him. Am I mad? Jealous? No, embarrassed. Embarrassed is what I’m feeling. And maybe a little jealous. Kelly would adopt him in a flash. She didn’t even bake this much for my eighteenth birthday, and that was a planned event with my friends. There were plenty of mouths to feed that night.

  I want Rocks to experience all of this. I do. Of course, he’s never seen a handmade quiche before, and of course, their buttery goodness melts in your mouth, but …

  I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel where he’s concerned. He touched my boobs, but didn’t really touch my boobs, and now all I can think about is him actually touching my boobs, and that night we danced. What’s wrong with me? I slump on a stool and watch the show—the blissed-out Rocks show. He passes me a plate of handpicked delicacies. I want to scream and cry. He’s given me the largest cupcake, the corner brownie—he knows I love the chewy edges—and a perfect quiche. His thoughtfulness makes me look like the worst friend in the whole wide world—and if you asked Tiff, she’d agree.

  “Connie, your father and I received the McNamara’s invitation. It’s going to be between Christmas and New Year and—”

  “I’m not going. I’m staying here.” I cut her off.

  I know where this is headed. Each year, my folks reunite with their college friends who are now scattered across the east coast. Last year, we hosted and the three other couples, along with their kids, came to stay for the weekend. Attending their reunion is worse than having unnecessary rabies injections.

  “Oh, honey, please. We want you to come. Next year, you’ll be goodness knows where. This will be the last time we’re all together.”

  Rock is giving Mini bites of his quiche after blowing on the filling for her. How could his father possibly be disappointed in him? He’s the most caring, responsible boy I know.

  “You only want me to come so I can be the day-care supervisor while you all get drunk.” It’s true.

  I’m the oldest by nine years and am expected to monitor the other kids. The girls are fine, but I’m convinced the twin boys, who belong to the McNamara’s, have suicidal tendencies. Either that or they’re going to grow up to be daredevils.

  “I bet Rocks would go if his mother asked him to,” she says.

  Without a word, I stand and head to my room.

  * * * * *

  “You’re her new favorite.” I’m swiveling around on the office chair when he enters seconds later. I can’t be angry at Rocks for Kelly adoring him.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “You are.”

  “Nah-uh.” He slumps in his chair and hooks a long leg over the arm.

  “Uh-huh!”

  “She likes me, but she loves you, Beans.” I glance at him on my way round. “Nah-uh.” He finishes.

  I smile and stop spinning. Being in his presence has a funny way of calming me down. He controls the elevator better than I do. “I have a question.”

  Since holding Rocks in bat form, my mind has been working overtime. I’ve tried to understand why the colony is so upset with him. Being a bat or a human are both parts of being a Camazotz. Technically, they were designed to be both to succeed—a bat to fly over the invaders and a human to kill them. I might not like their mistrust of me in his life, but it’s really starting to piss me off that they make him feel guilty about what he wants.

  “Does it hurt when you flip?”

  Rocks smiles. “No, can’t feel a thing. All I know is for a second my mind is blank, but that’s it.”

  I douse a cotton pad in nail polish remover. “In movies, shape-shifters are naked.” I focus on removing the miniature pumpkins that adorn my nails to celebrate Halloween. I want to redo them for the coming big night.

  “You disappointed?”

  My eyes snap to his. “No!”

  Rocks laughs and scoots further down in the chair. He sits smiling with his fingers linked over his stomach.

  “Soooo, why aren’t you naked?” I know he just wants to hear me say naked again. My ears burn.

  “Because that wouldn’t be appropriate while your mom’s home.”

  “Ugh!” I scan my desk for something to hurl at him. “Boob grabber!”

  “What?” His voice is high enough to be a girl’s. He sits forward. “Am not!”

  “Boob grabber.”

  “Don’t. I didn’t. You did that.” He swings his leg off the arm of the chair and leans forward. “I didn’t.” He pleads. The look on his face is priceless. It’s what I like to call his earnest face and is my favorite because it makes him seem more of a teenager than the responsible boy he usually is.

  I can’t hold my laughter in any longer. The one thing I have always known about Rocks, right from the first minute I met him, is that he’s an absolute gentleman. He makes a growling sound and sits back in a huff, his hair flopping over his eyes.

  “Tell me how, BG,” I tease.

  “I will if you swear you won’t call me that again.”

  Rocks explains that the reason he isn’t naked when he flips is because of his blood. Their whole world revolves around blood—it’s their life force. He says that the villagers were splattered with blood from the attack when they were cursed, so anything that has his blood on it when he flips will appear when he flips back. His clothes, boots, sunglasses, wallet all have a smudge of blood on them. There’re limitations though. As a bat, he must physically be able to carry everything he has on him when he flips. If he wears too many clothes or has too much stuff, he finds it draining to fly a long distance.

  “That’s incredible. Don’t you think?” The more I
think about what Rocks can do, the more I’m blown away by it. “Both parts of what turn you into a Camazotz work together as one.”

  “Why is it that you see it, but the Sire can’t?” he asks. “I get so frustrated with the colony for ostracizing me. I’m me—I'm one of them—one way or the other.”

  “Do you think they’re afraid?”

  “Maybe.” He sighs. “No matter what I say to them, they just won’t listen. I would do anything for the Sire. I do. And indulging in my human side doesn’t change that, but—”

  “But he’s scared he’ll lose you to my world.”

  Rocks shrugs. “And I want more choice.”

  “Should I paint skulls or ghosts on my nails for Halloween tomorrow?” All the bat decorations hanging from neighborhood houses have been keeping Rocks constantly on my mind.

  “Connie.” His flat tone draws my eyes to him.

  “Yeah?” I hate it when he looks serious. “Skulls or ghosts?”

  “It’s about tomorrow.” He flicks his hair back, and I wait. “Don’t go out trick or treating. Just come straight home from school and stay in.”

  I frown. Kelly got Mini the cutest little pumpkin costume, and we were planning on heading out.

  “Please. Just stay home.” I watch Rocks twisting his fingers, and a chill runs up my spine.

  “Why?” I barely whisper. My gut tells me I don’t want to know, but I can’t help myself.

  “I can’t visit. And it’s not safe—for you.”

  My heart rate spikes. “Why, Rocks? I’m taking Mini.”

  That gets his attention as his eyes snap to mine. “No, you can’t! She’s too little and …” He sighs. “Halloween is the only night the Sire won’t punish us for—”

  “FOR WHAT?” I whisper yell, leaning over the corner of my desk, aware that we aren’t home alone.

  “Drinking from humans.”

  I’m trying not to let my face show the horror that I’m feeling. Why have I never asked him about drinking from humans before? The pressure in my jaw is almost hurting. My teeth grind together. I just assumed because he kept goats that they wouldn’t do that.

  Rocks shifts in his seat. “I better go. Just remember, I won’t be coming by. If a bat comes near you, scream as though your life depends on it.”

  12.

  Bird Lover

  Lies number four hundred and two through to four hundred and six—my head is pounding; I’m going to vomit; I’m too sick to trick or treat; I think those rabies shots aren’t working. Parents V2.0 eye me closely, but the final lie sealed the deal. The mention of the R word and Kelly announces all festivities for the evening are canceled, and I’m on bed rest with hourly parental check ups. Mini and I are safe. I weigh up the cost of the lies and decide they’re worth it.

  No bat is drinking from my little sister on Halloween.

  The thought of him drinking blood from any human makes me shudder. All I have done since last night is go over every conversation. Thinking back to our first interactions and the way I freaked out, I understand why he never told me this—but he should have. I believe he won’t ever hurt me and making sure Mini and I aren’t out tonight is proof, but I need to know more.

  Are you planning on drinking to the occasion?

  He answers almost straight away.

  What does that mean?

  Halloween and humans?

  I resist the urge to cringe when I press send but I need to get this straight.

  No! I don’t drink from humans. You should know that by now.

  Now I cringe. It’s funny how you can tell tone from just little words on a screen. If Rocks knew about emoticons, I’m sure I’d be looking at a red angry face.

  The added bonus I never saw coming from my fake Halloween sickness is that I’m allowed to stay home on Friday too. Kelly is so concerned about the previous evening that she takes me to the clinic herself for my third rabies injection and consults the doctor about my reactions. In her mind, my body must be infected to be reacting so severely. Once the needle has stabbed me, the lies to convince the doctor flow a little easier. He frowns. She bites her nails while rubbing my arm and soon I’m back in bed with a new book.

  The downside is there is no Bun Lovin’ allowed all weekend, but I feel rotten from the shot, so it’s not the end of the world. I’m also not overly keen to be out past midnight until all signs of Halloween are long gone so that any rebellious Camazotz won’t be tempted. I’ll miss Rocks, but again I’ve been saved. I won’t have to face him after the wrestling date. How did that come around so quickly?

  * * * * *

  I dig around in my bag for my inhaler. My lungs are wheezing, and even though I’ll just be sitting in the bleachers with the girls, I don’t want to cough and splutter all day. Before sucking on my puffer, I pause. Does Josie suffer from asthma? Or my father maybe? Asthma is often genetic, and Josie never did answer my question about hereditary diseases. Think that had something to do with my sarcastic tone. Maybe my father will answer my questions—when I find him.

  Brandy—who is sporting her home made cheerleader costume that she wears to all the football games—knocks me with her elbow. “Lover boy is waving to you,” she says, securing the second pigtail of tiny short curls with ribbons. She can do anything to her hair and still look gorgeous.

  “He is not my lover.” I see Parker standing at the bottom of the bleachers in his wrestling spandex. How those outfits are considered manly I’ll never know.

  “Go say hi,” hisses Tiff on my other side.

  I don’t know where to look. One thing about those costumes is that they don’t leave anything to the imagination. Parker is muscled in all the right places. It’s suddenly a lot warmer in the gym as I descend the stairs.

  “Hey Parker, good luck today.” I smile and focus on his face.

  “I won’t be needing luck. I’ll pin those girls before they know what hit ‘em. We’ll go grab a soda to celebrate our win afterwards, okay?”

  I nod. The emotional elevator dings as the door opens. I remind myself that I’m not doing anything wrong by hanging out with Parker. The coach’s whistle startles me. I smile again and head back to my inhaler.

  “Do you think Parker’s good-looking?” Tiff asks.

  “Um …” I watch him rooting for his teammate from the side of the ring. His hair is always painfully neat even now after two warm up matches. “Yeah. He’s good-looking.”

  “Wow, so that makes two.”

  “Huh?” I eye Tiff.

  “Two what?” Brandy asks.

  “Who else is hot?” Lou pipes in.

  Tiff smiles. I stiffen. I know that smile—the one where your secret is about to come out because the ‘relationship expert’ thinks it’s time or this could be payback for ignoring her so much lately. “Connie has another guy that she thinks is good looking.”

  Banana fudge sundae!

  I close my eyes as the questions start firing.

  “I never said he was good-looking!” I grit out between clenched teeth. She means no harm, but I don’t need any more people asking me about Rocks and especially, not today when I’m watching Parker get way too close to boys from surrounding counties. Parker’s next. He struts across the mat and waves one arm in the air while the official gets ready to start their match.

  “Contessa Phillips,” Brandy announces. “Have you been keeping secret hot guys from us?”

  “Yes, you did.” Tiff grins.

  “I did not!” I know I have never said those words out loud. Admitting Rocks is attractive is a slippery slope, and there are too many obstacles—blood-drinking relatives being the main offender.

  Tiff rummages through her backpack. Mary Lou and Brandy are still firing questions that I’m ignoring. Parker hits the mats with a resounding “oofff,” and the school supporters boo and hiss at his opponent. I try to focus on what’s happening in case I’m cross-examined later. He gets to his feet and shakes out his shoulders before circling the ring. His opponent is getting an
earful from our coach.

  Tiff retrieves her phone and brings up her text messages. “You did,” she says, triumphantly shoving the phone at me. My name and some of our recent texts fill the screen. Scrolling up the words hit me harder than Parker just hit the floor.

  Have I mentioned that I think Rocks is SO good-looking? Wow.

  That sneaky little bat! At the end of the text I dictated to him in my car is the extra line. He’s going to pay. I just have to work out how. My ears are on fire, and I can practically feel the burn of three sets of eyes boring into me.

  Tiff can’t take the silence any longer and proceeds to fill the girls in on my Bun Lovin’ Barn escort. She goes into great detail regarding his appearance, and I can’t argue with a single description. Rock isn’t just good-looking—he’s gorgeous, and the shy sexiness—that Tiff tells the others he’s oozing—is what makes him so appealing. The real kicker is that he has impeccable manners, a quiet maturity that I admire, and a heart of gold unheard of in a teenage boy—but he isn’t just a boy.

  “We’re just friends.”

  “But do you want to be more or has Parker got your attention?” Brandy asks. She always cuts to the point.

  My mind flits to the times I thought Rocks might kiss me, or when he’s hugged me so tight the whole world disappeared. I remember the feel of his fingers stroking up my spine, or worse the feel of his whole body dancing against mine. Or watching him discover new food, or when he entertains Mini. I want him so badly it’s ridiculous. My heart pounds as the words echo in my skull. I want Rocks. I really do, but I can’t have him—it’s way too complicated.

  “I have no idea what Parker is up to,” I admit. Tiff huffs. “Tiff, I know you think he’s into me, but that doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t know me.”

  The girls go into detailed analysis of the dating game, signs a boy is interested, and tests to really make sure he likes you for the remainder of the wrestling competition. I sit and munch on the leftovers from Kelly’s ‘Rocks is my new favorite’ feast until Parker is again waving up at me.