Sanguine Mountain

by Jennifer Foxcroft

  My brain kicks into gear. Kelly isn’t so good with furry creatures. If she screams …

  I race back inside and find her in the utility closet. “Is this the one?” she asks, thinking I’m her protector.

  “Yes.” I grab the broom as she looks out of the closet at me.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing. Go check on Mini. There’s a bat on the porch.” As predicted, she let’s out a small wail of alarm. I head for the front door.

  “Give it to me.”

  “No.” I tighten my grip. “I know how awful those vaccinations are. Do you really want to experience that too? They might give us a family discount.”

  The standoff lasts another five minutes, and Dad only relents due to the shrieks for an update coming from Mini’s room. I’m guessing half the neighborhood knows we have a roosting bat.

  I upend the broom and stand by the swing. Checking the front window, the coast is clear, but I know he’ll be back to monitor my progress.

  “You need to go.”

  EEEK! EEEK!

  “No? Rocks,” I hiss. “The broom will be phase one. Phase two will probably involve copious amounts of bug spray, and I’m sure that’s not healthy for bats either!”

  His little eyes stare down at me. I’ve never seen him upside down before and am impressed by how small he can fold himself up considering he’s such a long, lanky boy. My head hurts and I long for a peaceful night’s sleep. The fighting and my frayed nerves are doing my head in.

  “Have you seen or sensed anyone following me?” I ask. I wave the broom nowhere near him in case I’m under surveillance.

  EEEK! EEEK!

  “Me too.” I sigh. I think I’m losing my mind. “Finding out about my father—” I whisper, “—probably just made me paranoid. I’m okay. Really. You need to go home and check in with what’s happening there.”

  I wait for a response, but if I know Rocks, that will not be adequate enough for his liking.

  “If I feel any tingle of suspicion, or if one single goose bump forms on my arms, I’ll text you. Deal? I’ll also take extra special care. I promise.” I rub my fading scar. “Do you think I want more of these?”

  I close my eyes. Air comes in through my nose and exits though my mouth. I do it again.

  Promise?

  “I promise.” I draw a cross over my heart. Rocks lets go and swoops low over my head. I don’t even flinch as the air moves my ponytail. It makes me smile. Cheeky Camazotz! “Got it!” I yell and am given a hero’s welcome when I venture back indoors.

  * * * * *

  The smell of brownies reaches me the second I’m through the door. I’ve been at the mall with the girls looking for the perfect outfit for the dance—those are Tiff’s words.

  Crabapples.

  I forgot to warn the baking queen that Rocks wouldn’t be visiting this week. He hasn’t been keeping his Monday/Wednesday visiting schedule for weeks now, but I guess she lives in hope. Then again maybe the brownies are for me—yeah, right.

  “You’re late,” she states. I open the fridge and peruse the offerings.

  “Sorry, at the mall looking for a dress.” Distraction deployed.

  “Oh, for the dance.” She beams. “That’s right. Did you find anything?”

  I shake my head and open the brownie container, picking at the crumbs.

  “What’s that boy’s name again?”

  “Parker.” I weigh up if I can make it to my room without further inquisition since I did technically start this topic.

  “You must bring him around.” Over my dead body, I chant.

  Mr. Evening News enters the kitchen, holding the newspaper open. His head is buried in the pages.

  “Two officers dead protecting key witness in the Viper trial,” he reads, before lowering it for a second to look at us. “I told you I wouldn’t go up against a drug dealer no matter what.”

  I slowly walk to the other side of the kitchen island. Kelly is on my right, and Chad and the newspaper are on my left. I wish I had two sets of eyes so that I could monitor each of them for the mere hint of weakness.

  “What do you think of Enzo Ascari?” I ask, flicking my eyes back and forth between them.

  He looks at me. “He’s a criminal that should be locked away for eternity. Selling drugs to kids—everyone knows he’s behind it, they just can’t catch him—that’s unforgiveable.” He shakes his head. “Evil man. Bet he’s never done a decent thing in his life.”

  His comment stings like a wasp. Does that include me? Maybe he doesn’t know? But if he does, then he’ll get the Academy award for not cracking a sweat or giving me any sign he knows I’m onto them.

  “You don’t know anyone silly enough to try drugs, do you, sweetheart?” Kelly asks. It sounds like an honest question. Am I reading way more into this than is really there? Where’s the line drawn? My lies know no limit these days. I keep telling them to get what I need and it works, but my parental discovery has made me petrified of telling the truth.

  * * * * *

  I’m late starting my shift on Friday night. Parker wanted me to give his final essay one last read over. Does that boy type with boxing gloves on?

  “Sorry,” I say, throwing my bag in the corner and grabbing the apron.

  “No sweat.” Tiff’s a trooper. The van is ready to go, and she’s already got a customer. “You okay?”

  “Parker.” I roll my eyes. She grins and pockets the tip money.

  “At least he’s not being a dick these days,” she says, leaning a hip on the counter.

  I riffle through my handbag and bring out a sealed bag with the worst excuse for a blueberry muffin I’ve ever seen. Saying it resembles a stress ball is being polite. I hold it up.

  “Ew, what’s that?” She steps back.

  “A gift from Parker.”

  “Bet you’re glad he didn’t ask you to eat it while he watched. I’d donate all my tips to see you trying to choke that down.” Her laughter echoes in the van.

  “I don’t know whether bringing him a cupcake on Monday will be cruel or kind.” I don’t want to replace feeding one boy with another, because the first boy is one of a kind, but I also don’t want any more ‘edible’ gifts from Parker either.

  A group of hungry boys makes a line. Tiff and I get moving, making up their orders. Handing over the last dog—the guy wanted triple pickles and lashings of hot mustard—I watch the passersby. Working here has given me a new insight into college life. Tiff was right. I did need educating. A girl, further down the street, is laughing or imitating a donkey—it’s hard to know which.

  Tiff snorts. “Charming.”

  “You or her?” I ask, smiling. I watch donkey girl’s friends. One punches her and the others imitate her distinctive laugh, then trips, and almost falls off the sidewalk in front of a van.

  “SUGARPLUMS!”

  In a flash, I’m below the counter and crawling on all fours to my bag in the corner.

  “What the—” Tiff mumbles.

  I dump the contents of my purse on the floor, spreading it out. Grabbing my phone, I fire off a text before I force air into my lungs.

  That van is here.

  16.

  Blood

  “Connie, what’s up? You’re a bit pale,” Tiff says, bending down to my level.

  “I’m being followed,” I whisper. I point around the window and down the street. Tiff wants to know my secrets, well, here goes.

  Tiff gets up and peers out. “By who? Since when?”

  “That van.”

  “Stop whispering it’s just us,” she says, looking from me to the van. “Do you mean the telecommunications van?”

  I nod and stare at my phone.

  “You forget to pay your phone bill?”

  “It’s not funny.” I crawl back over to her side and kneel up, peeking over the counter to look again. It’s definitely the same license plate. The next few minutes are spent explaining my van encounters. I omit the first time I saw the van at
Josie’s place. I can’t be sure that was the same van, as it wasn’t until the third time I saw it that I took down the plates.

  Tiff squats next to me. “I’m really worried about you. I have been for a while.” I look away. “I don’t think they’re following you. The companies have areas, and the van you’re seeing is just servicing its area. Your house, the school, and here are probably all part of that van’s area.” I’m so glad I never trusted her with the truth. If she’s having trouble with this, there’s no way in hell she would’ve coped with the Camazotz.

  Her logic is sound, but I’ve got goose bumps. My gut is telling me trouble is lurking—and close. I suck my bottom lip into my mouth. “Is the door locked?”

  Tiff humors me and checks. It isn’t, so she clicks it shut. My phone vibrates, scaring me half to death. Fumbling, I try not to drop it.

  Stay inside. I’m on my way, but I’ll be a while.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Rocks.”

  “Of course, he knows about this.” She leaves me on the floor and checks on our dog numbers.

  A busy spike forces me back to my feet and at the window again. I try to stay out of sight as much as possible. I know Tiff’s huffs and puffs are aimed at me, but she doesn’t say anything else.

  The bang on the door is so loud that I squeeze the bun I’m holding too tight and the hot dog shoots out, disappearing into the briny waters of the pickle canister. Tiff glares.

  “I’m guessing that’s for you.” She takes the abused bun and throws it in the trash.

  “Connie, it’s me.”

  Opening the door, Rocks, Jeremiah, and another very large boy I don’t recognize are standing on the pavement. “This is my cousin, Harland,” Rocks says, pointing over his shoulder. The guy, with shoulder length hair, mumbles a greeting I don’t catch. All I zero in on are the viper bite piercings adorning his lower lip. “We’re going over. You stay here.”

  I grab his wrist. “No.” My blood pressure is rising rapidly. Tiff’s right. This is ridiculous. “It’s probably nothing.”

  “And if it is, then there’s no need to worry.” Rocks sneaks a glance over his shoulder.

  Harland steps in. “We want you to come out and point really obviously at the van. If they’re watching you, we want them to know that you know.”

  I can’t stop my eyes from going wide. “What? You want them to know?” I look at Rocks and he nods.

  “That’s right. I’m sick of my cousin risking his life for a nau…” —his eyes flick to Rocks— “for an aeronaught. Let’s finish this now.” Harland is standing in the arc of light spilling from the van’s open door.

  My skin prickles as I study his stance and clothing. He’s darker—like his spirit floats closer to midnight or something—than Rocks and the other boys. Or maybe he reminds me of a night with a new moon, whereas Rocks is more akin to a night illuminated by a full moon. The word predator invades my jumbled thoughts. If Harland pulled a switchblade, I wouldn’t be surprised.

  Stepping down, I do exactly as the guys have asked. They make animated gestures to confirm the vehicle, before the two boys flank Rocks, and they stride down the sidewalk. Halfway there, the headlights of the van flick onto high beam. I wince and raise a hand to block the white light. The silhouettes of the boys tell me they are doing the same thing. Before they get any closer, the van pulls a hard left and the screeching tires tell me they’ve left.

  I’m being followed.

  My knees buckle, but I catch myself by leaning against the Bun Lovin’ Barn. Rocks walks up, opens the van door and steps half way into it.

  “Tiff, Connie’s not well. I’m taking her home immediately.” His words register in my head, and I try to get past one long leg that is still half on the sidewalk. He blocks my entry by pinning me against the door. “I’m really sorry, but she won’t be working tomorrow night either. See you around.” He’s managed to shovel all the junk into my bag and hands it to me. “Let’s go.”

  “My coat.”

  A second later, he stands behind me and guides my arms into the sleeves. “Who was it?”

  Rocks grabs my hand and pulls me in the direction of home. “I don’t know, but it’s going to stop.” His hand is so warm in mine. I clear my head and concentrate on our connection. Rocks squeezes my fingers twice, and I look up into his soft eyes. “I’ve got you. Don’t worry.”

  At one a.m. my phone illuminates my bedroom. I wasn’t asleep anyway.

  The Sire has agreed to perform a protection charm. You’ll be safe after that.

  His message makes absolutely no sense. I text back as much and after ten minutes of a furious text battle—including me logging onto the phone account and adding extra credit for him—I understand, but wish I didn’t.

  The colony and their little witchy herb woman are going to perform a ceremony—involving blood—tomorrow night that I must attend. He has clearly lost his freaking marbles.

  No way. Forget it. I’m not going anywhere near a blood ceremony.

  Close to four, I’m searching the shadows in my room for creatures that go bump in the night—or drive telecommunication vans. The gusty wind outside is buffeting the house, making it creak and groan and cause far too many heart rate spikes.

  Open your window.

  My bed socks slide across the floorboards near my windowsill. The pierced bat enters and before my eyes can register it, Rocks is standing in my room. The urge to throw myself into his arms grips me. I need him. I’m scared. Instead, I slide back to my bed and pull up the covers.

  “I know you’re frightened, but this is a huge deal. The Sire is putting his reputation on the line, and he’s doing it for me. For you too.”

  I pull the quilt up higher so it covers half my face and nose. Peeping out, I watch him sit on the edge of my bed. “We don’t perform this lightly. If the other colonies found out, it could cause conflict. The protection charm is believed to protect all who partake from all others—Camazotz included. It will look as though we don’t trust the others, and that’ll be seen as a hostile move if they find out.”

  My voice has vanished. I can’t even begin to understand what this means. But it’s obvious Rocks is putting his neck on the chopping block for me. My stomach churns and the emotional elevator plummets to the darkest depths of the pit.

  “You need to trust me. Come to the colony. Everyone will gather for the charm, and then you can come home again. That’s all.”

  We sit and stare at each other. The wind whistles through the branches outside. I shiver even though I’m snug in my toasty bed. Rocks’ hand rubs back and forth over my knee.

  “There’s just one thing.”

  There goes the elevator again.

  “What?”

  The pause indicates I’m not going to like it. This is one thing I’ve learned about Rocks—he hates telling me bad news. “Just tell me.”

  “We need human blood.”

  I flinch away from his touch. I want to kick myself when pain flashes across his face briefly before I control my nerves.

  “Not much. But some.” He rests his hand back on my knee. “I can get it elsewhere, if you’d prefer.” He looks away.

  “But—”

  “Connie, you know I don’t drink from humans. You know that. But that doesn’t mean your blood isn’t the most powerful substance on the planet. I’m going to ask you once more—to trust me.”

  I bring one hand out of my blanket cocoon and link my fingers through his. I can’t remember the last time I was lucky enough to witness my favorite smile, but right now I’m blinded by it.

  * * * * *

  Sitting behind the wheel of my car, I send a quick message to Rocks. I know he’ll be anxious to hear from me.

  Leaving now. K and C think I’m going to Tiff’s before work.

  Come straight to my shop. Drive safely.

  The drive to the market doesn’t seem to take as long as last time. Maybe it’s because I feel as though I’m one step closer to the gallows w
ith every mile covered. None of the baked goodies in our kitchen were able to tempt me to eat today, so my head is spinning a little. I can do this. I can be brave and not embarrass Rocks in front of the whole freaking colony.

  Pulling off the highway, I follow the gravel trail to the Sanguine Mountain Market parking lot. The dilapidated old van sits in the same spot I swear it was last time. My heart races as I head up the path through the trees. All I can think about are the menacing stares and sneers last time I walked this same track. At the information sign, Decker and Ezra are standing laughing. Decker punches Ezra’s arm and he howls like Mini, rubbing the spot where the fist connected. They both laugh and Decker successfully ducks out of the way from Ezra’s retaliation.

  “Hey, here she is,” Decker announces, walking toward me. “Rockland asked us to meet you. He’s with the Fold for a bit. Wanna see where I work?” His friendly demeanor allows my heart rate to slow.

  Instead of turning left to Rocks’ shop, we go right and head slightly downhill. The first building is the dairy, and I can hear and smell the cows even though I can’t see them. The shop front has giant wheels of cheese stacked on top of each other; some have holes, others appear to be covered in mold. I look in the doorway as we pass because that’s where Rocks gets his phone charged. She mustn’t mind his interaction with an aeronaught.

  Passing the tanner, Decker points to the Tin Smith shop.

  “I bet you thought I was going to be a roofer, huh?

  “What?” I don’t have a clue what he’s talking about.

  “My name Decker means roofer, but I work with tin instead,” he explains. I frown. “Didn’t he tell you about each wing?”

  Just a bit, I think. Decker goes on to explain that each wing has a naming convention, and all babies are named for their father’s bloodline. His line is named for trades and lead by the Fold member—Judge.

  “So in my bloodline there’s Pilot, Ranger, Mason, Weaver, Taylor, Harper. You get the idea.”

  I look to Ezra. “My wing is Hebrew names or stuff that sounds like it’s from the bible. Our Fold member is Levi, but not all wings have a Fold member. Only the seven wings that are voted into power are represented in the Fold.”