by Kay Camden
I had some crows clean out the maggots first.
I probably should just hurl right now and get it over with. “Okay, so both your blood and your saliva …”
Apparently.
“You didn’t know?”
Not until now.
“Don’t fucking lie.”
I swear on every sacred oak. One lip tucked under the other, she looks like she’s about to cry.
Well, balls. No way I’m standing here and watching her cry. “I like your new method better.”
After reading the screen she squints her eyes—another person working to determine if I’m being real or smarting off. Do I have some kind of reputation or something? Yeah, I’m pretty sure I do.
“You gonna finish that egg sandwich?”
Watching me, she slowly sits down. I try to think about food instead of her new method. She reaches past me for the smoothie—my smoothie, since she took my coffee—and drinks it down two inches. Okay, I guess we’re sharing then, because I need either caffeine or sugar and I’m not walking in the heat to get more. Both smoothie and coffee have been tainted by her, but does it matter? I’ve been thoroughly contaminated at this point.
She picks up my phone. We need a contract.
“For what?”
For our plan.
“Not necessary.”
Some things I need you to do.
I laugh, because she can’t be serious. I think I’m doing enough.
You need to learn to fingerspell.
“No I don’t.”
It will make things easier. Also, you have to let me bind you to my amulet’s protection.
“Nope times a million. That thing would probably kill me the first chance it got.”
And I want a blood oath. Spoken allegiance is not good enough.
It shouldn’t be such a gouge. She’s only being sensible. I’m not sure why she finds it necessary though. There’s no way she knows what a liar I am because I’ve never lied to her.
Wait. I haven’t? That can’t be right. She can’t be the first person I’ve never lied to. Even Emily got it. Aaron too. Even when I knew they knew I was lying, I did it anyway.
No offense, she adds. Is there anything you want from me?
Isn’t that a complicated question. I could demand she stop being cute, and stop trying to kiss me, but the part of me that likes to keep my life miserable wants neither of those things to stop. “You teach me your magic.”
I already agreed to that.
“You give me back my coffee.”
She hands it back to me, all polite and businesslike. But I see a tension in her cheek, the smile she’s trying to keep in check. And it’s about to get murdered by the next thing I say.
“You undo what you did to me in that bedroom at my house.”
The cheek smooths. Instead of sweet-cute, now she’s scary-cute. I can’t decide which one is more appealing. She’s a demon in a candy shell. And I think she might be out for my blood.
I’m not turning you back into that hate-filled monster.
“Hate-filled I’ll take. Monster? That’s a bit extreme.” If she thinks the hate in me has been purged, she’s in for a big disappointment.
The first thing you’ll do is kill me.
I have to ponder that one. Could she be right? Is it so simple? Just a switch, kill Sloane Bevan mode off versus on? I’d like to think there’s a little more to me, that I’d still see the value in keeping her around until we disable the key people in my family so I can take power.
The truth is there probably isn’t much more to me than an on-off like that.
Okay, I’ll agree to change you back to normal, but only after I’ve finished with all your family members.
“Deal.” I pull my knife and split my palm.
She takes it and splits hers. We clasp hands. I get a little lost in her eyes and have to blink myself out.
She picks up my phone. Because you’re not going to want to change back when we’re finished.
“You think?”
I know.
And I realize in my excitement, I didn’t just agree to that final thing she proposed. I sealed an oath for all of them.
Chapter 19
Sloane
We choose the Washington D.C. Moores as our first battlefield. Rex makes a few more friends on the road toward the interstate, and when he’s halfway down the entrance ramp, he suddenly pulls to the shoulder and unbuckles his harness.
Dying in a car crash would be kind of a buzzkill right now, he says. So this is all you.
I hand him his phone, and we switch spots. The road’s decline makes it easier to get the car going, and after I’ve merged and set my speed, I notice Rex watching me like he’s taking mental notes. When we stop for the night, I need to sit him down and teach him all I know about driving. Which isn’t much, but it’s a lot more than he knows.
Nearing a large town, Rex searches his navigation for shopping, and I tap the big retail chain store that’ll have clothes. Inside the store doors, he stops fast, mouth a little dropped open while he stands there and blocks traffic. I have to take his hand and pull him in. At first I think he’s going into one of his panics. But then I see it’s not panic in his eyes but awe. It’s almost like he’s never been shopping before. It’s almost like—
He’s never driven on roads.
Never been to a fast food joint.
Never been to a motel.
I shake his arm until he looks at me. I sign, Is this the first time you’ve been in public?
He absently searches his pockets, his gaze shifting all around us like there’s too much to take in around him and he has to keep an eye on all of it. He hands me his phone so I can type my question.
No, he answers once I get it typed in. By the way his chin lifts a little, I can tell there’s another answer he’s preparing to give but something about it has caused him to forget about the store around us and focus only on me. Instead of watching the screen, I keep my eyes on his face.
On his lips I see, It was the … He pauses to run a hand over his head, eyes casting away before they return to me. Then he signs: Eat.
Wait, I didn’t see that. I imagined it, right? I sign, What? Because that’s the only word I’m thinking even though I completely understand. The tacos. His first time in public was with me to eat tacos. That’s mind-blowing enough on its own. But him explaining it with ASL? Just, what?!
He signs again: Eat. And since I’m freaking out, he thinks I don’t understand, and he’s talking now. But no he doesn’t need to talk. So I sign, eat, and fingerspell, tacos, because I know he’s looked up the alphabet and has to remember some of them.
Yes, he says, nodding. Tacos. It’s so plain on his lips. And that smile, peaking higher on one side. With the dimple.
I burst forward and hug him before I can stop myself. He goes rigid, all touch-me-not, arms raised awkwardly away from me, but I hold on, the breath in his chest gaining speed, his conscious act to slow it. And I let go and step back fast because my itchy palms just reminded me we’re in the middle of a giant store with oppressive artificial lights, surrounded by all these moving bodies and watching eyes.
His eyes are different though. Not watching, not judging. Just seeing. Understanding. We are both tools to our families, and only he knows what that feels like. And the more I look into his eyes, the less I feel the pressure of people all around me. His presence steadies my nerves so ready to undo me.
He raises a hand to keep me back. I don’t want to lose this bridge he just built. I don’t want him to see it there and set it on fire. So I reach a hand toward him and he takes a step back—directly into some guy’s cart. Rex spins around to glare when he should be excusing himself or saying he’s sorry. I’d say it for him if I could. The guy gives him this look that makes Rex say something that�
�s definitely not an apology. The guy says something equally aggressive back. Rex kicks the bottom of the cart, and I grab Rex’s arm.
We’re sorry, I sign. Sorry.
Here comes the look of confusion followed by pity. And … there it is. I let it boil in me a little because if I don’t, it’ll burn buried and the pressure will take forever to dissipate. Rex jerks away from me, stepping toward that guy, mouthing off. I check his phone: Don’t look at her like that.
More words from Rex are rolling onto the screen, peppered with insults and expletives, and I look away because now the guy is apologizing, retreating, and everyone around us is gawking and giving Rex a wide berth. No one’s looking at me anymore. He’s opened a circus tent in front of the Deaf girl, and he’s handing out free tickets. He turns, surveying the crowd, and suddenly everyone has somewhere very important to be.
I grab his arm and haul him into the aisles where we can hide. I should be mad. He’s such a jerkwad. That behavior—I can’t begin to break down the stupidity of it. The Moores breed bad manners, everyone knows this, even the Moores themselves. I shouldn’t forgive it. But he signed.
So all I can do is look at him. And I know I’m smiling like I’ve just won life. I need a high five, or a fist bump. No, I need something more. I have so many things to say yet nothing at all. I want a repeat, for him to sign again to prove it wasn’t my imagination. I fingerspell his name, hoping to prompt something.
He catches my hand before I finish. These fluorescent lights shouldn’t make a person so handsome but somehow they have. Even though he dresses down the pretty-boy Moore genes in athletic shorts and camo, they’re still there, roughed-up, rugged, and more appealing because of it.
Don’t, he says. A magic word. It takes me back to that night. It takes him back too, but that’s not why he’s reviving it. He wants to feel the torture of it, the need, the unfulfillment. He wants to relive it to overcome it. To feel it and remember it then overpower it by doing nothing.
Should I admit how fascinating it is to watch him try?
I back into the shelves like I backed to the wall that night. Still holding my hand, he comes with me. With only an inch now separating us, I lift his shirt and slide his phone into his pocket. He’s tensed, because that’s not at all what he expected. And that’s why I did it.
His only reaction is barely a smile. It’s amused, telling me he’s taken my move as a dare. He’s planning something now, a game, maybe, of how much we can get away with doing to each other under the guise of innocence. He releases my hand, trailing his thumb like the lightest tickle across the crease in my palm as he lets go.
Game on.
This flirting with Rex Moore, it’s a really bad habit I have no intention of quitting.
I split from him to pick out some jeans and pocketed hiking pants. Shirts are harder because they’re either boring or not my style. Rex keeps disappearing and returning with some random stuff we don’t need, like five boxes of cream-filled sponge cakes or a stainless steel thermos. I don’t care how much money he has. We don’t need to spend it, and we don’t have room in the car for a load of stuff. I make him put it all back. Then he finds the sporting goods.
They don’t sell guns to fifteen-year-olds, I try to explain.
Teach me what you did with that cash we used to buy tacos.
That was the memory trick, needed so the cashier would forget the blood she saw caked all over me. I’m not teaching him that. I don’t trust him with it, and it’s not the right thing for this anyway.
Or I could just kill everyone nearby and take what I want. Leave the cleanup to you.
No sign of amusement on his face means he’s either serious, or he wants me to think he’s serious. He’s a total jerk either way.
Go ahead, I sign. He points to his phone. I type in, I’ll be in the car.
As I hand back the phone, I swipe his car key from the pocket I know he put it in. He reaches too late to stop me. I’m already a step away. I stop in cosmetics for a cheap eyeliner and grab some other toiletries and a gallon of drinking water, silently thanking Aaron for his loan as I hand over the cash at the checkout. When I unlock Rex’s car and open the door to let the heat out, I remember this is his first—no second—time in public. They kept him locked inside that fence his whole life. No wonder he’s so messed-up. No wonder he never learned to control himself in public. I line my eyes in the sunvisor mirror, breathing in the heat that hasn’t yet escaped.
In need of air, I get out of the car and glance at the entrance of the store, worried he’s really doing what he just said he’d do. It had to be a bluff. Right? In the reflection of the car’s window, I see a group of guys approaching from behind me. I’m at once aware of the sun’s punishing rays, the heat simmering on the concrete, the rising tempo of my pulse. My palms are instantly sweaty. I duck into the car, but they’ve already reached me. If I don’t look up, it’s a snub, it’s my fear, it’s me beneath them. To some guys that combination is a door marked PREY. All they have to do is open it.
So I stand back up and look them all in the eyes, one after the other. One of them is my age, the other two are older. Brothers, maybe. I can breathe a little better when I see they’re checking out the car, not me.
One of them says something directly to me, so I shake my head. Trying to figure out the words takes backseat to trying to breathe. They’re looking around now, probably for the car’s driver since I’m on the passenger side. Two speak at once. One gets an elbow jab from the other. They laugh. I don’t catch any of the words. I’m sweating worse now. I feel every trickle down my back, every unloading pore. I could break all their knees right now if they threatened me, but the anxiety is a concrete block tied to my ankle and I’m falling off a bridge.
The tallest one is repeating. Stepping closer. The same sentence again.
I’m Deaf, I sign. I point to my ears. Shake my head.
They look at each other. The one who took a walk around the car joins us again. If I had my phone, this would be a lot easier. Now my fall from the bridge has broken the water’s surface. It’s a sea of memories of every bad experience in the hearing world—surviving elementary school, getting lost in the grocery store, being picked up from the land behind my house and taken to town by the sheriff. Too young for a phone to help me communicate, too frightened to know what the hell to do. The memories are all around me now, on top of me like a whirling current. I struggle against them.
Hey, are you okay? It’s easy to read. They look concerned now.
The closest trees are so far away. All around me is blinding concrete and shining cars and the looming store. I back up, feel the hot surface of Rex’s car against my back. Rex—captive in that hate-filled house, a prisoner inside that fence. He’s had it bad, not me. There’s no reason for me to deconstruct over a simple friendly encounter in a parking lot. It’s not even about me. It’s about the car. I don’t know why the spotlight always feels like it’s on me even when it’s not. So I straighten my darn shoulders and sign, I’m fine. It’s just super hot today.
They exchange glances. The youngest one points into the car. They want to see inside. I step back and they crowd forward, leaning to look in my open door. They’re all talking at once but not to me, to each other. I open the back to put my bags inside and see Rex crossing the parking lot, his gaze fixed in a way that makes me wish I’d been able to warn him of his car’s new fan club.
Rex has sized up the situation by the time he reaches us, and he’s not so much interested in the guys. I follow where he’s looking—my hands, still shaking from the anxiety. It’s so common I don’t realize it happening sometimes. I cross my arms and tuck the hands underneath.
When the guys notice him, they stand back a bit, excitement turning wary because Rex has the narrowed eyes in full effect. He seems baffled by their interest as they talk and gesture. He doesn’t know his rich guy world is not the real worl
d. Not everyone gets a rare souped-up race car before they’re old enough to get a driver’s license. I should probably explain this when I teach him it’s considered rude to change lanes inches from another car’s bumper.
He’s changed his mind though. Now the hood’s been popped and Rex starts the car. The guys seem to like that. I shade my eyes from the sun and try to catch words but it’s all lost to too many people talking and my bad angle. Rex meets them again by the front of the car. Some kind of deal is going down. Cash transfers from Rex to the oldest guy and the three brothers head into the store. Once they’re a good distance away I go for Rex’s pocket. He calmly lets me do it. Watching, enjoying it. I find his phone and take it out.
Okay, perv, what’s going on?
He’s buying me some ammo. Guy at the counter inside said I’m too young.
Yeah, like I said.
He scratches his eyebrow, a cover for having just looked straight at my chest. He gets in the car. I get in beside him, careful not to rub my arm against his. He shifts in his seat and does it himself. I look into his eyes, trying to determine if that was intentional or accidental. He looks at my mouth.
I’m not sure if this is a continuation of the game we started in the store aisle or if this is just spoiled Rex Moore struggling to cope with wanting something he might not get. He’s been given everything he’s ever wanted in life without question. Or is that an unfair judgment?
Nah, it’s the truth. But here’s another one: I so want to give him what he wants.
I sock him gently in the jaw instead. He turns away, laughing. For once it’s not for show. Not to unsettle someone. It’s genuine and real, and I know that because of how he’s shielding it from me like he doesn’t want any witnesses to this side of him.
He hands over more cash when the brothers return with a heavy bag Rex checks before stashing it in the back of the car. After a few handshakes, he’s back in the car with me, tapping my chin with his knuckles in a sweet version of what I just did to him. Who needs magic when you have money?
Is that the Moore family motto?