Dad huffs. “Yeah, I won’t tell anyone. Damn conservationists,” he mutters. “Actually, all those bats … kinda creepy, don’t you think?”
I freeze. “Huh?”
“I don’t know.” He pulls a face. “Felt like I was being watched.”
“Well, they were. Probably getting ready to escape from the big, noisy human intruders.”
“No, not like that. More like they were aware. Silly, huh?” He shrugs.
“Totally.” Oh, good grief!
* * * * *
The last few days of my Christmas vacation suck without Rocks. Knowing he’s not going to visit for at least eight weeks brings the dark clouds of doom back with a vengeance. Neither of us knows how long his wing will take to heal. This is new territory, and since he can’t flip, texting him is useless.
I dump my backpack on the floor and take a seat at our kitchen island. The house smells of my favorite—beans—but it’s a cruel reminder of the boy that nicknamed me after them.
“Here you go,” Mom says, placing a small bowl on the counter. “How was school?”
I shrug one shoulder as my hunger evaporates. I miss my boyfriend, but it’s more than that. Rocks wasn’t just my boyfriend; he was my best friend and secret keeper. Since I met him last July, he had become part of the family. I shove the barely touched bowl away, apologize, and retreat to my room.
Firing up the laptop doesn’t help. I’ve been so obsessed with discovering the identity of my birth parents that now that the search is over, I don’t know what to do with myself. I read more about vampire bats, but that doesn’t ease the churning in my gut either. I hope he’s doing okay. What if he can’t fly again? I wonder. That line of thinking twists my intestines into a knot. I close the laptop and pull out my suitcase full of nail polish.
By my tenth Rocks-less day, I’m ready to jump out my window. It’s Saturday, and last night’s Bun Lovin’ Barn shift not only sucked, but dragged on for all eternity. No super cute, Victorian-mannered gentleman was waiting to escort me home. Rocks never got the chance to walk me home since we’d started dating. I know we would have stopped off in the park to make-out, and I was looking forward to that more than anything. Getting a lift from Tiff was a poor substitute.
I spend way too many hours sitting by my window staring at the trees. Hoping. Then a moment of reality hits, forcing me to accept that Rocks isn’t going to come flying in anytime soon. He’s at the roost, and I bet those Camazotz girls are showering him in love and affection.
Fudge sundae.
I drag my nail polish supplies down to the living room and set up on the coffee table. It’s time to come good on my deal with Dad and give Mom’s nails some long overdue attention. She’s sitting on the couch cutting out recipes from a stack of magazines. When the mother I’ve been ignoring notices I’m setting up my supplies, my guilt skyrockets. Her face lights up the whole room, and she immediately sits on the floor and places her fingers out wide on the coffee table. I’m the worst daughter ever.
“Got a design in mind?” she asks.
“No. You?” I sit opposite and let the quiet calm that my nail art brings wash over me. The smells of polish and acetone fill the air. I have to get out of this funk I’m slowly drowning in without Rocks. Mom starts flicking through the nail designs I’ve downloaded to my phone.
“You heard from Rocks?”
I flinch. When I look up, she’s focused on me and not the phone. I glance over at Dad in the armchair, newspaper blocking us from view and shake my head.
“Did you two hang out here before he hurt himself?” she says quietly, fishing for clues.
I want to tell her, I really do, but it’s … complicated—my least favorite saying in the entire universe. But when it comes to Rocks and I, it’s actually true. My mood darkens as I think about all the secrets I’m still holding and wish I could share with her. My brain floods with questions about my adoption, but after I take a deep breath, I know that subject is best left buried. Part of me is convinced the reason they didn’t tell me I’m adopted is because they know about Enzo Ascari. But, if that’s true, I can’t work out why Dad reports Enzo’s evil-doings like clockwork to Mom during their daily husband-reads-the-news hour. If he’s such a secret, why mention Enzo’s name? Or is he closely monitoring Enzo to keep track? Or do they have no clue whom I’m related to?
Fudge me. My brain hurts, but my heart hurts more. What I do know is that the pain in my heart lessens each time I call them Mom and Dad again.
Mom is staring at me. I try to clear my mind of the endless loop of questions and take another deep breath. “He popped in the day you left, but …” I shrug.
“You miss him, don’t you?” she whispers.
“So much.”
My admission causes tears to well in my eyes. Rocks has not abandoned me, but I feel so upside down. I never knew my feelings for a boy could be this powerful. Six months ago, I didn’t need him to start my search for my parents, but now I miss him so much it aches. I rub my stomach wishing it were that simple. There’s more to it than simply missing my boyfriend.
With every day he’s not here, and with all that happened, the feeling of vulnerability is growing. But that’s not all, I’m starting to feel scared—scared for him mostly, but scared also about what will happen if the Vipers decide they want their money back. My intuition has never been great, but it won’t let me forget that the Vipers think I stole their cash. I bite my lip hard to prevent myself from spilling everything to Mom. The cops would be called, and it would be nothing short of a disaster. No media or police attention needs to be given to my family. They need to stay off the radar—safe and anonymous. Mom squeezes my hand.
“Ooh, how about this design?” she says, holding up my phone.
The screen shows tiny purple—oh, crap—owls.
“You haven’t done them before, have you?”
I try not to look disgusted. “No.”
“Perfect.” Yeah, the perfect reminder of Rocks’ enemy number one, or are they? That Camazotz Joey is a total mystery. A mystery I’m not going to solve without access to that bitchy bat, Zabreena. How does she know him? I rub my temples before adjusting Mom’s left hand on the table.
My kidnapping and Rocks’ wing drama forced his biggest problem—the owl attacks on the colony—from my mind. Questions. Questions. Questions. It’s all I’ve got. When am I going to get some fudging answers? I start with the base coat and let the fumes bring order to the chaos in my brain.
Who released the Great Horned owls that are attacking and killing colony members?
Who the hell is Joey?
Why is he working for the Vipers?
Why does he loathe Rocks and want him dead?
Does he share the same ideals as the Mac and Plant wings that want my blood?
Is this a wing conspiracy?
“Listen to this,” Dad says. He’s pointing the remote at the digital box below our flat screen rewinding a news story.
A pretty, red-haired news anchor fills the screen. “Residents of Floyd County have reported five bat attacks since the New Year. First, three teenage girls were attacked at dusk, and now an elderly husband and wife while out walking. Witnesses are yet to identify what species is responsible. Local wildlife officials are looking into the matter amid fears that rabies may be the reason behind this unusual aggression. Hikers are urged to take care and be on the lookout.”
When Dad’s eyes move to my forehead, I realize I’m rubbing my scar. Given all I know about bats, this can’t be a coincidence. It’s winter. Real bats hibernate according to Rocks. What the hell is going on?
* * * * *
My enthusiasm for life at present means the parking lot is full by the time I drag myself to school on Monday. Finding a spot down the street, I half jog to make it to class before the bell. Near the school gate, I catch my reflection in the heavily tinted windows of a shiny Lincoln Town Car. Not wanting to have Tiff on my case about what’s going on from my ragged appearan
ce, I stop and use my fingers to comb my hair into a high ponytail. My blonde hair stands out in the dark reflection and stirs the image in my memory of the golden girl standing with the midnight boy in the forest.
My window mirror begins to slowly vanish, and I gasp, stumbling backward realizing the car is occupied. The tinted glass lowers to reveal a man in his early thirties with greased down, sandy-blond hair sitting in the passenger seat. His cologne hits me as I turn and run to class.
English with Tiff starts my week. I used to love English, but that’s the one class I share with Parker Reed—the wrestling jock I dated for a nanosecond. I was trying to take my mind of Rocks back when I believed a Camazotz would never be interested in a boring aeronaught.
“You spoken to him yet?” Tiff whispers as Mrs. Yamaguchi turns to write on the board.
“Nope.” She rolls her eyes. “What? Why should I?”
Parker ran off and left me behind the gym when we—actually he—got attacked by Rocks and his friends. Parker doesn’t know that I know I wasn’t in any danger—that’s not the point. The point is he left me. He was more than happy to hang around going for the boob grab, but the second there’s trouble, he takes off faster than Mini in a toy store.
“He was scared. What are the odds of you being attacked twice by bats?” She frowns. “For your sake, I hope that doesn’t happen in threes.”
So do I. The last thing I need is another Camazotz attack.
After school, we decide to head to the mall. Mini’s second birthday is next week, and I haven’t really felt like shopping. Brandy and Mary Lou are going to meet Tiff and I outside the toy store.
“Where the heck are you parked?” Tiff asks. I point down the street to the last car in sight. “Well, that explains why I couldn’t find you before class, sleepy head.”
A chill runs up my spine the instant I spot the black Town Car and that same man wearing a suit leaning against the door. He has a younger friend, who’s built like he’s related to Rambo, standing at attention next to him. I study my scuffed boots as we walk past. My lungs constrict telling me my gut does not think this is a coincidence.
They’re not here for me. They’re not here for me. They’re not here for me.
The urge to look over my shoulder is too much. As suspected, their eyes are on me, and I quickly look away. Why are two men in suits standing on the curb outside my school?
“Let’s get out of here.”
Tiff looks at me funny, before glancing over her shoulder. “You okay? You’re a bit pale.”
I dig through my backpack for my inhaler as we stop by my Honda. I can’t help but glance again. If they’re watching the school, then they’re simply waiting for some rich kid …
Rambo and Co. are not leaning on the car. Instead, they’re standing in the middle of the sidewalk, both with their arms folded, facing Tiff and I. She looks from me to them as I fumble with my keys.
“I know that look.”
“What look?” I lock the doors once we’re both inside.
“It’s the same look you had the night with that van.”
6. Seahorse
BAT POV
The cave erupts into chaos the second the large aeronaught male disappears from view through the high entrance. Camazotz take flight, filling the gaping cavern with a cacophony of screeching as they flit from one perch to the next. Their sonic senses prevent collision as they narrowly miss one another in the harrowing aerobatics display. The Sire’s voice is heard loud and clear in every Camazotz mind. He lists the males he wants to secure their perimeter when that ghastly girl and her father depart.
Zander.
Harland.
Ash.
Jeremiah.
Jet.
Foxhunt.
The six bats leave their wings, darting through the squall of bodies, to quickly pass under the yawning cave entrance. They don’t linger in the beam of light that peters out a dozen feet down as the aeronaughts are still above ground. Strickland is occupying the Sire’s den to the left of the entrance. It’s a large, hidden alcove dug high up into the mountainside. It allows him to keep a watchful eye over his domain and monitor all comings and goings from the roost, yet is safe from enemy breaches.
All the bats, including the Fold, roost lower to the right in the large, open cavity to give the Sire the space and respect he commands. Life at the roost has been this way since the Camazotz first discovered the hidden caves when they claimed Blood Mountain.
His young mate, ScarletFall, is hanging by the entrance to the alcove. Her slender body quivers from witnessing the horror of aeronaughts breaching their aerial sanctuary with apparent ease. She had seen climbers once—with similar harnesses—on a sheer, rocky, outcrop four peaks over, but never dreamed they could use that equipment to enter her home. Strickland waits on the ledge of the opening, his wings spread wide in a dominant stance, waiting for the summoned males. They assemble in order of rank with Zander front and center, and the others steadily beating their wings to hover close behind.
Follow them.
Guard duty till nightfall.
Check forest.
Be vigilant.
The bats move to the entrance to wait until nothing but birdcalls and the gentle sway of pine needles can be heard from above.
Decker has recruited Baxter, Bailey, and Moonshiner to bring enough straw from the far cavern to build Rockland a soft nest for this two-month recuperation. He clings to the cave wall above his brother watching the little bats flying toward them, their claws full.
Gentle.
Slow down.
He commands the eager bats as they approach in a line. Baxter lands with the grace of a fledger and doesn’t jostle the larger bat resting close to the lip of the ledge. He dumps his load of hay, immediately jumping off the stone edge to get more. Hay rains down on the wounded bat from above as Moonshiner unloads while airborne.
Stop that.
Land next time.
The shy bat gives one squawk of acknowledgment before turning for another trip. Decker stretches out a wing to nudge the lump of hay off his unmoving brother. Rocks is in bad shape, and has used most of his energy hiding the agony he’s clearly in from his girlfriend. Decker had hoped when Connie agreed to return him that it would’ve been sooner. Once he’s made Rockland comfortable, he’ll organize a feed. The little one-eyed bat hovers just below the ledge, her wings pumping hard from exertion.
Hurry up, Bailey.
Drop it.
The little bat puffs as she beats her wings, slowly rising up to reveal claws full of … not hay, but one hot pink, well-loved seahorse.
For you.
She looks at her big brother, but he has closed his eyes. She’s happy he’s not panting like he was earlier when Miss Connie put him on the rocky outcrop. His wing is tied to his body with cream-colored bandages, and she knows her little seahorse will take the pain away.
No seahorse.
Straw!
But … she replies.
No.
The large bat opens his eye and looks at his brother hanging above. He communicates that the seahorse can stay, before closing his eyes again. Letting Connie think he was fine took more from him than he had to spare. He had to be strong for her or she would worry for two months. The thought of staying trapped in this animal form for eight long weeks makes him want to roll off the ledge. How will he survive this torture, let alone the pain every time he tries to move?
She said the pain will ease in time and so did that doctor, but he’s not convinced. His thirst is greater than he’s ever experienced. He fed from that sleepy beast only twenty-four hours earlier. How can he need more blood already?
The little bat sets the seahorse down beside him. He doesn’t want her to fret either; she’s been through enough, and that pink lump might make a comfy pillow once the straw is settled.
Decker leaves his brother to find their mother. The Sire summoned Zada shortly after the patrol was given their instructions. He doesn’
t wish to face Strickland any more than he needs to in case he admits to the lie. Letting his brother take the blame for disclosing their roost weighs heavily on the young male. The Fold will judge Rockland harshly for the crime, but what choice did Decker have? He would have promised Rocks the world to ease his pain and suffering, but little did he know how hard it would be to fulfill the promise back at the roost, surrounded by the not-so-subtle judgments echoing back and forth across the cave. Judgments that his brother does not deserve.
Graceland informs him their mother is still with the Sire when he stops by the Land wing. Taking flight, he gets as close to the den as he’s comfortable with, but he can’t see the female. She’s still inside, so he heads back to check on the progress of his siblings. He apologizes to Rocks for not feeding last night, and therefore not being able to offer the wounded bat a meal. Jeremiah fed, but can’t help since he won’t be back from patrol until dark.
Wake up.
His brother stirs, slowly trying to lift his head.
Need blood.
It’s coming, Decker confirms.
The stream of aerial traffic past the ledge is increasing. Decker wants to shoo the gawkers away, but the bandage and splint on Rockland’s wing is a sight to behold. If Connie is right, and it’s true what the animal doctor can do, then he knows the colony needs to witness the spectacle first hand, yet he can’t help but feel for his brother on display. If the judgment for breaking the blood oath is put to a colony vote, Decker knows the only thing that might save Rockland is if the members witness the cure for certain death. No Camazotz has ever survived a broken wing. It’s a slow, nasty death every member secretly fears.
Several years ago, Decker remembers the agonizing death of his uncle, Shepard. The Camazotz was feeding under the cover of darkness on a small, sleeping deer and didn’t hear the sly bobcat stalking up behind. Whether the cat was hunting the bat or the deer they’ll never know, but in the struggle that followed, the bobcat snapped both of Shepard’s wings. The staggering pain caused the male to flip, scaring the life out of the cat before it fled into the underbrush. Shepard managed to walk back to the roost by dawn.
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