Nighthawk—dressed in denim overalls and a black shirt—speaks to a thin boy who runs back into the shadow of the main barn. “Agree to stay human?” he requests. Strickland grunts what I think is a yes. Nighthawk steps forward with his hand outstretched. “Forgive me, old friend, but these are dangerous times.”
By the time Strickland has grasped his forearm, the small door set in the large sliding barn door opens, and several dozen people step outside. Many are dressed in simple, plain aeronaught clothing. They could pass for farm folk and not raise any kind of suspicion. The other half favor black fabric and scream Camazotz to the trained eye, but none of their outfits are as sensual or Gothic as those at the Shadows. As the tension dissipates from our group, I make my move and step out of the car.
My blonde hair garners quick stares, but there isn’t the hatred I’m used to when the Shadows’ members look my way. Nighthawk indicates to me with a polite jerk of his head. “Not your usual style.”
Strickland barks out a short laugh. “As you said, dangerous times. Calls for dangerous methods.”
I am not dangerous I want to yell. That stupid witch pointing her ringed finger at me and stating I was a danger to the colony is still haunting me.
I lean against the van and watch my Camazotz passengers move forward, grasping arms in greeting with the Duskwing members now they don’t fear attack. As the tension eases out of everyone present, the welcome Rocks receives is no surprise. They all appear to have met him before and seem happier to stand with him than Ash, Malachite, or Cypress. I breathe a sigh of relief. Strickland nods to Rocks and Decker, and the boys leave the group. Rocks takes my hand, and we all head toward the barn.
“Connie wants to buy some honey,” he explains, when instantly wary bodies block the entrance.
A young woman, with two long plaits, smiles at Rocks before nodding her head. A path immediately opens for us. “She’ll have to come inside because we closed our stall for the evening. It’s a bit chaotic.”
Access to their barn is exactly what Strickland had hoped. My job is to scan as many faces as possible to find Joey.
Entering the structure, I’m blown away. Ninety percent of the Duskwing are in human form, and the barn is a hive of activity—literally. The rear section is home to all their active beehives placed near large open sections of the back wall that allow breeze and sunlight into the huge interior. In the center of the open space is all the equipment needed to bottle honey for sale. Crates of glass jars both empty and filled are stacked high.
To my right, several antique sewing machines are whirring away as older women sew denim clothing. The barn has three split half levels, which you reach by climbing ladders that have seen better days. A group of kids, three stories up in the rafters, are playing on one of the wonky looking ladders, and I have to remind myself that if they fall, they can flip and fly back to earth.
I try not to stare as I scan face after face in the open area. Dozens of hammocks hang on the first open level, and I notice some of the Camazotz resting in them are heavily bandaged. I wonder how so many of them could be hurt when they all seem to prefer being human. Glancing up at the rafters high above, not one single bat is anywhere to be seen.
Rocks and I are guided to a small counter behind a makeshift wall. There’s a group of teens working on hand-sketched labels for the jars of honey. It’s a labor-intensive job, and I wish I could show them the efficiency of modern day printing. These Camazotz might not be against being human, but they’re just as stuck in the past as the Shadows.
“You’re pretty,” a slender, young girl says with a smile.
I almost want to pinch myself. These Camazotz are so different from the Shadows.
“Yes, she is,” answers Rocks, slinging his arm around my shoulders—a move he would never do at the market. “Connie, meet Moonlight. She’s Moonshiner’s first cousin.”
At the mention of Rocks’ half brother—little Moonshiner—her eyes light up. “You know Moonshiner?” she asks me.
I nod. “Yeah, he’s a sweet kid.”
Several others join the conversation as Rocks tells them how he’s doing. I continue to scan the sea of faces, but Joey isn’t among them. I spy Decker leaning over to whisper in a very pretty girl’s ear. She blushes and giggles behind her hand before nodding her head at whatever he said. If they weren’t Camazotz and just normal kids at school, I’d guess they were a hairs breadth away from ending up behind the gym.
By the time we leave the barn, I’m loaded up with more honey than even my mother will be able to use, and all my money is still in my wallet. The second they discovered I’m ‘with’ Rockland and I know little Moonshiner my money wasn’t accepted. When I hugged Moonlight in thanks, the surrounding gasps shocked even me. Rocks murmured on our exit that I’m probably the first aeronaught she’s ever had direct contact with, and even though they don’t hate aeronaughts, the fact I treated them normally was a welcome surprise.
Back outside, a small group has formed to the side, including Strickland, Judge, Levi, Cypress, and four of the new Camazotz.
“Connie,” Strickland summons.
When I reach the circle with Rocks on my heels, Strickland squints at me in question. I shake my head and try not to take his scowl personally. Strickland presents me to Moondust—the Sire at Duskwing. Again I’m overcome with the urge to curtsey, but I hold still and give him a slight head nod. Next I’m introduced to their Fold members—Nighthawk, Ganymede, and a woman—Starjewel. A female Fold member surprises me as it’s forbidden in the Shadows. She has brilliant blue eyes and offers me her hand causing my breath to catch at the icy, cold temperature of her fingers.
Her touch makes me notice how most of these people are in long sleeves as I am. Moondust—probably in his early thirties with spiky, black hair—is the only member with bare, muscled arms. He must have fed recently and is warm enough to reveal his full sleeve tattoo, which covers his left arm. It’s the solar system in swirls of black and grey, and high on his shoulder is a large crescent moon with a bat flying through the middle.
The backs of Ganymede’s hands show two blazing sun tattoos. The difference between the Shadows and Duskwing members is night and day—it’s me and Rocks. They don’t ooze darkness and night like I’m accustomed to, and I wonder if they spend more hours in the sunshine. I would certainly recognize them as Camazotz, but they aren’t anywhere near as intimidating.
“Tell them,” Strickland barks at me, and I instantly notice Starjewel’s frown.
I describe the Camazotz who attacked Rocks because, as suspected, no member here goes by the name Joey. All the wings in this colony are named for elements of the evening … moons, stars, planets, and darkness. I resist the urge to mention if they truly want to integrate into my world, then these names have to go.
Tempers flare when Moondust realizes Strickland thought the killer was among them and sent me scouting behind their backs.
“You think I would be involved in the murder of the Camazotz that protects my son?” he growls.
Son?
My eyes dart to Rocks, but he’s focused on the angry man before us.
“I don’t know what to think after the losses we have suffered.” Strickland shakes his head. “And, I resent your implication. We all take care of Moonshiner. He’s one of us.”
The way the ‘us’ is spoken speaks volumes. So this is the sire of little Moonshiner. Jeepers. Strickland is face-to-face with yet another of Zada’s lovers! I wonder if the tension in his shoulders is due to that, or simply the stress of being here under these circumstances.
Moondust’s eyes zero in on Strickland. “You’re not going to blame us for the attacks as well, are you?”
“I do not suspect you of releasing those owls, unless you give me reas—”
“Not the owls, Strickland,” Moondust continues. “We’ve suffered from those beasts as well. Twenty-seven dead, thirty-five seriously injured. That’s not what I’m talking about.”
Rocks takes a
step closer to me, and when I look up, his eyes are full of worry. Oh sugarplums.
“The Camazotz attacks on the aeronaught children? Tell me you know of this.”
Strickland’s usual mask of control slips for a second, and he glares from Rockland to me and finally back at Moondust.
“When are you going to get with this century and take an interest in their news?” Moondust points at me. “They are not the enemy, my friend.”
A yelling match follows with Cypress expressing his less-than-flattering opinions of me and my kind. My respect for Judge grows when he steps between the two men and states that fighting amongst the colonies when a force is trying to weaken us is exactly what whoever is behind this wants to happen. He calls for respect, peace and trust.
“Why should we trust you?” Moondust asks. “Two years ago, we gave refuge to a medicine woman. The next thing I know a large number of our fledgers chose to be fixed. Suddenly, she vanishes—along with our young.”
The lines around his eyes suggest he’s as stressed as any member of the Shadows. “We can’t afford another hit to our numbers. We won’t survive. So if you have no information on the rogue Camazotz, then this conversation is over. Leave.”
11. Blood Bonds
After we left the Duskwing farm last night, Rocks and I got an earful—make that a head-full of abuse—from the Sire. He was livid he hadn’t been informed about the rogue bat attacks, and discovering an aeronaught knew more about what was happening in the Camazotz world than he did wasn’t pretty. Since I was exhausted from being under constant anti-aeronaught scrutiny, and from the responsibility of having a load of Camazotz in the back of the van, we ended up at a nearby campground for the night. Strickland bombarded me with questions well into the night, acting as though I was responsible for the attacks.
Once I had finally assured the Sire he knew everything I did, he left me alone in the back of Dad’s van. Sleeping in the pitch-black darkness alone while a dozen bats roosted in the tree above—including Rocks—was a totally surreal experience. I had hoped he would send me mental messages, but then remembered all the bats would be listening to our not-so-private conversation.
When we return to the market on Sunday, there’s a welcoming committee waiting for us. Zada and all of Rocks’ siblings are milling around the parking lot. I watch Ezra greet Jeremiah with a slap across the shoulders before Bailey tugs on my hand.
“Did you bring them, Miss Connie?” she whispers. Rocks is busy hugging his younger brothers and talking to his mother. Moonshiner is standing to the side, waiting for his chance to say hello, and I wonder how well the young boy knows his father at the Duskwing colony. Is he allowed to visit him? Or will he one day in the future be looking for answers about his bloodline?
“I did. Meet me at your brother’s wagon.” I wink, making Bailey giggle.
Strickland walks up, eyeing little Bailey. I worry by talking to her he’ll think she’s on Team Aeronaught. “Thank you,” he says, with a frown.
Holy sugarplums!
I gape because I’m sure my ears are playing tricks on me. Strickland just thanked a human. “You’re welcome, sir. It’s a shame it didn’t give us answers.”
He nods once. “You will return with that information?”
“Yes.” I swallow.
Strickland leaves me to join his family. I watch him wrap an arm around Zada’s waist and pull her close. Affection and the Sire seem about as compatible as fire and ice. Maybe there’s more to the man than how he portrays himself as their leader. Zada kisses him briefly on the lips and smiles before moving off to the side. I watch as Strickland places a hand on little Ireland’s head. I keep forgetting that, although Ireland is Strickland’s daughter, she’s not one of Zada’s children. I look around to catch a glimpse of her mother.
Grabbing my backpack, I say a quick hello to Zada and the circle of siblings clinging to Rocks. Baxter is still pretty shy but politely says hello. He’s nothing like his chatty older brother, Decker, or little Bailey. A second later, they all flip and fly off. We head to Rocks’ wagon for a moment before I head home.
Bailey is waiting on the top rung of the ladder when we approach the wagon. Rocks offers a hand to help me up the narrow steps, and I accept purely to have a moment of physical contact. He smiles, knowing I know why he offered his assistance as I’m more than capable of climbing a five-step ladder. Bailey scoots over to make room as I unzip my bag, and the look on her face, as I pull out Scorch The Dragon, is priceless.
“What is that?” she says, looking at me in awe.
“A dragon.” Her wide-eyed look tells me she’s never seen one before. I want to smack my forehead realizing Bailey hasn’t been exposed to storybooks or cartoons and probably knows nothing of these creatures. All she knows about are real animals that she would encounter on the mountainside.
I dump the contents of my backpack on the carpeted floor—a brightly colored rooster with a pink comb, a startling blue-jay, a proud peacock, the prettiest hummingbird I’ve ever seen, a scarlet-red cardinal, an orange lightning bug, and a pastel butterfly—all flying creatures as requested.
“I’m going to keep the dragon, but I’ll share these with the others. Can you tell me about him?”
“Well, he’s magical.” I’ve positively made her day.
“Like me?” she asks.
Oh, fudge. These kids think … no, they know magic is real. How the hell do I explain this? Wait. Maybe dragons were real back in the witch-burning days too. Isn’t that what knights were for? Slaying dragons to rescue the princess.
This is messing with my head. Bailey is waiting patiently for an answer. “Yeah, a bit like you, but the sad part is nobody has seen a dragon for hundreds of years.”
Bailey looks at the creature in her hands with a renewed awe. “This is very special then, Miss Connie. I will take extra good care of him so he knows someone remembers him.”
A commotion outside has Rocks stepping around us and exiting. Once Bailey has all the babies tucked under her arms, I help her down the ladder before sitting on the top rung myself. There’s a small group of teenagers surrounding Rocks and a group of bats hanging in the lower branches of the nearby tree. The kids range in age upwards of thirteen or so. Rocks is standing tall with his arms folded over his chest, listening to two boys talking over each other. Decker flips almost on top of me, and I barely manage to stifle my scream. Wouldn’t I be popular if I knocked a bunch of them unconscious on their own turf?
“God damn you, Decker.” I go to punch his arm but stop. He squeezes into the space next to me, resting his boots on the rung with mine, and chuckles. He holds out his tattooed bicep for me to line up my hit.
“Go on. It was rude of me to almost land on you. Some days, I forget you aren’t one of us.”
The Camazotz have a much smaller body space requirement than aeronaughts. I remember seeing how closely they snuggle together on the ceiling of the roost. Warm bodies crushed up against one another in total harmony. I move over to give him more room and decide not to thump his offered arm. The fact Decker is so comfortable around me makes me happy. Grabbing my backpack, I slip the envelope onto his lap.
“What’s this?”
“Our secret.” His eyes light up with recognition. He pulls the four photos out and sits staring at his own image. I can’t comprehend seeing myself for the first time in print at this age.
“Wow, will you look at that.” He instantly blushes a little and ducks his head. “Thank you.” Decker shuffles through the pictures repeatedly, a smile tugging at the side of his mouth the entire time.
“What’s going on there?” I point at Rocks surrounded by the teens.
He smiles. “Rockland has been missing for two days, and a lot can happen to the fledgers in that time.” He explains that every wing has a leader known as a Clip. From the Clips, the Fold members are voted into power. And from the Fold, the Sire is selected. He says when disputes occur who sits in judgment is determined by the seriousness of
the dispute. Fledgers are young bats that are out of their pup stage but still too young to vote. When Rocks turned nineteen last July—officially becoming an adult Camazotz—the fledgers started bringing their quarrels to him for resolution.
“Seriously?” I gape. If I had a dollar bill for every time Rocks shocked the absolutely sugarplums out of me, I’d buy a new car.
“I told you, Jeremiah and I are betting on him being the next Sire.” The photos get tucked back into the envelope. He leans back and slips them just inside the wagon doorway, explaining he’ll pick them up later.
“I thought the others hated him being human? I can’t imagine they’d want him influencing the next gen,” I say.
“True, they don’t like it. The problem is Rocks will always make time for the little ones. The Clip and Fold member are so consumed with defending us, and now they have the rogue bats to deal with too, these kids never get heard.”
The young boys shake hands with each other, flip and fly off. A group of three kids take their place, and Rocks begins again.
“What did Moondust mean when—”
Decker turns to face me. “Stop right there, Beans. I know where this is headed, and I’m not going there.”
“Decker!” Moondust mentioned some fledgers getting fixed, and when he said it, Strickland flinched. I can’t imagine much in their world making that hard ass react.
“Nuh-uh, not telling. Oh, shit. Here’s trouble.” Decker points to the small gap between the buildings. Lurking in the shadows is their healer, Sylvana, with two boys.
“Did Rocks tell you about Elm and Oak?” He takes out his pocket watch and checks the time. “They’re twins.”
“Cool. I go to school with identical twins.”
“Not cool around here. They’re the only other members that were born human like our boy here. Twins are considered bad blood—too human.”
This information makes me really want to swear, but I hold back since there are so many young bats around. “It’s perfectly natural,” I grit out between my teeth.
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