“You’re lucky you didn’t lose that eye,” Rockland comments.
The thickset shoulders of the talkative Camazotz lift briefly. “Some might say lucky, although you probably wouldn’t.” The look in his eyes is a cross between defiant and smug. Since he clearly isn’t going to elaborate Rockland focuses on the other sentinel guard, trying not to let how odd he thinks these interactions are show on his face.
“And you are?” Rocks asks, offering his arm to the bone-thin female.
“Tromba, daughter of wouldn’t-you-like-to-know.” She stares at his hand, but doesn’t move to take it.
Rockland drops his arm and is instantly flanked by Jeremiah and Pegasus. The bone-thin female looks both new males up and down before smirking. She flicks her long hair over one shoulder revealing shiny, gold hoop earrings that match the bangles and bracelets which adorn half her arms.
“You, I don’t know,” she says to Pegasus.
While Pegasus gives her minimal information in return, Rocks scans his memory of the power structure at Muerte. He’s not as familiar with their wings since he rarely visits, and regretfully was too busy playing the rebellious fledger to remember Strickland’s lectures on who is more powerful than whom in their world. This colony emits warm and fuzzy feelings—which rival the Shadows—toward members who prefer to be human. They would embrace Connie as enthusiastically as someone hugging a cactus.
Quickly translating the pair of names just given to him, Rockland realized that Earthquake and Whirlwind are obviously related, but he can’t recall a wing named for natural disasters. If the Muerte are suffering losses similar to that of Duskwing, then it would explain why members of a smaller wing are helping keep the colony safe. Everyone steps up for duty when danger lingers.
“Nice tat,” she says to Pegasus, studying his wing’s symbol displayed high on his shoulder. Since the guy’s biceps are too bulky for standard sleeves, his arms are bare. “You don’t belong to a Fold wing, so why are you here?”
“You’re not a Fold wing either, so let’s just leave it at that,” Rockland replies, straightening to his full height.
No Camazotz will intimidate a member of his colony while he’s present. Strickland wouldn’t allow it and neither will he. He turns his back on the two guards and joins the Fold members—as is his right—knowing Jeremiah and Pegasus won’t leave his back vulnerable.
The conversation ends with Sandía stating their Sire will join them shortly. He looks behind him at Temblor, who flips the very next second.
“Are Mantarraya and Concha around? It’s been a while since I’ve seen them,” Rockland asks Océano. Her once beautiful, brown eyes have thin wrinkles starting to appear. He knows she’s only a couple of years older than Zada, however she’s aged in the past year.
She frowns, looking past him. “No, unfortunately my heirs are at our roost. Away.”
“Please tell them I was asking after them. I hope they’re safe and well.”
“Yes, me too.” Her sad smile doesn’t reach her eyes. Rockland wants to ask if her wing has suffered recent deaths and offer the Shadows’ condolences. The scar on Temblor’s face would suggest such, but he doesn’t wish to upset her more than she clearly is.
His concern is warranted a moment later when the Vuelo de la Muerte’s Sire walks—or hobbles—around the corner. Saturno—the man who once emanated power only Strickland can match—is hunched over a walking cane and being assisted by a small woman. Rockland looks around for Asteroide, his heir. If Strickland was ever this weak and injured, Rockland wouldn’t leave his side for a second, particularly if another colony showed up at their market unannounced.
Levi steps forward to pay his respects to their Sire. “Sire, what happened?” he asks, taking hold of the older man’s elbow. The age different between the two men is only five years, but tough Levi makes the Muerte’s Sire look geriatric by comparison. The injuries must be deep. Rockland regrets their need to speak with the leader, and wonders why he isn’t recovering in the safety of their roost.
Would Strickland cower in their roost if wounded?
“Those beastly creatures!” Saturno replies to Levi.
“Jeremiah, fetch a chair,” Levi commands, scowling at the female Camazotz on the porch.
“Not necessary, I can’t stay long,” Saturno interjects.
He informs the group the owls hunting these Camazotz never left the area for winter, and Saturno was attacked one evening—barely surviving. The Shadows’ members question the Sire in much the same way as they did visiting Duskwing, before Cypress requests to see Venus.
The sister of the Sire is walked out accompanied by Temblor and runs forward, throwing her arms around Cypress’ neck. He picks her up and walks several feet away, kissing her openly in front of the group. The look Jeremiah gives Rockland needs no explanation. How hard-edged Cypress could land the female that suits her name perfectly in looks and demeanor is a modern mystery.
Her silky, black hair is worn in two braids that fall in thick ropes over her breasts. Once Cypress lets the woman breathe on her own, she plays with the ends of her plaits while they talk quietly. But with Camazotz hearing, they might as well join the group because everyone present can hear their whispered conversation.
“Where’s my son? I wish to see him.” Cypress asks.
Venus glances at Temblor before answering. “At the roost. It’s so dangerous now.”
Cypress bristles in a way only a male that once mated with her would. “Why are you here? You should be with him. Protected. Not here, alone,” he growls. She drops one plait to rest her hand on his forearm.
“We will be fine.”
Cypress further questions her about the attacks, the owls, and how the Muerte are responding. She swears on their bond that the attacks on the aeronaughts have not come from their members, and that the Camazotz Strickland is looking for is undoubtedly from Duskwing. Her tears seal her oath as Cypress cradles her to his chest.
* * * * *
The envoys fly straight to Blood Mountain. Harland and Decker are hanging on watch duty at the top of the twisted pine when they arrive.
Welcome back.
All safe?
Cypress confirms and asks for the Sire’s location as Rocks swoops in to land upside-down beside his brother. When the other members of the envoy dive into their roost, Rockland communicates with his brother.
Come to meeting.
Need to hear.
Decker replies he’ll be there as soon as he can find someone to cover his watch duties. The larger bat, unhooks his claws and drops, barely missing the twisted, gnarled limbs as gravity pulls him toward the cave entrance.
His head fills with greetings as his vision adjusts to the near blackness. A tiny bat with one eye stitched closed joins him on his way to the crevasse opening.
Missed you.
You too, Bailey.
Can I come?
No, stay here.
Knowing his little sister will be annoyed by his response, he lifts one wing tip sending him gliding under her. With another flap of his great wings, he rises up, forcing the tiny creature to land on his back. She folds her wings in against her body and clings to her big brother.
Ready?
EEEEKKKK!
With one eye gone, her depth perception is still lacking so Rocks happily gives her a joy ride—way faster than the little bat would be capable of flying herself. He circles the huge stalactite that has almost reached out to touch its sister formation below, zipping around and around the limestone teeth in tight, dizzying loops, then bottoming out flying inches above the gravel floor. At the end of the cave, he goes vertical, heading higher and higher. At the highest point of their roost, he orders her to hang on before twisting into three continuous summersaults ending in the death dive. Wings tucked tight and with her extra weight, the bats hurtle toward the narrow fissure.
Be careful.
Zada’s voice is the last thing the pair hear before vanishing out of sight. The trick i
s a favorite of all fledgers, but little Bailey will probably never master it. With the opening barely a square foot wide, there is zero margin for error.
Her whoops of joy edged with terror echo inside his head as he pulls out of the hair-raising dive with only two feet to spare. He U-turns heading back up the crack in the stone to return her to the main cavern.
When Rocks enters the meeting chamber a few seconds later, all are gathered around their Sire. Levi and Cypress are giving the report, so he flips and waits his turn. When neither Fold member mentions that none of the younger Camazotz were present, Rocks speaks up. Cypress turns on him, shutting him down.
“Venus swore they were trying to protect their future generation by keeping them at the roost. She swore a blood oath on it.”
“It didn’t feel right,” Rockland counters, trying to stay calm.
“What do you know about right? You don’t know right from wrong because if you did, you would respect our ancient blood bonds.”
“I do respect them.”
“Well, prove it,” dares Cypress. “Go to AuburnSky now, and fulfill your duty to her. Prove once and for all to the Shadows that you are grateful for the life-giving blood you received.”
Rocks turns to Strickland. “Sire, this isn’t about my blood promises; it’s about what I saw at the Muerte. Don’t you agree it doesn’t add up? Would you send all of us” —he points to the next generation of fold— “into hiding? Or do you need us more than ever to watch out for and protect the smaller wings?”
15. Surely Not
Connie
When the school bell rings, my stomach threatens to eject what I struggled to swallow for lunch. Enzo’s men are going to be waiting in that car—and I’m not going to show. His advice about not upsetting them releases a tidal wave of acid in my already upset belly.
Implementation of my plan for ‘not joining the money laundering business’ began earlier with parking my Honda three blocks from school and cutting across several backyards to enter the school behind the gym. Part two involves staying in the library until his thugs give up. If they can’t find my car, I’m hoping they’ll think I’m not here and leave me the hell alone.
I wipe the sweat from my neck when the librarian, Mrs. Batch, shoos me out the door so she can lock up. My sneakers squeak on the linoleum in the halls. Every sound echoes and reverberates in my rib cage, and I feel as though the school marching band might as well announce my exit for all the noise I’m making.
Peering over the windowsill next to the entrance, I scan the parking lot and street.
Empty.
No sign of ominous looking Town Cars or men in suits. I take a deep breath and push out the door. Still nothing. The street is quiet, and by some miracle, I’m in the clear.
It is Monday today, right?
My skin prickles as I sneak back to my hidden car. I don’t feel like I’m being watched, but my gut is still warning me that all is not right in my world. I glance around one last time before getting in and starting up the Honda. I guess defying a crime lord comes at a price. Maybe I’ll be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life. College in another state is looking more and more attractive by the second.
The street outside my house is suspiciously empty. No unusual vans or cars. Mom is home, the house smells of lasagna, Mini is giggling loudly, and a newsreader’s voice drifts softly from the TV room. Normal. All appears fine, despite my gut telling me to panic.
By nine, I’m exhausted. My senses have been on high alert listening for footsteps, or car doors slamming, or gunshots. Good grief! Not only do I cry at the drop of a hat now, I’m a drama queen to boot. Nobody is coming for me during the night—Camazotz, or other. I’m safe. Enzo, no doubt, has far too much on his plate to worry about a teenager that never showed up. I have the urge to text Rocks. But to tell him what exactly—I’m safe in bed? Taking three deep breaths, I turn off my lamp and hope sleep will come.
School the next day is almost too quiet. No tinted dark cars were waiting by the front gate when I arrive, yet the feeling of doom persists. k`1`2
When I get to my locker after last bell, Tiff grumbles and moans about my snail-like speed. She’s updating me on all the gossip that has occurred since lunch because my cell phone battery died, but I can’t focus on her words. Sitting inside my locker is a picture of a tiny child’s coffin. It’s pure white, like the soul of the little angel who would rest in it for eternity. Glancing up and down the corridors, there are only a few lingering students left for the day. A shiver tingles my spine and the hairs on my arms stand up. Who would leave a picture of a coffin for me? I root through my backpack for my inhaler.
Surely those brutes don’t know my locker combination too.
“Have there been any pranks going on?” I ask Tiff, as I fold the picture in two and slide it into my back pocket.
“Not that I know of. Why?”
“Just curious.” My gut is telling me this isn’t a coincidence. Last year, the football team thought putting disgusting items—like their sweaty, worn jock straps—in girls’ lockers was hilarious. Yet this doesn’t feel the same. Then the worst thought of all slams my frayed nerves.
The Vipers are back.
This is their little hello message informing me they want the money back the boys took from their van.
Closing my locker, I rest my forehead on the cool metal. I can’t seem to win. Yesterday, I trick my father’s men into leaving me alone, and today his deadly enemies have come to pay me a visit. This school needs to invest in some serious new security monitoring.
“Come on, girl. Let’s get the hell out of here. School finished almost half an hour ago and lurking here when the mall is calling my name is all kinds of wrong,” Tiff says, her brilliant blue eyes dancing with mischief. “Besides, the others will have eaten all the donuts if we don’t hurry.”
Stepping into the afternoon light, my intestinal friend stops its slithering, when the coast is clear. No thugs from either organization are waiting. The universe might be giving me a small reprieve. Maybe the picture in my back pocket is purely some stupid student chain letter. A school joke, and I’m supposed to slip it into someone else’s locker to creep them out too.
But something stops me from showing Tiff.
We meet Mary Lou and Brandy by the donut stand, and for the first time in forever, I feel the need to shop to distract my brain from everything I’ve been obsessing over. I start with a Boston Crème, then buy three bottles of nail polish, and a Sven and Olaf Beanie Baby for Mini, before adding the stack of dollar-bills to Rocks’ phone account.
“Did you see Parker staring at you in English?” Tiff asks. Brandy raises an eyebrow at this new information.
“Yeah, so what?” A blind person wouldn’t have missed Parker staring at me, but Tiff did miss the fact that I was giving him my best how-dare-you-sign-a-petition-to-kill-my-ex glare. If anything comes from his bat cull petition, I’ll wear his nuts on a necklace. He might have to give up wrestling and join the girl’s choir instead.
“No second chance?” Brandy asks.
“Nope. He’s signing petitions to kill innocent animals. I’d hardly be an animal lover if I dated someone like that.”
“I better get going.” Tiff sighs.
Glancing at my watch, I realize I’ll make it home just in time for dinner. On the way to my car, I dump the folded picture in the trash.
I‘m letting my imagination run wild. And that’s a dangerous thing these days.
Considering I know that magic is real and can turn people into bats, it’s no wonder I think this stupid school prank is a message from the Vipers. Retail therapy and girl talk really can fix anything.
Driving down my street, I can’t miss the police cruiser parked roughly where my house is. The eel pokes his head out to see if it’s worth stirring up my guts again. When I pull up, I not only confirm the cruiser is parked outside my house, but there are another two police cars in the driveway where I usually park.
&nb
sp; What the fudge?
It can’t be Enzo. It can’t be Enzo, I chant entering the house. Would he really take out my Dad so that he can replace him? I shudder at the vile thought and curse the snarky attitude I gave him.
The Vipers? Surely this isn’t to do with that coffin picture—surely! The reprieve my nerves had this afternoon at the mall vanishes as my blood pressure picks up the pace once more.
My living room resembles something from that crime show Mom watches religiously. There are men in uniforms and others in suits standing in groups. Mom is on the couch rocking back and forth crying. A man is perched opposite her on the coffee table asking questions about someone’s appearance for something called a BOLO.
Where the hell is Dad?
I scan the groups of strangers and sigh in relief when I see Dad frowning and nodding at one of the plainclothes policemen speaking with him.
My keys hit the tiled floor making everyone look my way.
“Connie,” Mom wails, her hands reaching for me in the air.
Dad pushes through the bodies and comes to my side, telling me to take a seat next to my mother. My lungs feel as though they’ve shriveled up entirely. “What’s going on?”
I look from one policeman to the other. The split-second fear that Enzo had done something to my parents vanishes as fast as it appeared, but I don’t like the grim faces staring at me.
With my backpack still on and shopping bags in hand, I’m pushed onto the couch next to Mom. The sadness and fear in her eyes is like a slap across the face. “They’ve got her,” she moans between sobs.
“Kelly!” Dad snaps. He looks back at me. “You didn’t answer your phone.”
“Battery died.”
What the hell is she talking about? My eyes scan the room quickly before landing back on Dad. “Who?” I whisper, not wanting to acknowledge what my gut is screaming at me. There is one little person not present.
Sanguine Moon Page 21