Blood Sugar

by Kat Turner

  Taylor clamped her unpainted lips shut. Worry scrunched her smooth young brow into a puckered knot. With an exhale, her face released tension, smoothing to communicate resigned acceptance. “My father built a teleportation machine in his basement and had agreed to have me programmed to lure supernatural creatures to Scarab. That’s how forces outside of my control were screwing with me. You’ve heard of Scarab.” The glance she chanced at Jonnie mirrored her droll statement, matching the bitter aftertaste of her voice.

  “They did this to me.” He took Eve’s hand and squeezed. “To us.”

  Eve interlaced their fingers, a nonverbal gesture speaking volumes. The hand clasp symbolized a coalescence of their bond. Their flesh latticed together, stitching their two halves into a whole. A team.

  For a few beats, Taylor stared at the joined hands. “Wait here.”

  And off she went, pausing as she parted the screen to afford him a dry, savvy look. “I love your band.”

  Accepting the twig of an olive branch her parting words offered, Jonnie waved the mother-to-be goodbye. She untethered her mount and set off, the horse’s bottom vanishing into the trees as a tail the color of chalk flicked away bugs and foliage.

  Jonnie crawled into the top bunk and held Eve. Held her in silence, caressing comforts into her hair and back. The feel of her sweat-damp skin, velvet-soft even for a woman, hatched within him a nest full of instincts. To care, to soothe. To defend and protect. His chest swelled, a balloon filled and buoyed with warm water.

  “I’m sorry.” He’d never heard anything more earnest than her apology. Or more vulnerable, or more encompassing of so much.

  He’d sunk inside of her, though the shy flower of them waited until this moment after the physical closeness to unfold into beauty.

  “I know, Eve, but you needn’t be. Let it out. Let it go. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

  In his arms, she jerked. Made a soft sound, like a cross between a mew and a gasp. Twitches came faster.

  “I’m here. I’ve got you. Let it go.” He wrapped his arms tight around her feminine curves like his embrace could erase the tension in her body, soothe the sadness in her heart and soul. At the same time, he willed his hug to act as a barrier, preventing any more sorrow and unrest from storming the gates of her psyche. Eve had endured enough.

  A tense and release of muscle, and she let her cries go. Big ones, sobs, poured. He swore he heard cracks breaking deep inside of her as she gave in. Tears soaked his shirt straight through, and he held on tight.

  He’d comforted many a crying woman and gotten rather good at it. His mum and sisters, when devastated by the latest facet of the tragedy. Of less importance but with more shame, women who shared his bed and struggled to accept that the relationship would not extend past the tour stop.

  He closed his eyes and hummed a favorite Fyre tune, brushing his nose and lips into Eve’s scalp as he offered solace as best he could. Wails tapered to sniffs. A sigh, then silence. Her body slackened in limp abandon. Jonnie lowered her onto the pillow while she snored softly.

  As she found respite in sleep, his head cleared with the onset of peace.

  With steps taking care not to disturb her, he descended the bunk ladder and returned to his bed. Jonnie had gotten comfortable and finished half of the mystery novel before a stir of brush accompanied by gagging coughs and curses turned his head.

  His hands stiffened to a rigor mortis of shock as a horrid sight emerged from the trail. The book fell, landing with a muted thump.

  Four men trudged, working together to hoist a crucifix fashioned from rotted tree branches. It towered above the tallest man’s head, bearing the body of a sacrifice.

  But it wasn’t a person nailed to the cross. No, the pale body was no bigger than a stuffed rabbit, itty bitty arms pulled into a T. Its head, as red as a cherry lollipop, glistened in the sun as the gang of four hauled it across the clearing separating the covered bunks from the jungle perimeter.

  Jonnie ran out of the big tent and into the patchy grass. Two lads plunked the end of the cross onto the ground and stood in silence, faces stony with accusation as they held it in place.

  The zombie rodent hung from the cross, death mask of a face a gruesome contrast against mangy white fur.

  “Ms. Adyemi?” The high-pitched voice of a young woman shook with terror as it came from the squirrel’s mouth. “Help me. Help. It hurts, it burns. It burns!” Following this gut-shredding plea came a metallic shriek so abject that Jonnie grimaced in horror. Glistening jaw hanging slack, the animal’s skull lolled to the side, slippery muscles as pink as raw steaks. A trickle of blood crept down the scraggly branch.

  Jonnie’s edges went fuzzy. His tongue turned to cotton. The entirety of him sinking to hell, he shook his head.

  A built man with a black ponytail walked out from behind the aberration, his dark eyes ablaze with disdain. A few decisive steps and he stood before Jonnie, neither fearful nor intimidating. The man was simply being in the awful moment, rendering his mere existence into a silent act of performance artistry.

  “We can’t have you bringing this shit around here.” He delivered brusque words in an accent that was hard to place, facial muscles softening as if extending an apology. “My wife, you met her, she’s about to have a baby.”

  “It’s following Eve. And me. I…I don’t want to be any trouble to you, but I’ve hit a wall. And you know what it’s like, to care for someone. Did you find it nailed up like this?”

  The big brown man nodded and pulled up his tee shirt collar to wipe his brow. “I can’t take any risks, man. Not now.”

  “I realize that. But hear me out. The company that sold me this treatment is called Scarab. You’ve heard of them.”

  Taylor’s husband scowled, clenching his teeth. “I was hoping never to hear that name again. Not after the trial.”

  “Appears they’ve just gone deeper underground. And look, man, I’ll level with you. All I want is to make an arrangement to buy some of your organic blood substitute, stock up a supply to last me a good long while. But the woman in there is special.” He bent his thumb in the direction of the hut to where Eve slept.

  The big guy listened while the other three men looked on in silence, their skepticism palpable.

  “I want to help her find the peace she needs. She performs a selfless, admirable service, and she’s tortured. By this monster. By what happened with the girl. And I was hoping, well, by being here we’d find some answers. Taylor can divine the water, right?”

  A proud smile from the husband. “Yeah.”

  “The two of them can work together. Combine their powers and look for mystical solutions. In return, I’ll buy enough of that dreadful orange goop to keep your clan sustainable for the next five years. You won’t have to host another obnoxious European businessman for an eco tour or perform a healing ritual on a spoiled American celebrity for a good long while if you don’t want to.”

  “What if he’s full of shit?” A man with a red Viking beard and ham hocks of biceps bulging under his leather vest piped up. “Trying to sic this thing on us to get it off him. Pass the buck.”

  “Makes no sense.” Jonnie sliced a cutting glance to the doubter. “There’s no reason to believe that would work, that this little demon would forget about Eve and randomly latch onto you. It has a motive to torment her. No offense, but you aren’t even close to blipping on its radar.”

  “Man’s got a point.” Mr. Taylor told the Viking, who curled his lip but grunted an acknowledgement. “Back up. You said Scarab performed a procedure on you that made you into a vampire?”

  “Yes.” It released a weight to confess to someone who understood. For whom supernatural creatures were normalized.

  Mr. Taylor nodded. “Yeah. We’ve got a couple down here like that. Synthetically engineered vamps.”

  “And they sustain themselves with the ayahuasca?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Mr. Taylor gazed off into the jungle, swallowing a gulp that made his Adam’s app
le bob.

  “But?”

  Mr. Taylor struck a guarded pose, drawing back and tilting his head. “What do you suppose they do with the blood? The blood they take from you and the others?”

  Jonnie’s insides did a flip. Deep in his subconscious, a door opened. Beyond it lay a wall of question marks. He circled his thumb over one fading bruise, a penny-sized yellow stain speckled blue. “I always assumed they disposed of it, being toxic and all.”

  Mr. Taylor’s scowl deepened. “You never want to assume anything with these people. Unless you’re assuming the worst.”

  “So you’re saying the degraded blood might have answers?”

  “Not sure. It’s a nagging thought I have, I suppose. Like my intuition’s dogging me. Look, man, I’ll see if I can get my wife back on board, but she’s pretty upset about…you know.” He bent his head at the crucified remains of the squirrel.

  “I appreciate it.” Jonnie patted the other man’s hard upper arm. The guy was doing him a favor when he didn’t have to, sticking his neck out for him and Eve.

  “Don’t thank me yet. And find something to do with this. Taylor will rip my guts out if I haul it back to the camp.” On cue, the remaining three men lugged the cross to the sleeping quarters and leaned it against the elevated platform. The heinous little thing’s head swayed side to side with the movement, settling to bend at an unnatural angle.

  At least Eve was still asleep. “What’s the plan?” Jonnie scanned the area for a tarp or large blanket or something equivalent to cover the monstrosity.

  “Wait. I’ll go talk to my wife and see if I can convince her to give you two another chance. If she agrees, she’ll come on the horse. If not, Carlos will stop by to escort you away. Either way, I’ll make sure someone brings you guys some food and a couple bottles of ayahuasca.”

  Jonnie’s stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday. But a knotty unpleasantness eclipsed hunger when he realized that a couple bottles of ayahuasca wouldn’t go far. Walking away from a failed mission would mean a coma. His fate lay in the hands of others, in their generosity and the hope that they would take a leap of faith on behalf of a fellow supernatural’s life. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

  “Name’s Julian. And don’t thank me yet. We both know who the alpha wolf is around here, but I have some strategies to soften her up.” A randy wink made Jonnie nod with amusement and a quickening of hope.

  The crew of locals hiked into the jungle while Jonnie got to work scrounging for something to disguise the ghastly surprise they’d dropped at his doorstep.

  Eve deserved a pleasant awakening from the first good sleep she’d had in ages. Gathering handfuls of big dead leaves, Jonnie decided that, from here on out, he’d do his best to give Eve whatever fleeting snatches of happiness and contentment he could.

  Eleven

  Eve’s heavy lids fluttered, opening to welcome light as she roused from blissful rest. Afternoon rays glazed the cabin wood and greenery beyond it in a reflective sheen, rendering the jungle into a piece of shiny kiln-fired pottery, like the kind she used to make in her amateur ceramics class.

  Nourishing warmth coated her inside and out. Dust flecks hovered in yellow light. She stretched, joints popping, content as a lounging cat. A gently flapping tree leaf, so sparkly it rivaled glass, captured her sleepy attention. Some therapist once suggested she take up throwing pots to relieve her stress, but in the moment the beauty of the shimmering globe of a rainforest melted the concept of stress into nothing. A massive yoga inhale drew scents of damp earth and crisp water into her lungs.

  Light and airy, she descended her bunk, finding Jonnie reading in bed. Concentration showed on his face, in his parted lips and quick eyes. He flipped a page near the end of his paperback. She watched for a second, a flutter dancing in her stomach. Nothing charmed her quite like a man who devoured books, and he was so engrossed he hadn’t heard her approach.

  Instead of bugging him, she slipped out of the tent and sat on its steps, getting comfortable on pulpy and unfinished lumber, the sort that spears splinters into your butt if you aren’t careful.

  Sawdust scents brought back memories of shopping for planks with her folks at the hardware store, gathering materials for the secluded cabin in the woods they’d built long ago.

  She’d been around six when the onset of her abilities manifested. No seizures or other fanfare marked her initiation on that unseasonably mild Kentucky August, when she’d bounced off into the ragged trees with her best friend Jenny Dartmouth to gather sticks for marshmallows.

  After many years, the memory blazed as vivid as a scene from a horror movie watched again and again. Her first glimpse had been the remains of a shot doe, butchered and cleaned, a tan and red ruin of life crumpled on her final bed of trampled sticks and scruffy land.

  The past flashed in the forefront of Eve’s awareness.

  See me on. The feminine, elfish voice manifested in Eve’s head as a tender command.

  Jenny had dropped her kindling and run back to home base crying, leaving Eve and the slaughtered animal alone together.

  See me on.

  Bumbling her way through her initiation into soul work, she’d laid a hand on the deer’s pelt, the fur short and coarse over hard ribs. The warm golden orb flowed right out of the animal’s body and into her palm. She’d nestled the circle of light into the crook of a tree branch dotted with red berries, figuring the doe had liked to graze there, hoping that spending eternity in the spot might bring her peace.

  No animal had spoken to her since, and the first person had taken years to reach out. Many elements of Eve’s abilities remained shrouded in mystery. It wasn’t like she had a wise relative with knowledge of a secret lineage of mysticism. Her book and web searches leading to articles about clairsentience sufficed.

  Wind shook the Amazonian trees in shuffling rustles, snapping Eve from her musings.

  “Lacey.” The whispered word, a caliber too audible to qualify for immediate dismissal as imagination, chased the breeze.

  “I’m doing my best,” Eve said to the jungle. The next tremble of air brought with it a rank tendril of decomposition.

  “Lacey.”

  “See me on.” A different voice, ethereal and childlike in the androgynous way the doe’s had been, curled upward in the distance.

  Where are you? Clouds blotted sun, bringing forth darkening shadows. Gooseflesh prickled Eve’s arms as her neck hairs stood. She told herself it was merely the cooling effect of the sudden temperature change, though from her subconscious a threat advanced.

  “Witch bitch.” A voice she knew, uncanny in its throatiness. Disruption shook the leaves. Sweat leaked down her sides, though her body still registered a chill. She tensely assessed the perimeter for movement, tracking her gaze through dark green jungle, a vegetal wall demarcating what lay beyond the clear-cut, familiarized camp boundary.

  Though she fought to ignore it, the odor of decay ripened to a stench that smothered her other senses. Breathing through her mouth, she did her best to focus her concentration. Can you hear me, Lacey?

  Gibberish babbled in her subconscious, draining away like water through cupped hands. Still, something persisted. She could make contact but not sustain it. Heat simmered all around her. That smell—which yes, could be nothing more than a random carcass—soon drove Eve back into the tent.

  Jonnie sat on the edge of his bunk bed, texting like someone had a gun to his head. “Signal cut in for a split second.” His crisp English voice was breathy as he fired off communication.

  Involuntary warmth laid Eve bare as she sat beside him in the force field of his personal-space aura. She hadn’t felt the intrigue of new affection for another person in a long time. Not since her ex, a man whose patronizing concern about her “delusions” frayed her psyche, pulled at the coiled strands of her brain until it unraveled like an old sweater. Toward the end of the relationship, she’d accepted that she was crazy. Then she got wise, dumped his manipulative ass, a
nd got back to work with the ghosts.

  Blowback for opening up to someone, showing them the depths of her differences, left her marinating in bile. Until whatever power had blessed her with her first good sleep in ages, that rejuvenating boost to soothe a mind frayed by insomnia, Eve had lacked the clarity to see how bitter she’d become. How angry, how distancing, how defensive.

  She’d hidden behind the obligating drive of her abilities, a furious martyr stewing in self-righteous poison. But without the ability to see past herself, her woes, she’d been unable to harness the insight and empathy needed to move past resentment. Transcending the souring, alienating refrain of “why me” eluded her.

  Forcing the past from her mind, Eve rubbed her own legs so she didn’t touch Jonnie. Crossing such a border would be inappropriate. On a couple of levels. They must not continue to give in to desire, to lust. He was right. Devastating repercussions, possibly exacerbated by mysteries and shaky control, could follow.

  She chose compassion. “Is there an update with Cara?”

  “Stable for now. She’s had a good week.” A few more blue and white bubble messages flew across his screen and stopped. Jonnie mumbled a British curse and pocketed the phone.

  From the looks of things, the cellular signal gods had revoked their temporary gift.

  “Do you ever feel like you’re walking through life across a melting sheet of ice?” Except with water pushing up against the solid surface, insisting its way out of frigid depths, a cold hell of sinister things, sins and buried evils.

  His profile cut a cameo in the lazy remnants of shadow-play sunlight, all carved edges and points and contemplation. A side tilt of his head in her direction was sexier than it should have been, as if he moved his body with supreme irony and awareness.

  Jonnie vamped with subtlety: a swish of black hair, wine stain pout, graceful limbs. Eve caught flecks of red in his eyes, crystalline shards she couldn’t say had always been there. His irises gleamed like bloodstone.